Could any native tell me if this text is translated correctly and if there are any strange phrases? I would like to start publishing my fantasy novel on wattpad, but my English is not perfect, so I would like to know if it is even suitable for reading. I would be very grateful!
The blackness of night engulfed the earth, as if trying to conceal the massacre unfolding on its blood-soaked surface. Towering tongues of flame illuminated rows of lifeless bodies, miraculously avoiding being trampled by the fighting. Flaming arrows pierced the sky, and the whispers of mages echoed over the battlefield like a war hymn.
The magical barrier surrounding the palace was beginning to crack, holes in its surface widening with every passing minute. Exhausted mages held it up with the last remnants of their strength, lacking the energy to patch the breaches that could let the enemy through at any moment. The battle surged toward the palace and pulled away again, casting a heavy cloud of tension and fear upon the city.
Erimoor was drowning in a sea of blood and screams, but no matter how dire the situation was or how terribly they could lose, they refused to surrender, believing that sunlight would bathe the city once more, declaring their victory to the world.
With a steady hand, he struck down his opponent. Drawing a second sword, he plunged into a cluster of fighting demons, delivering more deadly blows. His irises gleamed with the intense red of fresh blood, as though it truly boiled around his narrowed, feline pupils. He whispered a stream of words, and the rows of runes on his cheek lit up brightly, swelling slightly in size. The attacker's head crashed onto the stone tiles covering the market square, the grooves between them filling with crimson, like lava channels in scorched earth.
The man gripped the hilt of his weapon tighter, and from beneath his hand, a navy thread burst forth, wrapping around the blade at lightning speed like a swarm of ravenous snakes. He smiled faintly, gauging the effect of his magic. He didn’t know how much it would help keep the enemy at bay – or if any of this even made sense, considering what was about to come. He remembered it all too well, and each memory sent a cold shiver down his spine.
He was more afraid than ever before. Afraid that, despite everything, he was powerless to change the city's fate. All he could do was hope for mercy from the gods, who lately had shown no willingness to bless them with luck or lend aid in their hour of need, even though it was needed now more than during the war fifteen years ago. Back then, much of the capital had been devoured by fire and magic. Countless lives were lost, including the royal couple and the heir to the throne with her husband – a loss the kingdom had felt deeply.
He slashed across his enemy’s chest. The pattern etched into the blade glowed and crept higher onto his fingers, eventually covering his entire hand and wrist. He straightened, inhaling reflexively as the corners of his mouth curled slightly, revealing sharpened fangs. He could feel new energy dancing through his veins, reigniting a body growing weary after long hours of battle.
The enemy’s movements slowed dramatically. It had become a helpless victim, its miserable fate soon to be sealed. The limp body hit the stone, the sound of shattering bones a grim symphony to the victor’s ears.
Then, a violent gust of wind tore through his hair. He swept it aside quickly and, heart pounding, looked up at the monster flying overhead in the faint light of the Crimson Moon.
He cursed harshly, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Incoming!" someone screamed in the distance – and a moment later, the shrieks of terror pierced through all other sounds of battle. The demons fled toward the gates, unwilling to be scorched by their own weapon of war, though there was little chance they’d escape the first wave of fire.
The city’s people ran in panic, desperately pleading with the gods for mercy. The wind howled madly, lashing everything in its path with fierce gales.
The dragon circled above the gate and dipped lower, slowly opening its enormous, deadly maw.
The man bolted, desperately trying to dive into the nearby lake, which seemed the best chance of avoiding a death too painful to imagine. As his body broke through the icy surface of the water, a wave of heat swept over the first homes, mercilessly choking everything in its path.
Roofs collapsed inward like houses of cards, and windows exploded from their frames with deafening cracks. The dragon struck again.
There was no saving them now – the entire city was doomed to perish that night, without exception.
Suddenly, the screams died away, and for a moment, silence settled over the walls.
He crawled onto the shore of the lake and looked ahead, past the row of burned-out houses. The entire square was ablaze but the flames were unlike any he had seen before.
A towering shield of navy and purple fire, several dozen meters high, hovered above the ground, protecting a group of stunned survivors. His heart skipped a beat.
He sprang from the water and ran toward the spectacle.
The legendary spectacle that, perhaps, would be the last his eyes would ever behold.
He ran forward, silently praying.
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