The third floor was a stark contrast to the lush jungle below. They stepped out onto a windswept plateau of cracked, black rock under a sky that was a perpetual, angry red. Jagged spires of obsidian jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and the air was thin and cold, carrying the faint scent of sulfur.
"Well, this is cheerful," Jolly muttered, pulling her cloak tighter around her.
Ada's instruments whirred, analyzing the environment. "The mana here is volatile, almost explosive. It's infused with some kind of… chaotic elemental energy."
As if to prove her point, a nearby rock spire suddenly erupted in a shower of sparks, a stray bolt of lightning arcing from its peak to another spire in the distance.
"Watch your step," Vell warned, his eyes scanning the treacherous landscape. "This place is a minefield."
