The demon generals gathered in one place, the weight of Dravor and Zyphor's defeat pressing upon them. None had expected such a setback this early in the war against the heroes.
Each demon sat upon a crudely crafted pedestal, shaped from earth, ice, or wood—formed according to their preferred magic. But Morax, master of space manipulation, chose to float, reclining in midair as though seated on an invisible throne of pure energy.
Despite his calm demeanor, every general in the room knew the truth—Morax was the most furious. The scarcity of mana had forced him to pour his own reserves into completing the grand-scale spell, leaving him dangerously drained.
The only saving grace in this disaster was that one of the heroes had been infused with enough mana to provide the final surge they needed to finish the ritual.
His voice cut through the tension.
