THE DOOR
From the shadows of the giant, rotting ferns, the monster emerged.
It was horrifying. It stood over eight feet tall, a grotesque parody of the human form. Its skin was a sickly, mottled grey, stretched too tight over exaggerated, bulging muscles. Its jaw hung open, revealing rows of jagged, broken teeth, and thick, dark veins pulsed across its hairless scalp. But the most terrifying thing about the beast was its eyes. They burned with a chaotic, violent purple light—the visual manifestation of unstable, corrupted mana.
It let out a guttural roar, a sound that held no intelligence, only pure, localized agony and rage. The air around its massive hands began to warp and distort as chaotic magic
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