The sun peered through the sky, its golden light reflecting off the deep pools of blood that stained the broken streets.
The city was as bleak and solemn as ever… the rift in the sky shifting lazily like a living cloud, casting its vast, unnatural shadow over parts of the crumbling metropolis.
It was quite early in the morning—though apparently, not too early for a slaughter.
The blood remained stagnant… thick, clotted, congealing amid the scattered corpses. These weren't human.
They were scaled creatures, grotesque things with tusks jutting from twisted faces. Multiple eyes blinked erratically across their warped skulls, and they clutched crude, rotting weapons that smelled of decay and salt.
These creatures, as Damon had come to learn, were called Ground Crawlers.
They were once citizens of Lysithara—humans consumed by rot and corruption, their flesh twisted by the decay of the city until they became these shambling aquatic beasts.
