It was dark here…
Deep and oppressive darkness, so thick it filled your lungs and broke your spirit. The ground was corrupted, and countless abominable horrors clashed in a chaotic symphony of pain and suffering.
Yet, despite the vileness of this place, there was a red glow. It flickered wildly from within — the light of wild, unrelenting flame. And within those flames, a man burned… laughing. Laughing crazily into the void.
The more he burned, the greater his resistance to the fire became. He didn't burn because someone had set him ablaze. He burned because he wanted to.
The pain meant nothing to him. And as the flames scorched his flesh and licked at his soul…
His mastery grew.
Damon walked out of the pyre the villagers had built to kill him. Did they truly believe he would burn from such mundane fire? Wood and oil? When he had once set himself ablaze in the dark depths of Lysithara with magical fire, enduring torment so potent it shattered weaker minds?
