Winterhold.
The rain, speckled with blue light, continued to wear away at the increasingly terrifying, unnatural black smoke. Allen had no idea what would happen to his domain if that pitch-black horror spread.
But something inside him kept warning him that he could not let it happen, driving him to squeeze every last drop of strength from his body.
In that brief span, Allen had already spent more than one night in the Simulator to replenish the energy sustaining the downpour, at an enormous cost to his mind.
A sudden bolt of lightning illuminated Allen's exhausted face and tore apart another corner of the thick smoke, exposing the many citizens beneath the darkness.
This time, Allen completely ignored the voice ringing in his ears and focused on the smoke's changes. As the black mist churned, however, he saw something that made his heart lurch.
Beneath the scattered smoke, over a hundred residents stood motionless with their eyes closed, their faces twisted in either terror or ecstasy. Barely discernible wisps of black vapor drifted above their heads, gathering in the air and filling the gap in an instant.
"Sound the horn!"
With a grim expression, Allen issued the order he had least wanted to give. He had prepared it for a different contingency, never expecting to need it here and now.
At his command, Asudan puffed out his cheeks and blew the silver horn in his hands. Its stirring call echoed above the castle, bewildering the residents celebrating outside, especially the veterans who had followed Allen through many campaigns.
They recognized the meaning of that horn call. It was no signal for celebration, but an unmistakable order for soldiers to charge.
The rain, the thunder, and the horn left many officials and soldiers confused. They began gathering at the castle entrance,