A vast region of the galaxy had been swallowed by a suffocating sea of green fog.
From afar, it resembled a diseased nebula—an unnatural stain spreading across the spiral arms of the cosmos. But this was no mere cloud of gas or cosmic dust. The fog was alive, pulsing slowly like the breath of a colossal organism. It crawled between stars, seeped through planetary systems, and bled into the void itself.
Within its boundaries, reality had been twisted beyond recognition.
Stars burned dimly behind layers of sickly emerald haze, their light warped into grotesque shapes before it could travel far. Entire constellations flickered like dying embers, their orbits destabilized by the invisible corruption that permeated the region.
Even the void between worlds had changed.
Space itself seemed infected.
Instead of silent emptiness, the darkness writhed with faint distortions—ripples that moved like parasites through the vacuum.
