Amidts The Chaos

A dark and abandoned chamber somewhere near the museum's grand halls, its air thick with the stench of decay.

Dim candlelight flickered across intricate inscriptions etched into the stone floor, pulsating faintly with ominous energy. A circle of hooded figures stood around the markings, their lips moving in synchronized whispers as they chanted cursed incantations.

Their eyes were vacant, devoid of life, as if their very souls had been sacrificed to the abyss.

Nearby, discarded corpses—withered and drained—were carelessly strewn about, their bodies reduced to mere husks.

Unlike the chanting cultists, a handful of men in distinct dark robes stood apart. They carried themselves with authority, their outfits setting them apart from the disposable pawns.

At the center of it all sat a figure upon a throne of carved stone—a makeshift seat of power within this grim lair.