Holding his shield against the ground, Arax stared at the landscape of destruction in silence.
Below him, the scorched earth. What had once been a nation in the north, a sprawling network of buildings and roads were now reduced to ash and ruin.
Craters, jagged spikes of black obsidian.
Lightning clawed down from above, veins that split the sky. Every strike clashed against the obsidian towers as though they were lightning rods.
In the middle of the city, a twisted blossoming flower with tendrils of flesh hanging from the petals.
The closer you got to the centre, the more it would rain.
A vile black rain that felt wrong in every way. When it splattered, it would leave behind a red marking.
A blood rain.
The sky was weeping for the tragedy that occurred.
Then, in the very centre of the flower, Arax could see a cocoon of sorts. It had once 'held' something within its walls but now, there was nothing. Empty.
Arax let out a deep sigh.
