Lamastu turned to Naamah, her voice cold and steady, "Is it ready?"
Naamah's lips curled into a chilling smile. "It is."
Without hesitation, Naamah stepped forward, her blind eyes glowing with a sinister dark light. The air around her seemed to ripple as if reality itself was bending under her will.
Runes, ancient and filled with power, poured from her skin like living streams of magic even though they were not. They twisted and spiraled, ascending into the air, forming intricate patterns that hummed with a malevolent force. Her voice echoed through the battlefield, rich and commanding, as if she were reciting an incantation drawn from the deepest abyss.
Her words were not for mortal ears—they resonated with the very fabric of the world. Such was the command of one that had fed from the tree of knowledge.
