The battlefield was now a cathedral of slaughter. Adonis stood amidst the red mist, the grotesque, writhing mass of the Demon Emperor Vahl looming behind him like a mountain of cosmic horror.
The air itself seemed to bow, the atmospheric pressure heavy enough to make the surviving soldiers vomit.
Adonis did not shout. He did not need to. His voice was carried by the very Chaos that saturated the valley, vibrating in the marrow of every living being for miles.
"People of the Western Continent!" Adonis began, his voice cold and devoid of any human warmth. "You came here to extinguish a flame because you feared the heat. You looked at my kingdom and saw a threat to your petty borders and your fragile crowns. You were right to be afraid. But your mistake was thinking that I am merely a King. I am the inevitability you've spent centuries trying to ignore."
