[Continuation—The BattleField]
The battlefield held its breath as blood dripped from Zeramet's wounded shoulder. Each drop struck the shattered earth with a soft...
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
The crimson plains had witnessed countless deaths over the past three days, but never...had they seen the Emperor bleed this much.
Silence spread across both armies.
Imperial soldiers stared in horror; black Serpents watched with widening smiles, and Captain Varesh tried to step forward, but Arkhazunn stopped him.
Sharukh's coils tightened.
Raevahan, still drenched in the blood of those he had slaughtered, slowly turned toward the center of the battlefield. Even in the depths of his grief, his heart sank. Levin's fingers tightened around Lyresaph's scales until his knuckles turned white.
Azhrakaal stepped forward; the countless imprisoned souls swirling around his monstrous body shrieked with delight as he inhaled deeply. The scent of Zeramet's blood filled the air, and his smile widened.
