The high southern plateau was an inferno of black smoke, burning sulfur, and screaming steel. King Malakar, witnessing the annihilation of his river center, had turned the full fury of his remaining twenty thousand elite southern reserves upon the high redoubt. "Cut them down!" Malakar’s voice echoed across the plateau, thick with demonic malice. "Bring me the head of Rowan Blackwood! Flay his skin and nail it to my chariot!"…
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