Whatever silence might have existed before was quickly devoured by the thunderous sound of thousands of boots crunching up against the bone sand and the mutters and roars of confusion.
Nero's expression turned ugly. He could practically feel the ill omen in the air.
No...
'The Ein Sof in this place... It's all wrong!'
It was like a noisy pause before a storm, thick and heavy, saturated with the stench of decay. The fog rolled closer, curling around Nero's boots like fingers, carrying the scent of something far older than he could comprehend— rot, death, the sour iron tang of the despair dried into bone.
He looked around. Survivors from the Soul Examination were scattered unevenly across the wasteland, leaving them alone against the vast expanse of Golgotha.
Nero could see a scarce few on their knees, muttering prayers as tears of fear streamed down their faces. Most who had even a shred of survival instincts had already readied their weapons.
