"Since you refuse to attack, I suppose it's my turn."
Makareth extended a long, scarlet tongue, licking his lips in a grotesque pantomime of hunger. In the next instant, his form blurred violently. A shadow detached itself from his flesh—a perfect, silhouette doppelgänger of the Demon.
The shadow possessed no features save for a pair of glowing crimson eyes that radiated crushing pressure.
It flickered out of existence, teleporting instantly behind Albrecht and wrapping its arms around the High Inquisitor in a mockery of an embrace.
"Welcome to the Fragmented World," Makareth's voice rasped, low and cruel.
Before Albrecht could react, reality warped. He was pulled into a bizarre dimension stripped of all life—no mountains, no rivers, no birds. There was no sky, no earth. Albrecht felt as though he had been trapped inside a sketching, a flat world void of color.
Just as he attempted to probe his surroundings, the world fractured.
And Albrecht fractured with it.
