But the most horrifying feature was his mouth—a massive, gaping maw that had no beginning or end, a rift of darkness within his crystalline face that seemed to consume all light and hope. From this abyss came a sound that was neither roar nor scream but a dreadful, soul-rending wail that reverberated in their bones, as if the king's spirit was caught in an endless loop of torment and rage.
The entire hall shook as he took form, his massive, crystalline frame now standing as a colossus of eldritch energy and shattered will. Arpious and Elara could feel the weight of his malice, pressing down upon them like an iron shroud. His spirit, now untethered from the restraints of flesh and mortality, was nothing but an embodiment of destruction—an unstoppable, unfeeling force bent solely on annihilating everything before it.
