At the edge of the kingdom lay a cursed wasteland, a desolate expanse of jagged rock scoured by howling winds, a place even the sun seemed to shun. The earth was cracked like a spiderweb, its exposed bedrock an eerie dark red—a silent testament to the blood that had once been spilled.
It was here that Count Doris had erected a fortress of blood and sin, like a demon's lair clawing its way out of the abyss.
The wind whipped sand and stone against the fortress's mottled walls, creating a sound like the wailing of vengeful ghosts. Count Doris stood on her exquisitely designed viewing platform, her crimson lips curling into a pleased smile. Below, the slaughter in the cages had reached a fever pitch. Blood pooled into small streams on the rough wooden planks, dripping through the cracks onto the parched earth below.
