Lightning was tearing the battlefield asunder, and it sapped the fighters of their hope of triumph. But suddenly, from the corner of their eyes, a red flame danced.
Han Sen was standing there, a red flame encompassing his being. He raised his hand and a thousand firebirds shot out, hungry for murder. There were so many of them, they covered the skies like a veil.
At first, the firebirds went for the leaves. Their touch incinerated the leaves effortlessly.
The fire still raged around Han Sen, and he generated more and more firebirds.
When each leaf was destroyed, a blood-bird spawned out of its ashes, as well. Where there was once lightning, now there was fire. The forest had become a raging inferno, all answering to the whims of the one who controlled it: Han Sen.
The fire quickly overwhelmed all it came into contact with, and everything that it touched was turned to ash. From that ash, firebirds arose. It was like the spreading of a violent, parasitic infestation.
