After the chaos subsided, the Great Rift slowly returned to tranquility. Although not much time had passed, it seemed as if everyone had forgotten the brutal blood and fire, unafraid of the hateful evils, still rooted within the mist-wreathed Great Rift.
Perhaps just as the Tyrant said, as long as there are desperados in this world, the Great Rift will never die, like the final destination of all ocean currents, sheltering those demons and devils that cannot live in the sunlight.
The Tyrant stepped out of the dark room, standing at the highest point of a twisted building for the first time in a long while, overlooking the complexities of the Great Rift.
The collapsing paths of hesitation were being rebuilt bit by bit, aerial corridors were again erected between the cliffs, and continuous constructions were born along the precipices.
The Tyrant took a deep breath, feeling the breath contained in the wind, human desires weaving a tantalizing flavor, lingering endlessly in his mind.
