The carriage approached the Obsidian Maw region three hours past dawn, and Azrail watched through the wide glass panels as the landscape below underwent its final transformation from merely volcanic to actively hostile.
The volcanic rock that had characterised the Dominion's territories turned from red-black to pure obsidian, massive sheets of black glass that caught the perpetual twilight and reflected it as something darker and more distorted. The air pressure changed—he could feel it even through the carriage's protective formations, a weight that pressed against mental barriers rather than physical ones.
'Mental pressure, The Maw is already affecting the environment. We're not even at the crater yet.'
He thought.
