The moment they stepped through the subspace's unstable exit, a wave of oppressive energy slammed into them. The air was thick—too thick—choked with the iron tang of blood and something worse. Something wrong. Damien's stomach twisted at the stench of rotting flesh laced with the acrid burn of corruption.
The cavern beyond was no longer as they had left it. The once-dim glow of eldritch runes had dulled, as if recoiling from the scene before them. Shadows slithered unnaturally along the walls, stretched by an unseen force. But Damien barely registered any of it—his eyes locked onto the carnage ahead.
Corpses. Dozens of them.
The remains of students and magic beasts lay strewn across the cavern floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles, flesh peeled back in grotesque formations as if something had been trying to reshape them. Some twitched despite being long dead, residual corruption animating muscle and sinew in spasmodic jerks. Others were still alive—barely.
