FSHUUU!
The transition through the barrier felt like passing through ice water.
It was sudden shock of cold that penetrated even the Church-provided protective equipment, followed by oppressive weight that made breathing require conscious effort.
Rey emerged on the other side and immediately understood why forty percent of participants never returned.
The Great Dungeon of Death was a monument to despair made manifest.
What had once been a thriving city now existed as twisted mockery of civilization.
Buildings stood at impossible angles, their architecture warped by corruption that defied physical law. Streets ran in directions that hurt to observe, creating spatial distortions that made navigation conceptually difficult rather than merely challenging.
The sky—if it could be called that—was perpetual twilight, neither day nor night but sickly gray that suggested reality itself was dying.
