Death had made its home here. Ruin was merely its echo.
The whole place reeked of death and ruin. The vile stench of rot seeped into the lungs of whoever dared breathe the corrupt air.
Time itself had been twisted here—perverted beyond reason.
The cacophony of battle never ceased. The more nightmares fell, the thicker the corruption grew. These creatures didn't leave behind corpses. They became rot. Pure rot. Their deaths were just another poison spilled into the land.
But this... this was no nightmare.
It was one of the horrors of Lysithara.
A massive, titanic corpse—so enormous it could have leveled a city with a mere swipe of its claw—now lay broken, its rotting blood pouring out like endless rivers, its once-dreaded aura dimming.
"Hahaha..."
The laugh was deranged, rising from atop the creature's mountainous skull, nestled between its shattered horns.
A table sat there. A long, elegant table.
Surrounded by seats.
