Epilogue

The Orese hellscape is primordial.

Bursts of black clouds collide, crimson streaks illuminate the riotous sky. Lightning flares and morphs into forks of blood red, writhing in pain. Something about the silent chaos reminds him of his fallen son. Vilnus overlooks the dark realm from the tower of his stronghold. The hellish black structure looms like a massive sprawled claw, its jagged limbs twisted and grotesque. Rivulets of molten lava spill from the splay of its appendages, the searing streams flowing into the gaping abyss below. Each claw tip drips with fiery liquid, casting an eerie glow that flickers across the desolate landscape. The air is thick with the stench of sulphur and the oppressive heat of the molten rivers.