The Abyssal Dominion pulsed with an unnatural hunger, shadows writhing as the Void King sat atop his jagged voidstone throne. His hollow eyes ignited with malice, fixed on the faint resonance of the Aetherstorm’s awakening—a spark that dared to defy him.
“It belongs to me,” he hissed, his voice grinding like stone, as tendrils of dark energy coiled at his feet. “Mortals fumble with forces that could unmake existence itself.”
As the storm rippled through the fabric of existence, it fractured the delicate Seal that imprisoned him. The Void King’s rage deepened, but his malice sharpened into strategy. He rose, summoning his enforcer, Darkrend—a towering figure of precision and destruction, cloaked in void-forged armour.
“The storm’s essence is mine,” the Void King commanded, his words slicing through the darkness. “Find the vessel. Break them. Return the storm—no matter the cost.”
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In the distance, the Shadow Wraiths—silent phantoms born of fear—emerged from the swirling shadows, their cold, gleaming eyes a promise of despair. They would hunt the storm-bearer, their whispers of terror unraveling defiance before Darkrend delivered the final blow.
“Let the light falter, and the storm kneel,” the Void King growled, his jagged smile a reflection of his unrelenting hunger. “The void will reign.”
The Dominion trembled with his resolve. As his agents moved, the fragile flicker of hope held by the storm-bearer began to dim, while the shadows closed in, poised to consume everything.
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