The sky had turned an unsettling shade of gray, an omen of what was to come.
The air felt heavier, thick with the scent of rot and something far worse—death.
Kismet stood in the middle of a desolate field, the ground beneath my boots cracked and charred as if something unnatural had seeped into the earth itself.
His fingers twitched instinctively as he felt the approaching presence.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
A shriek pierced the heavy silence, echoing from the sky. He tilted his head up, scanning the dark clouds.
There, barely visible against the stormy backdrop, it came into view.
"Rukhmar," Kismet muttered under his breath, recognizing the abomination. The Undying Harbinger—an undead beast, its existence driven only by the desire to hunt and destroy.
