The Lich's eye sockets glowed with an unholy radiance, twin orbs of spectral malevolence that pierced through the darkness. The shackles, adorned with the lingering essences of the fallen, constrained the Lich's spectral form, a testament to the cosmic forces that held him captive in this surreal dimension.
The once-imposing visage of the Lich had eroded into a state of profound decay. His skeletal features were etched with the passage of time, a grotesque caricature of the immortal being he had once been. Wisps of necrotic energy clung to his form, manifesting as an ethereal shroud that whispered of his formidable past.
As the Lich stood shackled, the stench of death and decay emanated from his wretched form. The spectral chains, woven from the remnants of fallen soldiers, bound him to the collective essence of the battlefield. The Lich's weakened and rotting appearance bore witness to the toll exacted by the ceaseless passage of cosmic time.
