Chapter 66: One Down, Two to Go
Raghor Bloodbrand had heard the screams of dying demons before, war was the melody of his existence but never like this.
One moment he stood near the heart of the encampment, listening to reports from two of his Dreadlords about positioning and scouting. The next, the sky split with a screams of elemental violence. The very ground beneath them cracked, hissed, and groaned as jagged spikes of molted earth erupted through flesh and steel alike. Tents started to burn, bursting into flame as lightning struck their iron bound poles. The stench of seared flesh filled the air like a choking fog.
A tremor surged through the legions. The air turned sharp with ozone. Torrents of lightning surged across the lines, reducing entire squads of Hellborn and Infernal Warriors into twitching husks. Flamekin scattered like leaves before a hurricane as fires not of their own making incinerated them mid charge. Those Emberborne unlucky enough to be struck by the cascading firestorm ignited from the inside out, their runes glowing for a moment in defiance before their bodies exploded like ruptured forge kettles.
Abyssal Champions howled in vain, summoning brimstone shields that shattered under waves of frost and lightning. The ground itself buckled beneath elemental upheaval. Even the basalt beneath their feet glowed red with magical strain.
Raghor spun on his heel, nostrils flaring wide. He reached with his mind into the chaotic swirl of Aether now ripping through his legions. As a Demon Lord, his magical might was equal to a Planarch. His senses were honed beyond mortal comprehension, he could read the Aether like script on stone, every line of power a signature waiting to be traced.
There, on the western rise.
A hill stood black against the boiling sky. And atop it...
An Elf.
Raghor’s breath caught in his massive chest. An Elf.
Of all the cursed races and their foul branches, it had to be an Elf.
This one was tall, broader in the shoulders than most elves had any right to be. His build was closer to that of a champion of Feralis than a pointy eared spellcaster. Long white silver hair was tied back in a warrior’s knot, and bluish gray eyes glinted under a faint glow of summoned magic. His cloak whipped in the storm winds, billowing behind dark armor woven with starlight threads and runes that shimmered with restrained destruction.
Then the Elf smiled.