Dreadspire

The city feels lifeless, but suddenly a voice—deep, distorted, and dripping with malice—slices through the suffocating quiet. What’s this? A little human?! A chill races down your spine as the voice continues, mocking and yet brimming with dark anticipation: Oh, how delightful. We are going to have so much fun! Every word carries a weight of dread, each syllable crawling into your very core. You can feel the predator’s gaze in the fog, and every instinct screams to run… but to where?