The land in front of her is drenched in blood, thick, dark rivers of it soaking into the torn earth until the soil itself seems to bleed. The air was humid with the metallic tang of iron and the acrid stench of burning flesh, a suffocating mixture that clung to the back of the throat.
Smoke drifted across the battlefield in slow, lazy waves, veiling the horizon in gray and red haze. What once might have been a green field is now a graveyard, littered with broken blades, shattered armor, and the twisted remains of those who had fallen.
Vivianne stood alone amid the ruin, her shoes sinking slightly into the wet, blood-muddied ground. Around her lay the bodies of werewolves, demons, and beastkin of different races that had once roared, clawed, and fought with primal fury. Now, they were silent, their eyes glassy and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind that swept through carried faint embers and the faint cries of dying fire, flickering weakly among the corpses.
