The air in the underground space is as thick as liquid, with overwhelming energy pulsations and the faint echoes of countless souls' wails weaving into a mind-bending background sound. Dark purple crystals pulse slowly like living things, with dark red "veins" drooping down, continuously channeling the refined faith and soul energy into the twisted figure on the stone throne.
Lynch's gaze pierced through the disturbing glow, locking firmly onto Erodion. The Erodion before him was entirely different from the dignified and stern figure of the Shadow Tower's chief Judge remembered from memory, his body grotesquely swollen and mutated, skin covered with dark red lines and crystal-like calluses.
It was as if a Monster forcibly amalgamated by faith, ambition, and forbidden experiments. Only his eyes, though turbulent with the fervor and agony of billions, still retained a trace of the cold and sharp rationality belonging to a top Wizard.
