The God-Chosen Lord Molière was the first to leave the tiltrotor. With firm steps, he descended the ramp lowered from its belly, then removed his helmet and drew a deep breath.
The air was thick with pollutants, soot, and heavy corruption. The God-Chosen Lord smiled slightly, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth.
Much had changed here since the Brass Gate opened.
Over the past week, he had been busy crushing other New California Republic forces far from the city, ensuring that no other military power around Dunwich could strike back against the Blood-Worship Cult's grand design.
Moreover, ever since the signs of the apocalypse had appeared, the holy war banner of the Blood-Worship Cult had risen throughout the New California Republic. Though dozens of resistance enclaves remained scattered across the Republic, no single force could pose a true threat any longer.
This nation was finished. It was only a matter of time before it wholly embraced the Blood God.
As he descended the steps from the landing pad, he noticed that the surroundings had changed enormously compared to a week ago.
Even Dunwich Cathedral in the distance had changed greatly.
The spires that had once outlined the fortress had been torn down, replaced by iron pillars covered in spikes and impaling countless corpses.
Molière saw many skinless Enchanters perched among the bodies. These vicious monsters continually screeched and fought one another for the best nesting spots, while tearing at the corpses on the iron pillars and scattering viscera all over the ground.
Purple-red patterns covered the cathedral's once smooth, grayish-white walls. Molière was pleased to see that the corridor walls along his path had all been painted in blood with the symbols of the great Blood God.
Upon reaching the end of the passage, he nodded to the guards standing