I stood on Silver's back, staring down at the chaos I had unleashed. Smoke curled upward from the shattered area around the statue. The once-proud statue of Azalea was now ruined—only its knees remained, the rest reduced to jagged rubble strewn across the ground.
'Sorry Azalea.' I thought.
Below, the scene was painted in blood.
Half-broken bodies lay twisted in unnatural shapes, arms and legs bent where bones had snapped. Some were motionless—others screamed, clutching torn limbs or crushed chests. Pools of blood spread like ink stains over the stone floor, mixing with the dust and debris.
I watched a man crawl, one hand dragging behind him uselessly as he cried out for help. Another tried to stand, only to fall again when he saw his foot was missing.
Shouts of anger now rose from what remained of the Holts' forces below Masters and soldiers barking orders, screaming in panic and disbelief.
"Enemy attack!"
"It came from above!"
"Sound the alarms!"
