Hikaye

The elect must travel to the nadir point where the seed-of-all-potentiality is nested within an exitless dust-trap that grows withered buildings as a tree does branches. Like the resting place of all rot, this substratum is sanctum to the worst of evolution's lost causes; a burial ground for dying worlds and their malformed inhabitants. Only by utilizing a transdimensional tuner will the pilgrims be able to bridge the many tears in reality's worn fabric en route to their goal. The sensory dilating aesthesis of higher planes, however, is not without its risks Free hostage angels, pray for your enemies, recruit from the fallen, and fight to preserve your subtracting sense-of-self as you dimension-hop blind alleys towards the beginning-of-that which-has-no-end