A sprawling metropolis of steel and sorcery stretched to the horizon. It was larger than a decade ago, but also far more chaotic. The obsidian obelisks once ringed around the mountains were gone, replaced by tiered black spires, each exuding a pressure so holy it made the knees want to bend.
Every tower had its own foreign style, like grafts from other worlds. Orson could feel different divine rules bleeding from each one.
He looked toward the distance, toward the place people like him once called home. The Chaos Hall was gone. The old city lord's manor had been leveled and turned into the city's filthiest slum. Gaunt shapes drifted through its alleys like hungry ghosts.
He had thought that upon becoming something that battled gods, his heart would be steady as iron. Yet as he took in this view, anger tangled with helplessness across his face.
