He was the conductor of this orchestra of carnage.
But while the lackeys ground each other into bloody paste, Sol's silver-crimson eyes were locked entirely on the true prize in the center of the valley.
Down in the ruined valley, the war of the Lords was completely devoid of any grand, philosophical meaning. It was just raw, uncompromising biology clashing at the highest possible tier of strength.
The Great Badger was taking an absolute, terrifying beating.
The two Layer 3 Sovereigns were theoretically perfectly matched, acting as natural hard-counters to each other. But in the practical reality of the battlefield, the Lord Dreadwing had completely abandoned the ground game. It fully utilized its absolute, inherent advantage: flight and super speed.
