[The Next Day—Before Dawn---At the Cliff]
Darkness, not the peaceful darkness that embraced sleeping souls and not the gentle darkness beneath the moon.
This was the darkness born from hatred; the eastern plains lay silent beneath a sky where even the stars had hidden themselves with an endless sea of black.
Then Azhrakaal walked alone across the mountain ridge overlooking the battlefield; his long black robes trailed behind him like living shadows, his black hair danced with a wind that did not exist, and his pitch-black eyes...were devoid of life itself.
Below him, hundreds of thousands of Black Serpents knelt, an endless ocean of monsters; not one dared lift its head, as if even death itself seemed afraid to interrupt the silence.
Azhrakaal slowly looked toward the distant Imperial encampment; tiny lights from the soldiers' campfires flickered against the darkness.
His lips curled upward as his voice was soft and gentle.
