The old mine loomed ahead, carved into the volcanic cliffs like the mouth of a beast. Once a source of gems and pride, it now belched smoke and death. The Undead swarmed the tunnels, their hollow eyes glowing red with reflected flame.
We fought through choking ash, the air thick with heat and whispers. Deep within the Shaft Tower, we found Alaris—his body broken, his spirit fading.
“I hid the Mirror,” he gasped. “The soul of the All-Devouring Void… took Desmond’s corpse. It opens the gate.”
He died as the lava cracked the ground beneath him. His sacrifice had slowed the Void, but not stopped it.
Ahead, two paths remained—both perilous.
One through the burning ruins of Ash City, to hide the Mirror.
The other—a straight road through Hell’s own forecourt.
The choice was ours. Either way, fire awaited.
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