The two, colossal red eyes that opened in the darkness were not the eyes of a beast. They held no malice. No predatory hunger. They were ancient. Weary. Filled with a deep, sorrowful corruption. The air in the chamber grew heavy and cold.
The triumphant shouts of The Unchained died. The sudden, oppressive silence was a physical weight. The rhythmic, ground-shaking heartbeat grew louder. A slow, inexorable drumbeat of impending doom.
From the absolute darkness, a shape began to emerge. Not a creature of flesh or shadow. A tree. Or, what had once been a tree. An Ancient Treant. A being that should have been a guardian of life. A creature of sunlight and green, growing things.
But this one was a perversion. Its bark, thick and gnarled as a dragon's hide, was a sickly, mottled grey. Covered in weeping, black sores that dripped a viscous, tar-like sap.
Its branches were not covered in leaves.
