The Central Tower of Blackstone Fortress stood at the heart of the defensive line, like the hardest bone spur on a behemoth's spine.
At this moment, the towering stone structure was enduring the most ferocious assault it had faced since the battle began.
Within a hundred-meter radius of the tower's base, the ground was a ravaged, scorched wasteland.
The bodies of defenders and the remains of monsters were piled high in layers, their dark red blood nearly filling every crevice in the stone.
The air was a nauseating mix of pungent sulfur, the stench of charred flesh, the tang of rusted metal, and the strange, burnt odor left behind by the purifying Holy Energy.
The tower itself, its walls constructed of thick Blackstone, was covered in deep claw marks, pits corroded by acid, and blackened scorch marks from fire.
Many of the battlements had crumbled, revealing the silhouettes of defenders desperately hacking away behind them.
