The echoes of steel and death rose into the blackened sky, not as one single, grand avalanche, but as the thousand individual shouts of men meeting their end.
Each meaningful on its own, yet entirely lost and lonely in the vast carpet they now belonged to.
Something deep and ancient, a feeling inherited from the moment humanity first discovered fire and sharpened stone, rumbled in Edric's chest.
He stood ahead of his legion, his hand resting on the hilt of his unsheathed blade.
Just like him, every soldier in the rank could hear the sounds of the assault , the horrifying thud of bodies falling down, and the primal screams of the Voghondai. And just like the beasts Edric had forged them to be, instead of shying away, they leaned in, trembling with a barely contained urge to join, salivating at the thought of the blood to be shed. It was as if they were hearing the most beautiful, intoxicating melody, yet were still prohibited from the dance.
Soon.
