The air itself writhed, thick with corrupted mana that pulsed like festering wounds in the very fabric of the world. Black and violet streams bled from cracks in the walls, twisting unnaturally, hissing like serpents hungry for life. The ground was uneven, soaked with a miasma that seemed to breathe, its every exhale whispering curses into the silence.
At the far end of the vast chamber, a towering throne of jagged obsidian rose from the corrupted earth. It pulsed faintly, alive with veins of dark energy. A cloaked figure stood before it, its presence alone warping the space, shadows bending unnaturally around the folds of its robe.
The stillness shattered as a communication crystal in the figure's hand glowed a faint crimson, carrying whispers from afar. The figure listened, then let out a cold chuckle that reverberated through the chamber.
"Hmph… it looks like we still have some spies."
