Drona Lionheart stood motionless in the sky, his gaze cold and unreadable. The battlefield was eerily silent, not because of discipline or restraint, but because fear had seized the hearts of all present.
The once-mighty Jason Mama, head of the Nine Realms Association, stood dead, implanted upon an enchanted spear. His lifeless body, stiffened by the lingering energy of the divine weapon, stood upright, like a monument to his sudden and unexpected demise.
Not a single voice dared to rise in protest.
The generals of the Nine-Realms-army looked around at each other, their faces pale, searching for guidance, for some command to counter the absurdity of what had just happened.
The sworn wizards, though battered and bruised, held their breath, waiting for the next move. The skies above, once crowded with the spies of the Space God and the lesser deities who had come to witness the supposed fall of the sworn wizards, remained eerily still. Even the winds of war had ceased.
