The sky bled fire, and lightning split it like bridges of flame. The ground opened its mouths and screamed, carrying within it torn corpses and flying limbs. The smell of blood and ash mingled, and the air itself seemed to be dying from the countless screams. Bodies collapsed, spears broke, and soldiers from both sides surged like wild waves, caring only about crushing whoever was in front of them, even if it was a friend. A single scream pierced the hell of the battle, sharp as knives: > "Do not retreat!! Victory is ours!!" In the heart of this hell, among smoke and fire, stood Morolok. Steadfast, towering, his eyes glowing embers amid the mist, their darkness swallowing light as if night itself hid within them. Beside him, Garok laughed like a madman, and Ambaros, whose every step caused a crack in the earth. But their majesty was not only their bodies, but the soldiers of the demons, completely black, twisted horns, eyes glowing in different shades of blood, torn wings, and