The eerie, suffocating silence of the abyss pressed heavily against the protective magical barriers of the floating dreadnought. As the colossal stone fortress drifted further into the airspace of the Masters' homeland, the true horror of their enemy's domain revealed itself in grim, monochromatic detail.
There was absolutely no green. There were no rolling hills, no winding crystal rivers, and no deep, ancient forests.
Stretching out below them, spanning the entirety of a massive continent, was an endless, geometric wasteland of jagged grey metal. Towering brutalist structures of polished steel and reinforced concrete pierced the oily, yellowish-grey smog that clung to the surface. Rivers of thick, glowing synthetic coolant pulsed through trench-like conduits, replacing the natural leylines of the earth. The air did not smell of salt or soil; it reeked of burning ozone, industrial lubricants, and the sterile, metallic scent of cold machinery.
