The figure stood motionless, bathed in an eerie, dim light that cast long, shifting shadows on the cave walls.
Raven couldn't see the face of the person, but he was certain that this was the person he was looking for.
Raven faced the figure, whose back was turned towards him. Clad in a somber cloak, the garment appeared drenched in crimson, an unsettling sight. The unmistakable scent of blood hung heavily in the air.
In his right hand, the man tightly grasped a seemingly ordinary wooden staff, which resembled more of a walking stick in appearance.
Raven was engulfed by an overwhelming scent of blood, a heaviness he had never experienced before. It felt as though he was submerged deep in an ocean of pure, crimson liquid.
The intensity was bewildering, making him question the magnitude of lives that must have been taken to emit such a concentrated blood aura. Was it in the millions? Billions? Or perhaps even beyond that?