The descent into the ruins was suffocating.
The air grew heavy with an oppressive darkness, and the deeper they went, the stronger the corruption became. Walls pulsed like living flesh, and whispers slithered through the air—Nyxthar's voice, reaching into their minds.
"Why do you resist? Come, embrace eternity."
Ronan shuddered. "I hate this place already."
They pressed forward.
Then, the tunnel widened into a vast chamber.
And Nyxthar awaited them.
The monstrous entity had grown. No longer a mere shadow, it had taken form—a mass of writhing limbs, countless eyes blinking across its grotesque body. Its wings of abyssal darkness stretched wide, and its very presence made the ground rot.
It was no longer just a creature.
It was a god of the abyss.
"You have come," Nyxthar's voice echoed through the chamber. "Good. I was growing bored."
Vaelin raised his blade. "You die here."
Nyxthar laughed.
"Then come. Let us end this."