The Crimson Cloud was a grotesque and unsettling existence—something that had no place in the world. And yet, no one seemed to know of its presence.
Even Northern had dismissed it just as one of the wonders of the Central Plains—until he gazed into the abyss… and the abyss gazed back.
Thousands of eyes. Watching.
Northern did not like it.
If whatever dwelled within that crimson depth were ever set free… he doubted even his power would be enough to fight it.
At least, not at his current stage.
But he was still a Sage. Soon, he would become an Ascendant. And, hopefully, Paragon would follow soon after.
Yet, despite knowing this, Northern felt no urgency to rush. Instead, he saw purpose in continuing his descent into the dungeon.
The most terrifying part of it all, however, was something far more insidious.
He was beginning to see Rughsbourgh's point of view.
And it was starting to look… justifiable.
But nothing could justify inherent wickedness.
