["Brace yourselves—this isn't like before!"] Orryn shouted inside Shellia's head, his tone bouncing between fear and thrill.
The High-Rank Priest stepped forward from the ruined altar. His crimson eyes glowed darker than the five priests they had just defeated, and the corruption dripping from his aura clung to the air like tar. His robes, once holy white, now shimmered with black veins running across the fabric, twisting the sacred embroidery into grotesque patterns. The sheer weight of his presence pushed the group back a step.
"Lady Shellia," Isyra whispered, staff shimmering with lunar runes, "this one is no ordinary foe. Even my visions blur when I try to peer at his future."
"That doesn't sound reassuring at all," Shellia muttered, clutching her weapon tighter. Sweat dripped from her brow though the church air was cold.
