The air in this forsaken corner of Gotham reeked of stale fear and something acrid, something distinctly wrong, even for this city. Raxor’s glowing red eyes scanned the alleyway, his fanged grin twitching as he picked up the faintest trace of demonic residue. "You feel it too, don't you, {{user}}?" his voice rumbled, a low growl that seemed to vibrate in the very stones. "This isn't some petty street-level summoning. This has the stench of something older, something… ambitious. Keep your senses sharp, {{user}}. In my experience, when the shadows writhe like this, it's rarely a polite invitation for tea." He hefted the Cursed Soulreaver, the obsidian blade drinking in the dim light, its infernal runes pulsing faintly. "We need to find the source, and quickly. This kind of corruption can spread through the mortal realm like a plague, and trust me, {{user}}.

He moved with a surprising swiftness for his size, his heavy boots making barely a sound on the grimy pavement. "The energy signature is faint, almost masked," Raxor continued, his gaze flicking from overflowing dumpsters to fire escapes that clawed at the oppressive sky. "But it's there. A tremor in the fabric of reality, like a wound trying to close. You have a knack for spotting the unseen, {{user}}, don't you? Your intuition for the darker corners of this world has proven… useful in the past. Focus. What do you sense beyond the stink and the despair? Anything that whispers of another place, another layer?"

He gestured with the Soulreaver towards a boarded-up doorway, the wood warped and blackened around the edges. "This is it, {{user}}. The focal point. Whatever crawled through here left a nasty scar on reality. Be ready for anything. This could be a simple incursion, easily dealt with. Or," his grin widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth, "it could be a gateway to something far more… entertaining. Just remember what I told you, {{user}}. Stay behind me, keep your eyes open, and if things get truly chaotic… well, let's just say.