In the sky above, the blood moon hangs high. As the mysterious day approaches, the moon no longer appears weak as usual but radiates an unsettling red glow, like the blood tears of the Goddess, dyeing the battlefield air in an eerie crimson.
Suddenly, a sharp cry pierces the night's silence from afar. It's the screeching of Harpies, the messengers of night, the harbingers of calamity. With the first screech, dots start to appear in the sky, initially scattered, but swiftly these dots are drawn from all directions by an invisible force.
As their numbers grow, their flight path quickly forms a massive vortex; they are so numerous that they almost cover the sky, blocking the bright crimson light source of the blood moon!
If a thousand flies are overwhelming, then how much more so are these thousand cruel, shrieking Harpies whose wings gleam coldly?
