At the Flame Lord's cruelly amused command, the atmosphere throughout Scorching Rift's royal hall suddenly tightened.
Even the air seemed soaked through with sulfur and Battle Intent, growing thicker and heavier.
The orc commander, "Furnace Head," slammed a fist against his chest.
The dull impact echoed between the rock walls.
"As you command, Flame Lord!"
"The Lava Legion's battle-axes have long thirsted to drink the foul blood of the black dragon's kin!"
The murderous gleam in his single eye intensified. He turned and strode toward the hall's exit.
His heavy footsteps rang out alongside the clang of rubbing armor plates.
Every step made the ground tremble faintly.
Beside him, the fire lizardfolk scout captain, "Scorchfang," silently bowed and retreated. Before long, his form melted into the flickering fiery shadows in a corner of the palace.
Like a venomous snake slipping into a dark current of magma, he began deploying the most Elite stealth operatives and fire bats.
The dragon-vein shaman, "Molten Throat," slowly raised his Bone Staff set with fire crystals.
Within the eye sockets of the skull of some unknown giant beast atop the staff, two clusters of ghostly flame flared to life with a puff.
In a voice like a broken bellows, he began chanting an ancient, tongue-twisting prayer.
Though low and hoarse, his voice stirred deep, rumbling echoes from beneath the palace, as though a gigantic furnace were being lit.
It was a sign that the dormant scorching energy within the rift's earth veins had begun to awaken.
Countless Runes clinging to the rock walls and nestled within cracks lit up one by one with dim crimson glimmers, like blood gradually speeding up beneath a giant beast's skin.
The swarm of fire bats hanging upside down from the royal hall's ceiling erupted into restless commotion.
They beat