The factory made a loud sound as it collapsed under the weight of its own destruction; fissures ran across its stone walls, and chunks of concrete and large bricks that had been holding it together fell from the ceiling.
The blood-crystal furnace did one final scream from underneath it all like dying beasts, while the top floors' mana veins, which contained corrupted mana, split open the building as Roland's last strike tore through the cores holding everything together.
The red mist above faltered, its thick veil thinning as the first sunrays of dawn forced their way through in fractured stone.
Azragor staggered back, his ruined hand still bleeding, even after he had healed it.
His remaining arm was clutching a shard of blood crystal jagged enough to serve as a weapon, the only thing he could find to help aid him as the hero broke through the destruction.
The demon general's grin was far gone, replaced with the twisted snarl of what seemed to be a cornered beast.
