Kane stepped through the obsidian doorway into a chamber carved from the mountain's molten heart.
Heat slammed into him. The air was so thick with sulfur and ash it seared his lungs with every breath.
Lava rivers carved glowing paths through black stone, casting everything in flickering crimson and gold.
The ceiling disappeared into darkness somewhere far above, lost in volcanic haze.
But Kane barely registered the environment.
His entire focus locked on the thing in the chamber's center.
The corrupted Dragon King.
What remained of him, anyway.
The creature towered thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of dragon and divine artifact.
Golden scales had turned black and pustulent, oozing corruption that hissed when it hit molten stone.
Six wings jutted from its back at wrong angles—some skeletal, others still covered in rotting membrane.
And embedded in its chest, pulsing with violent crimson light—
The Roaring Shard.
