Shadows peeled away as Draven prowled through those pitch-black corridors of his lair, boots thudding on stone that seemed to swallow up every other sound. The walls? Alive with blood runes—old as time, throbbing with this eerie red glow that twisted and jumped in the corners of his vision, almost like they were laughing at him. Even the air felt wrong, thick as grave dirt, and if you listened, really listened, if you were unlucky enough, maybe you could still hear screams echoing around—leftovers from all the souls he’d offered up, like the world’s most morbid echo chamber.His sanctuary was no cozy hideout, either. It clawed its way underground, deep beneath the Shadowlands—more like a dead god’s ribcage than any cathedral, really. Sharp stalactites hung everywhere, but forget water: these dripped some ooze collected from centuries of nightmares and misery. Right in the center squatted the altar, slick and glossy as obsidian, stained darker than any night, like it had soaked up ever
Last Updated : 2025-09-15 Read more