Blood-streaked dawn broke over the Western Marshlands for the fifth consecutive day since Princess Elysandra's assault. The fortress walls, once proud and imposing, now resembled a creature's ribcage torn open by a predator—jagged, broken, and stained with viscera. Blackened craters scarred the earth where corruption magic had detonated, while heaps of bodies—some human, others unidentifiable—formed makeshift barricades across breached sections.
Reed stood atop the eastern watchtower, one of the few structures still intact, surveying the aftermath. His muscular form bore fresh wounds—a lattice of cuts across his torso where the Princess's crystalline claws had found purchase. Black veins spread outward from each laceration, pulsing with unnatural vitality despite Lady Dalia's healing attempts. His left ear was partially severed, the ragged edge cauterized by desperate battlefield medicine.
