In the blink of an eye

Whoosh! Whoosh!

One after another, the arrows descended—not as projectiles, but as divine retribution, tearing through the air with a scream that could chill bone.

A rain of death.

The alloyed shafts fell like executioner's blades, merciless and absolute, each one tearing through the ranks of the Blue Hammer Kingdom soldiers with surgical precision.

Their leather armor—meant for skirmishes, not slaughter—was nothing more than a thin veil of false hope, shredded like parchment under a storm of steel.

Bodies were ripped apart, limbs torn from sockets, torsos cleaved in half. Screams barely formed before throats were punctured. The few who survived the first wave stumbled over the remains of their comrades, slipping in gore and entrails.

Within seconds, the battlefield was transformed—no longer a contested ground between kingdoms, but a slaughterhouse, an open canvas painted with blood and despair.