The door loomed in front of them like a sleeping giant, towering over all, its surface covered in carvings of twisted dark figures, etched deep into the frame.
The images stretched across the entire structure like a haunting painting of dread and death, telling a story no one wanted to read.
Venedix stepped forward and extended her hand, placing her palm against the door.
The surface was cold, rough, and pulsing with something ancient.
She stood still for a moment, feeling the texture beneath her skin.
The door suddenly let out a low whirring sound, sharp and eerie, like it was screaming in protest, rejecting her touch with something unnatural.
"This cannot be opened by conventional means," Venedix thought, her expression unchanged as she slowly shifted her hand down to the hilt of one of her swords.
Gripping it tight with both hands, she took a step back, readying herself.
Her blade began to hum, and golden cracks of lightning started to arc violently across its surface.
