The jungle was no more.
With the Guardian slain and the Vein of the Earth severed, the massive fungal trees around the clearing were already beginning to wilt, turning from vibrant purple to a dull, necrotic grey.
But Damien didn't care about the flora. His attention was fixed on the geyser erupting from the ground.
WHOOSH.
A pillar of cold, salty water shot twenty feet into the air from the organic tunnel, soaking the three of them.
"Salt," Damien muttered, wiping the brine from the lens of his mask. "And heavy Abyss mana concentration."
He looked at Elian. The old Arch-Mage was shivering, hugging his bone cane.
"Layer 3," Elian chattered, his teeth clicking together.
"The Great Lake. It is more than just a body of water, Mage. Not only is it a crushing depth. "
"But The atmospheric pressure alone is three times that of the surface. If you go too deep... it will snap your ribs like dry twigs."
"I assume there's no staircase?" Damien asked dryly.
