The grand hall was pitch-black, the passageway corridors were filled with a foul stench, and the ground, walls, and ceiling were covered with twisted, ferocious faces that gave one goosebumps with their dark and eerie decorative style.
Walking among them felt as though countless tentacles were wrapping around one's body, dragging a person to become one with the hall.
It wasn't an illusion; those omnipresent whispers, like sighs of some ancient creature, possessed the terrifying ability to corrupt human thought and flesh.
Ordinary people entering the grand hall would instantly lose their sanity and become eternally mad, and even powerful mages would morph into creatures resembling Nate after listening to too many whispers.
Wayne found it manageable; it was spooky, but it all depended on comparison—if compared to the Ancient Gods of Dragonheart Island, the whispers here were at best chaotic noise, sizzling and crackling, with a very poor signal.
Trivial stuff!