The roar of the first volley was like the tearing of silk across the heavens. A thousand arrows arched through the frigid air, their silverite tips catching the morning light in a brilliant, descending curtain of death. The moment the volley struck the vanguard of the Blood-Wastes, the gorge erupted into a slaughterhouse. Silverite did not merely pierce armor; it reacted violently with the dark blood-magic pulsing in Malakor's warriors.…
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