Army of Ashmoth
Lith, Hell


Every step he made had a cracking sound - metallic boots against bones. The angel of the first ranks had sauntered into Hell over a hill of the dead. It was the closest route to Ashmoth’s throne. The skies cried red and black, horrifying to look at paired with what had been transpiring on the ground.

The stench grew stronger every time they had a step nearer to their objective. The stench of the dead, rotting flesh, and the growing bacteria that plagued the bones that heaved the ground were stronger than it filled the atmosphere. It was so strong that it could be mistaken to be poison.

The crimson soil was not its natural color, it was constantly bathed by the blood of the dead humanoid demons, a stain that stayed for thousands of years since the beginning of time. It was the opposite of Earth, it was the opposite of creation. Whatever that may be. All they saw was death by a sea of dead bodies.

He heard King Nidas cursed under his breath as he grabbed one demon ske
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