Abyss Tyrant stood with what appeared to be casual indifference. His face was a skull mask with two deep sockets housing lightless eyes. It was nearly impossible to discern what he was thinking—or if he was thinking at all.
He stood in the middle of the tunnel, his staff positioned behind him. Right now, Abyss Tyrant possessed only two hands, ivory lines stretching over sculpted muscles across both arms, his broad chest, and stoic abs. His skirt swayed subtly in the silence.
The Tyrant's head remained motionless, even as the tunnel began trembling with subtle vibrations. He seemed utterly unbothered.
Instead, he raised one hand and studied its claws, which gleamed with a sinister sheen.
Then he dropped his hand and leaned forward, lowering his body and cracking a spider web of fractures into the tunnel floor.
