The transition between the black bridge and the Iron-Blood Clan wasn't gradual, rather the scenery change was jarring to say the least.
One moment, the ground was the familiar, blood-soaked crimson grass of the Vane domain.
The next, it was dead earth, choked by grey ash and littered with rusted scrap metal.
The air grew heavier here, tasting of sulfur, oil, and the copper tang of electrified mana.
Damien adjusted his mask, his internal filtration system humming softly to scrub the toxins from the air.
"Welcome to the Wastes," Captain Vesper whispered, his voice tight. He signaled his squad of five elite Blood Knights to spread out in a loose skirmish formation.
"From here on, we have to be careful. If we are spotted, the alarm will be raised before we can draw our swords."
"It's quiet," Isabelle noted, walking a step behind Damien. Her red eyes scanned the jagged horizon of scrap piles and distant smokestacks.
"Too quiet. Where are the patrols?"
