The ground trembled beneath Damien's feet, the deep rumble vibrating through the ancient stone of Blackreach. The air had shifted—thick, heavy, almost suffocating. It wasn't just the tremors; it was the feeling of something waking beneath them. Something that should have stayed buried.
Damien kept his blade drawn, his steel-gray eyes locked onto the Abyss King, who remained seated on his bone throne, unfazed by the chaos unraveling around them. The eerie blue fire flickering along the walls cast long, twisting shadows across his silver mask, making it impossible to tell if he was smiling.
"You've led your people into the jaws of something far greater than war," the Abyss King murmured, his voice smooth, deliberate. "You came seeking an enemy, but you've walked into a graveyard. And what do the dead do, Lord Protector?"