The Battle For Gershwin

The realm of Gershwin was already ablaze with battle, a maelstrom of fire and steel.

From the rolling golden plains, now stained crimson, to the once-emerald forests and kingdoms, now choked with black smoke, war raged with unrelenting ferocity. The thunder of thousands of centaur hooves shook the very ground, their lances, once gleaming in the sunlight, now dripping with dark blood, their war cries echoing across the battlefield.

The violet rift, a gaping wound in the sky, spewed forth a tide of monstrosities, a grotesque parody of life that charged to attack the centuar warriors.

Twisted elves, their violet eyes burning with malevolence, unleashed volleys of chaos-flame arrows, igniting the landscape with an eerie, violet fire that clung to everything it touched.

Orcish titans, their veins pulsing with chaos energy, swung their massive cleavers, each blow a brutal symphony of rending flesh and shattered bone, cleaving through centaur warriors like wheat before a scythe.