Somewhere deep within the rift, where the air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something faintly metallic, three people sat around a stone table—each more bizarre than the last.
Behind them loomed a massive pink flower, its petals tightly clenched like a fist. It stood as tall as a grown man, pulsing faintly, as if breathing.
Thump.
A sound like a slow, monstrous heartbeat echoed through the chamber. Above the flower, suspended by writhing vines, hung a gigantic corrupted heart. Its surface was veined with black tendrils, each one squirming against the walls like serpents trapped in stone. Black veins pulsed under its translucent membrane, like parasites swimming in oil.
"Hmm… It still hasn't bloomed."
The voice belonged to the first hunter—an old man with hair as white as bone. A jagged scar ran down his face, cutting through his missing eye. For a brief moment, the scar glowed a deep, eerie blue before fading back into pale flesh.
