The air in the chamber hung heavy, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the lingering psychic residue of despair. The Nightmare Core, wounded but not broken, pulsed with a low, malevolent thrum, a constant, low growl that vibrated through Andrew's very bones.
The black vines, though scarred from Marrow's attacks and Andrew's desperate lunge, still writhed across the walls, connecting the pulsating orb to the very fabric of this Nightmare pocket. All around them, the black dust of dissolved Specters swirled, a testament to the brutal fight they had just endured.
Andrew felt utterly drained, his body screaming for rest, his muscles quivering from exertion. But the surge of defiant willpower that had allowed him to shatter the last Specter still hummed faintly within him, a fragile but powerful flame. He was exhausted, critically low on stamina, but his mind felt clear, resolute.
