The perimeter that had kept the Veynar loyalists penned like sheep in a slaughterhouse was now completely shattered.
The northern and eastern sectors of the Coalition's formation devolved into a churning, blood-soaked nightmare as eighty frantic, mind-controlled Blood Hounds tore through enemy ranks with unbridled, savage brutality.
The white limestone slate was painted crimson, slick with the gore of both Zharun riders and the Coalition warriors who had stood beside them moments before.
The sheer, unnatural horror of the spectacle broke the spirit of some Coalition troops, who threw down their weapons, turning to flee around, only to be chased down and dragged to the ground by six-legged crimson beasts that knew neither fatigue nor fear.
In the center of this screaming, chaotic slaughterhouse, Sol stood like an immovable monument of death.
