In the next second, Astaroth shot out of the crater in a blur, soaring high into the sky.
He hovered there above the city, wings spread wide, eyes burning with disbelief and anger.
"If you want destruction," he snarled, voice echoing over the rooftops, "then I'll give it to you."
He reached into his suit and pulled out a handful of small, black seeds. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he scattered them toward the ground.
They fell like rain.
The moment they touched the streets and rooftops below, they sank into the surface and began to swell. Black miasma erupted from the ground, twisting and knotting together into giant creatures.
They were roughly humanoid, but horribly distorted—elongated arms that dragged across the ground, legs like bent spears, heads shapeless except for a gaping maw filled with jagged teeth. Their bodies were made entirely of roiling black mist, constantly shifting, with glowing red cores pulsing in the center of their chests.
And they kept multiplying.
