The impact of the landing still echoed as Kael rose from the cracks in the wall. The sound of the wind mingled with the roars of beasts, the screams of soldiers, and the steady crackle of flames consuming the outer towers.
The city of Azalith was at war.
And he had arrived.
The air was thick with mana, vibrating in almost palpable waves. The ground trembled beneath the footsteps of the creatures scaling the walls, and the ancient stone seemed to mourn the weight of the chaos bearing down upon it. Kael lifted his head—and saw.
Hundreds of monsters, perhaps thousands, pushing against each other, howling, destroying, corrupting everything they touched.
And among them, armored men and women fought to their last breath.
Kael took a deep breath, tasting the metallic taste of blood carried by the wind. The sound of the world seemed to vanish for an instant. He flicked his wrist—and the blade responded, sliding from its holster with a cold, silvery glint.
