Death of a Mimic

The Twisted Rock soared higher and higher into the sky, and as it did, a terrible crushing force assaulted the two living beings that were pressed into its surface, separated only by a dozen meters of dark stone.

The large adamantine chest did not look too good. The wood was slowly losing its color, the strips of metal reinforcing it showed growing patches of rust. It seemed as though the creature was struck by some terrible disease. In a sense, it was… after all, the Broken Oath was currently destroying its soul bit by little bit.

Sunny did not look that much better, though.

He was laying on the hard stone, looking at the merciless skies, struggling to breathe and endure the pain. His armor was soaked in blood, and his broken arm was pressed tightly against his chest. His face was deathly pale, almost the same color as the tall and majestic Ivory Tower that floated high above the world, shrouded in the whitest of clouds.

Every breath was a torture.