The golden sunlight over the Scourgelands did not last long.
Lucifer stood on the cracked balcony of the ruined fortress. He watched his Grand Army secure the valley below.
The Awakened mercenaries were pitching tents and sorting their massive piles of undead loot. The Aether-Steel Dragoons formed an impenetrable perimeter of black metal.
It was a perfect, organized forward operating base.
Then, the air pressure in the valley suddenly dropped.
It did not feel like that of the Soul Siphons. This was not a spell pulling mana. It felt like the laws of the world suddenly paused. The wind stopped. Even the soft rustle of the new green grass went silent at once.
Lucifer frowned. His eyes snapped upward.
The clear blue sky above the fortress began to twist. It warped, bending light like thick, broken glass.
A deep, powerful hum vibrated through Lucifer's bones, as if he could feel it instead of hear it.
"Elara," Lucifer called out. His voice was sharp.
