The Hollow Realm.
A place that exists beyond the reach of Heaven and Hell, where no god dares to tread and no mortal can endure for long.
The air itself was thick with despair, heavy and cold, as if every breath carried the weight of a thousand dying screams. The sky bled with a cursed crimson sun, its light warped and sickly, casting twisted shadows that writhed across the land like living things. The moon was nothing more than a shattered husk, its broken pieces drifting endlessly among the clouds of black ash.
Below, the land was fractured into jagged, floating masses of rock, suspended over a churning abyss that devoured anything falling into its depths. Rivers of pitch-black ichor flowed between these isles, their surfaces shimmering with an oily, unnatural sheen. The stench of rot clung to everything, so strong it seemed to seep into the skin.
