They hadn't made it far into the forbidden zone when a strange disturbance flickered ahead.
The air rippled.
The fog stirred, unnaturally.
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran beneath their feet.
"Everyone, stop moving."
Harry's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
The entire group froze.
His eyes were locked on the mist ahead, where the fog had grown thicker, heavier—like something was pushing through it from the other side.
"Do you see that?" he murmured, half to himself.
If one paid close attention, they'd notice it—a subtle shift, as though the mist itself was peeling back, disturbed by something approaching from the darkness.
Then Harry's expression darkened.
"A scent of soul and flesh..." he muttered, barely above a whisper.
His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. "Prepare yourselves. It might be a unique variant of infernal being."
Instantly, tension surged through the group.
Weapons were drawn.
Swords gleamed under the strange ambient light.
