The basement of the castle was silent.
Dasha stepped forward, one foot after another, the sound of his boots muted. The air was thick with the stench of decay, blood, and something older—something forgotten.
The deeper he walked, the more color drained from the world.
The bricks of the walls, once aged brown, turned to ashen gray. The torchlight dimmed, their orange flames shifting into hollow whites. Even his own skin paled as the very essence of this space drained away.
It was a side effect.
A passive consequence of his existence now.
Dasha Pang was consuming this place.
Every breath he took, every step he moved—his body instinctively absorbed insane amounts of Natural Qi.
