The Whispered Warning

Arthur loomed like a walking catastrophe across the barren expanse of the Scorching Badlands. His vast, scaled form, spanning seventy-five feet from head to tail, cast an immense shadow over the cracked, scorched ground. Each step sent shivers through the earth, the hardened surface splintering into fractured lines, radiating outward as if fleeing from his presence. The Cursed Crown hummed in his massive claws, its vibration carrying a resonance that gnawed at his core. The weight of the crown, though negligible to his colossal strength, felt almost alive, as if it wanted him to plunge deeper into the twisted landscape.