As Lyerin and his tribe continued their journey through the decaying streets of the apocalyptic city, a sense of eerie calm hung in the air.
The blood of the Fleshers still stained the streets, and the Tentatorn's crystal glowed ominously in the hands of his tribe members.
However, their short-lived peace was abruptly interrupted.
A sudden tremor rocked the ground beneath their feet, sending shockwaves through the cracked pavement.
It was unlike anything they had ever felt before—deep, primal, and filled with a kind of malice that seemed to seep from the earth itself.
The rumbling intensified, each quake more violent than the last, shaking loose debris from crumbling buildings and making the ground vibrate like the heartbeat of some titanic creature beneath the surface.
The tribe members looked around in wide-eyed terror, gripping their weapons tighter.