The Crimson Spire trembled as though the world itself were fracturing. Its towering walls groaned, ancient stone splitting under the weight of divine wrath. Debris plummeted from the shattered ceiling, crashing onto the throne hall's fractured marble floor with bone-rattling force. The wind howled through gaping wounds in the spire's structure, a feral chorus of wolves scenting blood. Dust and ash swirled in chaotic eddies, catching the flickering light of crimson braziers that lined the hall, casting grotesque shadows that danced like specters of fallen gods.
At the heart of the chaos stood the Forgotten Sovereign, a towering abomination of bone and mist. His skeletal arm, adorned with jagged shards of petrified marrow, swung with apocalyptic force, unleashing a tidal wave of dark energy that tore through the air like a living void. The ground buckled under its weight, fissures snaking across the floor as the hall threatened to collapse into oblivion.
