The battlefield seemed to breathe.
Snow whirled across the frozen plains of Velkar, swirling in spirals of white and gray, caught in the chaos of the violent clash between Azrael and the divine champions. The battle had raged for what felt like an eternity, but in reality, it had only been mere minutes since the last of the champions had fallen.
Azrael stood in the center of the valley, his chest heaving with each breath, his body battered from the brutal exchange of blows. Quinn, the ancient sword that had become his ally, hummed softly in his hand, its blade crackling with the power of the void. The air around him shimmered with an unearthly darkness, the energy of the void fragment coursing through him, making his senses burn with power.
But even this was not enough.
Seraphon, the g
