Blacker that dark.
The soft black mist brought misfortune and ruin.
The taste on the tongue— butter and horrid.
With a wicked stench that cling to the back of the throat.
Cain had a terrible expression on his face as he peered out his tent.
On the back of the {Longhorn Mares}, the rather putrid nature of the Devil Miasma was not very overwhelming. However, now that they were on the ground, it simply overpowered every other thing.
Plus, with it being night, the visibility was rather low.
To counter that, there were dozens of magic lamps erected on the watch posts all around their temporary camp.
But they still couldn't do anything about the smell.
'What a vile stench this is.'
He let out a sigh then scowled, tasting the rancid air on his lips.
'I can't sleep.'
There was simply too much for him to worry about.
Not even the Devil Mutants, but rather a case of a surprise attack. He couldn't delude himself into thinking he was infallible.
