The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, gemstone-encrusted femur bones are scattered all over the polished, silver surface of a massive, metallic lake, partially covered in a thick, sticky residue that's reflecting a sickly, pulsing light from the sky. The air's heavy with the smell of burning fuel, and it's humid as hell, like, I can feel the moisture clinging to my skin. Ravens' silhouettes are being etched into the surface of the lake by an unseen force, like they're being burned into the metal itself, and... the constellations above are slowly rearranging to spell out the words "Baphomet's Wager" in twisted, Gothic letters.