The dark, lifeless decapitated torso of Grand Chieftain Bruga's hit the white limestone bedrock with a heavy, hollow thud that reverberated across the entire valley.
A final, sluggish wave of dark, exhausted blood pooled outward from his withered neck, soaking into the white dust.
For a fraction of a second, the winds sweeping down from the cliffs seemed to stop entirely.
The roaring clatter of weapons, the rabid snarls of the Blood Hounds, and the frantic clashes of spirit manifestations all ground to an absolute, eerie halt.
Thousands of eyes… Coalition warlords, trembling Zharun warriors, traitorous Veynar lineage guards, and exhausted loyalists…. were glued entirely to the place Sol was standing.
The invincible titan of the Gray Marauders…. the monster who had burned his very soul in a desperate Bloodline Overdraft…. was dead.
His massive, twenty-five-foot frame had been hollowed out, reduced to a dry, withered husk of gray skin and brittle bone.
