After the divine grace came to an end, the remnants of humanity cowered, acutely aware of their looming demise. Desperation clung to the air like a dense fog, suffocating the last flicker of hope within their souls. Defeated, they sprawled across the barren earth, resigning themselves to the mercy of Bruce's impending judgment.
Amid this desolation, a fifth-level magician, self-proclaimed apostle of the Holy Light Goddess, spat venomous curses at Bruce, defiance blazing in his eyes.
Bruce's gaze fell upon the magician's form, an involuntary admiration surfacing within him. The magician's physique was a sculptural marvel – ivory skin stretched over a harmony of sinews and curves. Yet, in the shadows, lurked vile intentions. Bruce's piercing gaze caught the malevolent glint in the eyes of his followers, particularly the grotesque, green-skinned goblins. Their desire was palpable, drool dribbling from their jagged teeth in unashamed torrents.
