Jack's voice carried across the battlefield with enough force that even those dying could hear every word clearly.
His rage was palpable, his anger fed the storm above.
Four hundred mercenaries remained standing in the circle.
Then three hundred.
Then two hundred.
Their screams had evolved beyond words. Just raw animal sounds of men experiencing agony beyond what human minds could process while still maintaining consciousness.
Father Caelen stood nearby, his breathing slightly heavier from casting two powerful skills in quick succession.
The radiant circle held firm, trapping the survivors while Astrapon's Reign executed them.
One hundred left.
Fifty.
Twenty.
Jack lowered his hands slowly. The lightning continued falling, but his attention shifted to where S stood calmly among the captured commanders.
Marcus Thorne sprawled on the ice, his mind having retreated so far into itself that he barely registered the carnage surrounding him.
