Under the chaotic sky, the black sand sea seemed ravaged by a divine battle, dotted with massive craters, torn chasms, and bizarre glass-like substances that appeared to be formed by the instant cooling of molten lava mixed with negative energy.
The air was filled with a pungent ozone smell, the stench of decaying elements, and an inescapable aura of death.
Lynch panted heavily, his sweat-soaked bangs dripping down his jawline onto the scorching black sand, immediately evaporating. His Wizard Robe was tattered in several places, the edges showing signs of corrosion or tearing, and the domain light close to his skin flickered erratically, evidently much depleted.
Before him was the last death crocodile still stubbornly resisting.
