The Bone Dragon stood in the deepest, darkest part of the chasm, a monument of obsidian bone and malevolent, green light. It was a creature of impossible size, its skeletal form a masterpiece of natural, terrifying architecture. Its empty eye sockets glowed with a faint, necrotic fire, and the very air around it seemed to warp and shimmer with the sheer, oppressive weight of its power. It was not just a beast; it was a god of death, a silent, eternal king in a kingdom of the dead.
It let out a roar, a sound that was not a sound at all, but a silent, bone-chilling wave of pure, unadulterated death that seemed to shake the very foundations of my soul. The whispers of the a thousand dead souls that had been a constant, mournful hum in the background of my thoughts now rose to a deafening, terrified scream.
