The Great Orrath did not believe in subtle transitions. One moment, the jungle was a suffocating, dense labyrinth of petrified roots and towering violet ferns, the next, it was violently ripped open, exposing the raw, bleeding earth beneath.
As Sol rode atop the massive, fifteen-foot Layer 2 Commander, flanked by thousands of heavily armored soldiers and an escort of colossal Omen-Bloods carrying the Hive Mother, the signs of the apocalyptic conflict became impossible to ignore.
The march North was a journey through absolute devastation. The air grew steadily thicker, losing the fresh scent of morning dew and replacing it with the heavy, metallic tang of spilled blood and the sharp, chemical burn of vaporized acids.
The towering flora of the primordial jungle had been greatly eradicated. Trees with trunks as wide as modern houses were snapped like dry twigs, their jagged, splintered remains littering the churned mud.
