The hill stood outside the now exposed city of Carthage like an island of peace.
From there, the battlefield stretched endlessly like a canvas, the smoke from the fires and flashes of light from battles adding color to what was otherwise a bleak painting.
The clash of armies was a distant roar, muted as if the hill itself refused to let noise intrude.
The Blurred Man stood with his hands folded behind his back, his figure wavering at the edges, as if reality could not decide what he should look like.
The world bent softly around him, outlines bending and straight lines wavering. His faceless mask of distortion turned down towards the carnage.
For a long moment, he was silent. Then he spoke, his voice layered, carrying strange echoes like different people were speaking at the same time.
"Do you think this will work?" He asked.
The air shivered, and a sliver of existence peeled away like paper burning at the edges.
