On the other side of the continent, the majestic white city of Lustris had nothing white left but the scattered piles of its citizens' bones. When there were any left.
Most of the time, they ended up in the bottomless stomachs of those insatiable Spawn, never to be spat back out.
It made the towering tree of light looming above them all the more unsettling, with its shimmering golden leaves and colossal, immaculate white trunk thicker than ten skyscrapers bundled together. For the few civilians who had miraculously managed to take refuge beneath it, its presence was no longer reassuring in the slightest.
The hybrid Spawn parasitized by its seeds hadn't brought the salvation they'd desperately hoped for. They'd driven the final nail into the coffin of their despair.
Those naive enough to put their faith in the guardian tree had ended up impaled by the very roots meant to protect them, then drained down to their last scrap of life energy.
Anthace wasn't even hiding it anymore.
