Yet all he could see was the sole of a giant's foot.
The outline of that foot stretched from the far left edge of his vision to the far right, from one end of the starry sky to the other. It had no boundary. No end.
The skin beneath that foot bore the texture of stone, the cracks of the earth itself, the patterns formed by something older than time sleeping through endless ages.
Light flowed through those patterns like blood through veins, like magic coursing through the world's ley lines, like some form of life breathing in a way he could never comprehend.
Behind him stood the entire world.
…
The sounds of slaughter on the battlefield never stopped.
Danath's longsword split open an orc's skull. Blood splashed across his face, but he did not wipe it away.
His voice had already gone hoarse, yet he still roared: "Hold the line—! Hold the line—!"
Those green-skinned madmen trampled over the corpses of their own comrades as they surged forward wave after wave, like an endless tide that could never be exhausted.
Soldiers fell all around him. Some had their chests cleaved open by battle axes. Some had their throats pierced by Shadow Bolts. Some were smashed into pulp beneath the massive fists of infernals.
Turalyon guarded the rear.
He raised his sword as Holy Light poured out from his chest, flooding into the blade before erupting from its edge, blasting open a gap in the front of the orc shield wall.
Kurdran's gryphon dove from the sky. His runed battle axe carved a deep gash across the skull of a black drake.
The young dragon let out a mournful shriek as it crashed into the orc ranks below, its limp wings spread wide as it crushed a bloody path through the horde.
"Come on then!" the dwarf's voice thundered down from the sky. "You winged lizards—! Come on—!"
Alleria was surrounded in the center of the sky by seven black drakes.
Her dragonhawk darted left and right, but every attempt to break through was blocked by another wall of black wings.
Alleria drew her bow and shot an arrow straight through the eye socket of one of the drakes, but more and more black drakes were already flying in from the distance.
Her gaze passed through those black wings and drifted toward that patch of blue light that had already vanished.
Her lips moved slightly, but no words came out.
...
Allen opened his eyes.
His irises had already turned pure white.
[Wild Magic Surge Triggered!]
[Dice Roll Result: 99]
[Effect Triggered: Instantly cast a random highest-level spell you know.]
Sabellian fled once again.
Just like when he arrived—like a black meteor streaking through the sky.
Allen held Vereesa in his arms as he floated high above the battlefield.
He continued rising higher and higher.
He lowered his head and looked at his wrist.
The three wave-shaped marks there were glowing.
Light poured out from deep within his bones, filling every groove of those patterns before overflowing upward along his forearm, like molten lava being poured into a mold, like gold solidifying as it cooled.
He felt as though his entire body were burning from within.
Like a lantern.
Like a lighthouse.
Like a star being ignited.
Allen slowly raised his hand and pointed toward the earth below.
He only knew one highest-level spell.
Meteor Swarm!
...
On the distant road, Stella hurried along behind Morgan on her short little legs, chattering nonstop as she ran.
"Uncle Morgan, can we really help at all? This is a war."
Morgan stopped walking.
He turned around and looked at her with complete seriousness.
"Stella, this is war. It's not child's play. This is completely different from the last few times." He paused, lowering his voice slightly. "It's really dangerous. I want you to go back to Nethergarde Keep and not follow us."
Stella shrank back slightly, a trace of fear flashing through those bright blue eyes of hers.
But she still stubbornly shook her head.
"But I'm really worried about our benefactor and Wren." She patted the backpack at her waist. "I have the pacemaker. I can help."
Morgan let out a sigh and was just about to say something.
Then he froze.
His mouth remained half open, the latter half of that "but" stuck in his throat.
His eyes widened, reflecting something he had never seen before.
It was the first time Stella had ever seen the calm and dependable Morgan make an expression like that.
"But what?" She tugged at his sleeve. "But what?! But what?!"
Morgan did not answer.
He merely raised his hand stiffly and pointed toward the sky.
His fingers were trembling.
Stella turned around.
On the walls of Nethergarde Keep, the uneasy defenders slowly lowered the weapons in their hands.
Some were wiping sweat from their foreheads. Some clutched unfinished letters home. Some kept pulling arrows from their quivers only to shove them back in again.
And then they saw that direction.
...
Stormwind.
Varian sat within the throne room, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the table.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
He had a terrible feeling in his heart. Could something have happened in the Blasted Lands?
Suddenly, his fingers stopped.
The color of the sky outside the window looked strange. It did not resemble a sunset, but something else entirely.
The doors were violently pushed open.
Shaw's voice rang out from behind him, carrying a panic Varian had never heard before.
"Your Majesty—Your Majesty, there's a heavenly omen! A heavenly omen!"
...
The street thug Pete was released from prison today.
He had spent three months in the Stormwind Stockade, turned over a new leaf, and resolved to become a better man.
After finishing the paperwork, he stepped through those heavy iron gates and stood atop the stairs, taking a deep breath of free air.
He decided he would first go seek refuge with his boss—the King of Prison himself, Allen Prestor—and find some honest work so he could finally live properly from now on.
He stepped onto the street.
Then he stopped.
Everyone on the street was staring upward.
A fishmonger dropped the fish from his hands, the fish flopping wildly on the ground. An apprentice blacksmith forgot to let go of the red-hot tongs clenched in his grip. Children who had been chasing each other through the streets stood in the middle of the road with their necks craned skyward. Even the carriages had stopped at the intersections, the drivers leaning halfway out of their seats, forgetting to crack their whips.
Pete also looked up.
There were four fire dragons in the sky.
Four blazing scars tore downward from the clouds far above, dragging long burning tails behind them as they ripped four wounds across the heavens from east to west, wounds so deep they seemed to expose bone itself.
The entire sky had been dyed blood-red by their light, burning from one horizon to the other as though the whole firmament itself were on fire.
Pete's face turned pale.
How come the world is ending the moment I get out of prison?
...
The horse ranch in Elwynn Forest.
The young boy Hunter stood before the stable, gripping that staff in his hand.
He raised his head and gazed at the crimson sky, at those four streaks of light slowly descending through the heavens.
His lips moved slightly, his voice so soft it felt as though the wind could scatter it away at any moment.
"Hey… there's a meteor shower. Tilloa, can you see it?"
...
Darkshire.
A small window creaked open.
A pair of childish hands gripped the windowsill as a little boy stood on tiptoe.
His mother walked over from behind and pulled him gently into her embrace.
She lifted her head and looked toward that eternally dark sky that had been torn apart.
Four white streaks of light burned across it, turning the perpetual darkness surrounding Darkshire into a crimson glow unlike anything it had ever seen before.
Thankfully, the meteors had not crossed the northern lands where her husband had gone.
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