The cathedral convulses as though it had lungs. Pillars splinter inward, arches sag like ribs collapsing, and the nave narrows into a spiraling throat. Zealots shriek with rapture as they are dragged screaming toward the altar's core, their blood spraying in red-black arcs that burn mid-air into fire. Wolves claw at the twisting ground, paws ripping through stone that pulses like living flesh.
Ironsworn oaths ignite across their arms and throats—"Orel drael, shael unbind, orel drael, shael unbind…"—but the words unravel as they are dragged, one by one, into the black fire. Their voices cut short, their bodies dissolved in silence.
Above, dragons roar and batter their wings, but the air itself has turned to chains. One by one they slam against the ceiling, pinned there by an unseen gravity, flames choking in their throats until smoke spills from their maws like dying incense.
