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... he took in the twisted hellscape that now stained his mental space. The ground was nothing but cracked obsidian, seeping with pools of molten darkness. The sky above churned like a storm of blood and shadow, and the air itself seemed to be suffocating, clawing at his throat with unseen hands.

"Amusing, isn't it?" Zephiron's voice slithered around him, crawling into his ears like the cold touch of death itself. "The power to corrupt even your own sanctuary... with just a whisper."

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