Suzune was breathing heavily, her chest heaving against the pressurized constraints of her dark-purple bodysuit.
Behind the visor of her cold indifference, she felt the cacophony of a million damned souls clawing at the fringes of her mind, their voices a discordant symphony of agony.
This was the true price of the "Witch of Dun Scáith."
This was why she fought so hard to keep her Karyoku dormant.
After all, this wasn't just a physical burden, but a spiritual invasion.
Every second she spent anchored to the Land of Shadows, she experienced the collective resentment, the bone-chilling torment, and the eternal despair of every entity that had ever been discarded into that gray, lifeless world.
It was a pressure that threatened to hollow out her own identity, replacing her memories with the screams of the dead.
