The mountain fortress of Ourouboros was buried deep within the granite cliffs, its jagged towers hidden beneath layers of illusion spells. The entire lair was a maze of corridors reinforced by magic and steel, crawling with demonized soldiers and warped mages who had traded their humanity for monstrous strength. To most intruders, this place was a tomb from which there was no escape.
Tonight, it was the reverse.
Because Azariah Raizen had arrived.
He stood at the foot of the mountain, his tall frame draped in black and gold. His cloak whispered against the stone as the cold night wind howled. In the sky above, thunderclouds began to churn unnaturally, dark veins of electricity flickering inside them as though the heavens themselves feared what was about to walk forward.
