s the heartbeat grows louder, the spectral figure tightens his grip on the trident, his hollow eyes flaring with an ancient fury. The procession of lost souls halts, circling the throne in eerie silence, their translucent forms shivering in the dark currents as they wait. One by one, they raise shadowy hands to their chests, and an icy blue light flickers within, as if each were offering up the last remnants of their spirit to fuel the trident’s awakening. The citadel walls begin to pulse in sync with the relentless heartbeat, each throb causing cracks to spider across the stone. From these cracks, a thick, inky substance oozes, twisting through the water like tendrils reaching toward the gathered souls. The shadows in the room deepen, drawn to the liquid’s pull, merging into a vortex of darkness at the feet of the spectral figure. The atmosphere thickens, the weight of ancient curses settling on every stone, every soul. Then, from somewhere deeper within the citadel, a deep, guttural voice calls out, shattering the silence. Its tone is ancient and wrathful, like the voice of the ocean itself, speaking in a language lost to time. The lost souls bow, their figures trembling, as the figure with the trident gazes deeper into the vortex, his eyes glowing brighter with each syllable. A massive, ghostly sea serpent, bound by spectral chains, emerges from the darkness. Its translucent scales glisten with a cold, otherworldly glow, and its unblinking eyes fix upon the trident. The serpent coils around the throne, its chains rattling ominously as it waits, bound to serve but straining to break free. The figure points the trident forward, murmuring an incantation, and the serpent lets out a piercing wail, shaking the very foundations of the citadel. The time of awakening has come—the citadel’s dark secrets have been unleashed, and the ocean stirs, carrying the echoes of this forbidden power toward the unsuspecting surface world above.
28.10.2024 15:53