What meets the eye is darkness, cold, and deathly silence.
In my ear, there is only the dripping sound of liquid hitting the ground.
In the surrounding air, crimson blood strands float, clawing, trying to break free from this cage.
Yet Rogel's power firmly binds them.
This is the manifestation of pain.
The black-red blood dripping on the ground is an intertwining of pain and pollution, solidifying into substance.
Rogel silently looks into the distance, towards the center of this palace.
There is a massive yet simple throne.
On the throne sits an extraordinarily tall, yet emaciated person.
A giant sword with traces of decay stabs into the floor in front of him, equally corroded by black blood strands.
His two withered hands powerlessly hang onto the throne's armrests, with black-red blood constantly dripping down from his fingertips.
"Kadi..."
Mira stood stunned, disbelief in her eyes.
