In a place far from Vollua:
The dark room of a fortress vibrated with an unholy energy. Kassandra screamed.
Her body, once sculpted by years of discipline, was now a carcass stained by the demonic glyphs etched into her flesh. Her skin, once smooth and luminous, was marked by deep scars, burns blackened by corruption. Her muscles, which once inspired strength and agility, trembled under the strain of the magic of the Lords of the Apocalypse.
Around her, the Seven sat silhouetted in the shadows, their shapes barely discernible against the flickering glow of the infernal flames.
One of the Lords, tall and draped in an absolute black cloak, took a step forward. His eyes, two unfathomable abysses, rested on the captive.
- She's tenacious.
Another, whose voice whistled like an ill-fated wind, sneered.
- It doesn't matter now. We're only playing, let's get serious and she'll bend effortlessly.