Morning came and the demons arrived like a tide. A flood of darkness that spilled over the eastern horizon and kept coming, kept spreading, kept consuming the plains below Drak'thar. Demons by the tens of thousands. War beasts the size of buildings. Siege towers that walked on iron legs. And among them, flying above them, leading them....
The demonic dragons.
Owen counted as they approached. Forty-three. Less than the fifty who'd followed Vorthraxx to his final battle. Some had died in the sealing's aftermath. Others had simply fled, their purpose broken. But these forty-three had regrouped. Had chosen to fight on. Had found new generals to follow.
Dragons who had trained with Vorthraxx. Who had been familiar with Celeste when she was in drak'thar. Their scales were twisted now, corrupted by miasma.
