The Wrath of Dire: Endgame at Silver City [Part-3]
The sky above Silver City had become a battlefield between gods—an endless, churning war of crimson and black clouds, spiraling like furious omens in motion. The sky was bleeding. Thunder cracked like rage turned into sound, shaking the world. And down below, the city—once proud—was on fire.
Those towers—used to stand quiet, bathed in soft moonlight's silver hush. Now? They're falling apart, one by one. Like broken monuments to memories crumbling to dust. They groan, heavy and aching, collapsing into flames that swallow them whole. Sparks fly up, swirling like the last gasps of some dead dream that never got its chance. And the streets—those streets that once echoed with footsteps and laughter? They were burning. Every corner pulsed with fire now. Arteries of flame snaked across the stone, bleeding the city from within, burning it down to nothing but smoke and ash.
