The moment the words were spoken, the air seemed to thicken. Every chief, every warrior, and every champion knew that this was the moment that would decide their fate.
The champions from each of the twenty villages stepped forward in unison, their expressions solemn, their determination burning quietly within their eyes.
Max felt the tension rise as he followed Chief Igris and the warriors of his village toward the enormous, jagged pit ahead. The den of the Devouring Ants stood like a wound in the world itself.
The entrance stretched wide and deep, swallowing the faint violet light of the wasteland. A foul stench of decay drifted out from the darkness, thick with the smell of soil, death, and the strange metallic tang of blood.
