The battlefield was in chaos.
Duke Dante Ven Londor, clad in obsidian armor, stood at the front lines, his black greatsword humming with power. The Blight had spread further than expected, thick pools of black goo writhing like living creatures, swallowing the land and the soldiers who fought against it. But Londor was not one to fall back without a fight.
"Hold the line! Strike them down!" he roared, his voice carrying through the ranks.
With an explosive downward swing, his greatsword slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave of raw energy that tore through the Blight's creeping mass. The corruption screeched, recoiling, but it was never-ending. No matter how many times they cut it down, it kept growing back.
"Duke! More of them from the left!" a soldier called out.
Londor turned, gritting his teeth. His men were fighting valiantly, but the enemy was relentless. Then, amid the chaos, a strange voice echoed over the battlefield.