After a brief bout of dizziness—like his soul had been torn apart and then forced back together…
His boots came down on something solid—or rather, on a kind of ground with a very distinctive Abyss flavor to it, sticky and stinking of scorched sulfur.
A stench so intense it was impossible to put into words suddenly flooded his nose.
It was the acrid reek of rust mixed with heavy sulfur, the sickly-sweet rot of old blood dried to crust, the nauseating stench of corruption distilled from countless Deaths and madness left to ferment.
The air was heavy and scorching hot; every breath felt like swallowing viscous liquid full of grit, a faint burning instantly flaring in his lungs.
If the specialized helmet Filter system hadn't kicked on automatically, they'd probably be hacking their lungs out right now.
That was all these customized helmets were really for: Filter the air a bit—and this was about the only situation where they could actually use them.
