While the armies of the Graecia Empire roared with triumph, voices raised in awe and exultation, not all hearts shared in that glory.
Far from the cries of victory, Pompeyo trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. Everything—his plans, his sacrifices, the lives he had traded away—had amounted to nothing.
The portal to the Dark Dimension had been destroyed. The fragment of that eldritch being that had managed to breach the world was now being consumed, devoured piece by piece by the writhing blackness of the Nightmare Universe, its teeth and eyes feasting on what remained of divinity.
Pompeyo's entire world fell into shadow. All his paths led only to ruin, and the echoes of the soldiers' chants pierced his heart like blades. Rage, envy, and despair boiled within him, a storm that threatened to consume his very sanity.
