Unconsciously, the scenery around had changed, as if the world had switched overnight. The red land disappeared, replaced by a sky devoid of color. Looking around, everything was a grey blur. Standing at the ship's railing, Lynch couldn't find the horizon at all—the sky and the land had become the same color.
The demons' ship gradually slowed down, as lifeless and languid as this world. The Nether River's water weakly splashed a few droplets, not even bothering to make a "splashing" sound. The sky seemed to be shedding sand, and even the demons, naturally red-skinned, were slowly cloaked in grey.
"The Grey Ruins!" Lynch exclaimed, "So our destination is here!"
"Is there anything surprising about it?" The black-robed mage sat on the deck, his magic book beside him. In the glass bottle in his hand, a dose of bitter cough syrup was slowly turning green. "I thought you already knew the destination, which is why this planar ship was built for refuge."
