The air in the hall was thick with the ensuing stench of death as Corpses of dead cultists littered ground in a grotesque display.
As if guided by magic, small streaks of blood flowed out from the pools of blood and dissolved into the large glowing magic circle etched on ground, pulsing with a crimson red glow while carrying waves of corrupt mana with it.
The once reverred Hall of Divinity now resembled a grotesque battlefield littered with the corpses of both comrade and foes alike.
But at very heart of it all, a lone figure stood, calm and unmoving with his hood dropped down, revealing his appearance to the said intruders.
His pale skin washed in the light, scarred and burned in several places. His eyes were half open, as if he hadn't slept for more than just a few days. His pale, unkept golden hair was damp and clung to his face like glue, giving off the impression that he hadn't showered in a while.
