In the cold, sooty-black darkness stood an altar-shaped structure. A single person was sitting on top of it in the lotus position.

The person was clad in crimson armor that looked wet, as though it had been freshly dipped in blood. He was merely sitting there, and yet he exuded a presence that would make any passers-by shudder with fear, though they would not be able to explain it. The void around him wavered and flickered.

A pair of cold eyes opened underneath the crimson helm.

In anger.

"Worthless thing!" he roared to the skies, heating up the worldly...