Leva dived into the gigantic, churning sphere of miasma, and Eirin held her breath, her eyes squinted against the suffocating, inky darkness. The air, which had been so crisp and clean just moments before, became thick and heavy, an obvious, suffocating weight that pressed in on her from all sides. A creeping, crawling sensation, like a thousand phantom spiders, spread across her arms and face, an unnatural cold that seeped deep into her skin.
The sensation was unsettling, a physical manifestation of corruption trying to latch onto her. The darkness itself was not a simple absence of light; it was a living, swirling entity, a vortex of shadow and despair. Sounds, too, began to fill the air, not physical sounds, but whispers, a roar of agonizing secrets and forgotten pain, as they kept getting deeper into the sphere's cold, corrupting heart.
