Uriel's movements came to a halt.

The barrage of beams from the stone masks ceased.

Drip. Drip.

However, the edges of the battlefield began to fill with the creeping, sticky miasma. It oozed relentlessly, gradually consuming the Altar of Resurrection and signaling the final stage of this battle.

It engulfed everything—the vile remnants of this place, the lingering resentment of the countless souls who perished here, and a thousand years of accumulated malevolence.

"Rain! This… it’s like the Abyss Plains!" Chris exclaimed.

"Yes, it feels similar," I replied as Chris came to my side, scanning the area.

"Do you think …