Chapter Eight Hundred And Twenty Three – 823
Between one backward step and the next, the dark flesh parted, and Felix found himself in yet another new place.
"Don't trust the Beast, huh?" Felix rolled his neck. It cracked and sent a shudder of relief through him. "I knew that already, Grim."
He looked around. As if the blasted spirit tree hadn't been bad enough. Now, he stood before a wide pit within which boiled a miasmic stew. It took him a minute or so to realize that he was staring at the remnants of a magic city, replete with soaring crystalline arches and beacons of strange energy. The center of the city, however, had collapsed entirely. That miasmic stew bubbled and sloshed, filled by the oozing trails that poured from nearby open windows and gaping doorways.
The remains of living things.
A Primordial raged in the muck, biting through armored warriors that tried and failed to face it’s strange might. Its body was wild and corrupted, the flesh grown too much across its bony frame.
Fleshcurse. Felix could almost see the crimson rot exuding from the Primordial's body, infecting the ground and all things that lived within the radius of its power. The creature was mad, and whenever it wasn’t attacking Nymean warriors, it was snapping at its own limbs as it writhed in the muck, demolishing more of the city as if by accident.
He flared Emperor's Vigilance. Only a single line populated his sight.
Name: Primordial Of Vanished Horizons
Manaships appeared around him—or perhaps they had been there all this time—but now armies of the Golden Empire dropped from their decks. Magi and warriors alike descended, riding Chimeras and Dragons as they sought out the Primordial. Song and magic coiled together, firing from their hands as one.