RAIN POV
And suddenly, the ground split open.
The sound was like thunder tearing through the bones of the earth. Cracks crawled across the soil, glowing red, and from the chasm rose the Nocturnis — beautiful and terrible, their pale skin shimmering like moonlight drenched in blood. The air turned cold, heavy, thick with the smell of iron and rot.
Their leader emerged last — Lord Veylith.
Tall. Elegant. Cruel.
His black cloak flowed like living smoke, and his eyes — two burning coals of fire — swept over the battlefield with a calm, wicked amusement. He stepped through the carnage with grace, his boots silent even as fire licked at the corpses of his fallen enemies.
He paused at the sight of the Uldar corpses — those the witches hadn't turned to dust with their moonfire. Their bodies stood frozen, statues mid-scream, trapped forever by witchcraft and silver runes.
Veylith clicked his tongue softly.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk… pathetic," he said, his voice smooth as silk, sharp as glass.
