In front of them was a collapsed marketplace, or what little remained of it. Once it must have been a bustling square filled with vendors, shouting traders, and laughing children, but now it was nothing more than a graveyard of shattered stalls and overturned wagons half-buried in ichor.
To make things even messier, there were also some odd trees with black-colored leaves. The trees jutted out unnaturally from the cracked cobblestones, their roots splitting the stone like brittle parchment. Their bark was a sickly gray, and their black leaves dripped a tar-like sap that hissed when it touched the ground.
There was also something else that was odd. Damon noticed that for a while now, there were no creatures of the abyss flying at him, wanting to rip him apart. This was odd considering the fact that this place usually teemed with spawn, the Abyss vomiting out wave after wave without pause.
