The walls exuded a tomb-like aura, emitting a faint, decaying odor that sent shivers down one's spine.
The light within the lair was dim, with only faint phosphorescence flickering in the murky shadows.
The air was thick with a heavy stench of decay, like the very breath of death. This miasma created an oppressive, unsettling feeling, as if every breath was tainted by death's shadow.
Not a hint of life existed within the lair; only silence and death.
The ground of the lair was covered with sprawling, withered, yellow vines that seemed devoid of all vitality. They intertwined to form a twisted, eerie mesh, as if trapping an ancient, malevolent power.
The lair lacked any water source. The air was dry and heavy, and dust filled the atmosphere, like a deathly shroud of sand.
Chen Mo could feel an endless chill emanating from this lair, as if it were the final resting place of death and despair.
