His awareness cataloged every detail of the inverted first floor as his eyes adjusted to the warped physics.
The trees growing downward from what should have been the ceiling created a disorienting visual framework that made normal spatial reasoning useless.
Purple mist clung to the inverted canopy overhead, dense fog defying gravity with the same casual disregard the entire dungeon seemed to have for natural law.
The silver veins on his right arm continued to pulse faintly.
He tentatively moved his fingers, ensuring complete flexibility despite the visible effect extending from his fingertips to his shoulder.
Father Caelen had rolled off the bound serpent's back during their impact with the new floor, the old priest regaining his feet with surprising agility for someone his age.
