Zhurrem drops into the steaming pit like a falling storm, bronze wings hammering the sulfur-thick air. Below, the marsh seam widens into a raw wound of black sludge and broken stone, and something ancient shifts beneath it.
The cold is climbing back up through the heat.
The entity answers the breach with a deep tremor. Black water heaves. Frost blooms at the edges of the pit, crawling fast over wet stone as if the marsh itself is trying to lock the thing down again.
Zhurrem
It wakes fully now. If it reaches the channels, it takes the whole marsh.
A pulse of pressure presses against Kamakulzar's skull, heavy as a hand. The open seam below is no longer just a wound, it is a mouth, widening toward the dark depths.
Zhurrem
Strike at the source, or it spreads.