The entire separate plane had fallen into a state that could only be described as perfect madness and absolute ruin. The air itself was choking, thick with suffocating pressure and acrid fumes. Space had partially melted, distorted into warped layers that refused to fully stabilize.
The earth below had been reduced to nothing but a churning sea of molten lava, cracks glowing white-hot beneath rivers of fire. Smoke and toxic fumes filled every corner of the plane, obscuring vision and drowning the world in a suffocating haze.
Even the regenerative ability of the separate plane, once near-instantaneous, had slowed drastically beneath the overwhelming might of Anthony's attack. The world no longer snapped back into place as it usually did. Reality hesitated, strained, and groaned, as though it feared repairing itself too quickly lest it be torn apart again.
