Igor

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos.

I moved through it like a blade, my sword singing in my hand, my body a vessel of focused violence. The air was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood, and the ground beneath my feet was slick with the remains of those who had fallen. The screams of the wounded and the dying filled my ears, a constant reminder of what was at stake. The sky above was a churning gray, as if even the heavens were uncertain of the outcome of this war, and the ...