Oiris's sharp azure wings pierced through the murky and heavy black clouds, deviating from their original route, and began to enter the territory that once belonged to the Tangista Empire.
Ronan stood at the majestic wingtip of Oiris, gazing downward. He had never been to Tangista, but he knew that the once Tangista could never have presented such a scene before him.
Now, Tangista resembled a cursed giant's corpse, its skin covered in festering and swollen pustules.
The vast plains were filled with decaying swamps; the vegetation of the forests had disappeared, like raised, hardened scabs clustering together, and the rivers beneath had dried up, appearing as purple-black fungal threads.
Innumerable abyssal creatures scurried like flies and maggots along the earth and low skies.
Ronan prompted Oiris to lower its body, then jumped down from its back, parting the omnipresent, floating purple-black smoke in the air, and gently landed his feet on a plot of fallow land.
