Half an hour ago.
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The sulfurous winds carried more than the scent of brimstone—they carried the weight of destiny itself, heavy and oppressive as storm clouds. Three figures materialised from the writhing shadows at the edge of the demon territories, their emergence heralded not by fanfare but by the very air growing thick with divine retribution. The temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant, frost forming on obsidian stones despite the hellish heat that had reigned moments before.
Megaera stepped forward first, each footfall causing hairline cracks to spider through the volcanic glass beneath her feet. Her serpentine hair writhed with barely contained rage, each strand the thickness of a man's arm, dripping venom that hissed and steamed against the ground like acid rain.