“The storm is here - a violent, explicit whirlwind that sweeps away all pretenses and leaves nothing but raw truth behind. Wind howls through bomb‑scarred streets like a choir of banshees, and the city braces under a sky bruised the color of an old wound. Tonight, every heartbeat is thunder, every breath a dare.”
--
Smoke coils along ruined avenues, hugging cracked asphalt and jagged storefronts. Sirens wail in the distance - long, mournful keens that mimic the city’s dying breath. I advance through the haze with Garrick’s chain still bite‑marked into my waist, blood dried to flakes on my knuckles. The convoy intel was right: Damien’s forces sweep in like an iron tide, armored trucks snarling over rubble, headlights spearing the night. Their engines rumble - a predatory purr that vibrate
