The tension in the air was almost suffocating.
Emery and the others couldn't help but feel a gnawing anxiety in the pit of their stomachs. The figure looming before them wasn't just another undead horror; it was a corpse of a celestial race, the preserved remains of a supreme being. Even in death, it radiated an oppressive might that seemed to make the space around it heavier and harder to breathe.
A dozen talismans clung to its massive body, each etched with dense, ancient runes. They pulsed faintly, like veins carrying divine energy. Behind the giant, Talaro's voice echoed—deep, ritualistic, each chant peeling away another layer of the seals. Every time a talisman loosened and fell, the giant's aura flared, another wave of ancient, suffocating power filling the air.
Dark Emery moved before the next talisman could fall.
The plan was simple: kill the caster and the undead would crumble.
