It was as though the gods wept crimson tears of blood.

It seemed to accumulate in the air and coat anyone that came within the vicinity. Bodies lay crumpled, wounded cried out but the uninjured weren't occupied with their well being.

By the time the Arconan's arrived it was difficult to ascertain friend from foe, those who attacked were cut down with prejudice. The rest were left to fight their battles. Mingled into the out cries of those dying were the battle cries, and the silent but equally felt relief of the Shadow Clan's arrival.

No pause was given, no ground and no mercy.

The acrid metallic tang invaded the senses and there was nothing left but rage.

For the dying.

For the dead.

And for the oppressed.

None could find hope here, the last stand, desperate and savage.