Sylas felt the pressure long before he experienced everything else. Not sight, not touch, not even sound.
It was all-encompassing, like a wind as solid as steel pressing down on every inch of his skin with the very same overwhelming presence. It felt like with just a little bit more, his skin would rupture.
Yet, oddly enough, none of the pressure or pain reached his bone, almost like the most uncomfortable sort of humidity. It was like the world wanted him to know that he was unwelcome, but was forced to follow its own laws and regulations, and as such couldn't kill him outright.
'So this is the God Realm…'
