"You're right," Elius said, voice cold as the void between stars. His eyes flickered like dying stars in the twilight haze. "You can't win."
Then he lowered himself to one knee, placing his palm gently on the earth beneath them.
A low hum trembled through the ruins. At first, it was just a murmur in the dirt, like a whisper crawling through dead leaves. But then it grew. Louder. Deeper. The ground groaned, ancient and resentful, like something older than time had been stirred awake from its slumber.
RUMMMMMBBBBLLLLE.
A pulse of power surged from Elius's hand into the earth, and suddenly the dungeon ground exploded upward—uneven, jagged platforms thrusting themselves violently into the sky. Great slabs of cracked stone and raw soil tore themselves loose from the ground like broken teeth erupting from a mouth of madness.
The battlefield twisted and rose.
