The battlefield was a maelstrom of death.
Damien moved through the carnage like a phantom, golden embers trailing behind him as his Sacred Flame flickered at his fingertips. Around him, the ruined cavern was thick with screams, the scent of charred flesh mingling with the putrid stench of corrupted beasts.
Slayers and hunters fought on all sides.
Explosions of mana lit up the darkness as high-rank mages unleashed devastation upon monstrous horrors that had no right to exist. Rank 3 and Rank 4 warriors, clad in enchanted armor, cleaved through writhing masses of corrupt beasts, their weapons wreathed in elemental power.
Amidst this chaos, Damien's group stood against their own nightmare.
A twisted, unholy colossus.
It loomed twice the height of a man, its form a grotesque amalgamation of fused corpses and writhing tendrils.
