The Great Orrath did not possess a concept of mercy. It was a realm entirely dictated by the primal, unapologetic laws of bone, essence, and absolute violence.
Likewise, the battle in the crater below had escalated from a chaotic skirmish into a localized, apocalyptic meat grinder.
Sol sat perched high up in the dense, violet foliage of the colossal Void-Oak branch, his legs dangling casually over the edge of the abyss, watching the Great Orrath demonstrate exactly why humanity hid behind wooden walls and heavily warded runes.
This wasn't a mere territorial dispute. It was a biological war operating at maximum capacity, a pure, unfiltered display of the brutal, primitive laws that governed this Savage world.
It was a mesmerizing, horrifying spectacle of nature operating at its most ruthless capacity.
Down in the massive depression, the three-way war had entered its white-hot stage.
