DX01: SINGULARITY 06921
The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: I'm surrounded by ravens impaled on rusted, ornate spikes, their oily feathers dripping an acidic residue that's eating away at the damp, stone walls of a decrepit, abandoned mausoleum. Like, the air's heavy with the smell of putrid flesh and wet earth, and a sickly, emerald-green moss has grown thick on the granite floor, partially covering a faded fresco depicting Tantric rituals and Picatrix-inspired geometries. Uh, as I move, my footsteps resonate in perfect synchrony with the ravens' twitching, as if the cadence of death itself was orchestrating their macabre dance. Outside, it's an unrelenting, torrential downpour, shrouding everything in a disorienting veil of rain and darkness.
