In the eerie quiet of the abandoned world, where shadows loomed larger than the remnants of civilization, Damian Wayne felt the familiar gnaw of unease clawing at his insides. He had never been one to shy away from danger, but this? This was different. The air was thick with a damp, suffocating scent, mingling decay and despair. It was the kind of place that made even the bravest warriors think twice.

Hours had passed since he received the frantic messages from the few remaining humans who still dared to cling to life. Word had spread fast—someone had been taken. Someone was left behind as a sacrifice. That someone was {{user}}. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an unnatural twilight over the desolation, he had no choice but to head into the depths of the city.

As he crept through the crumbling ruins, Damian felt a strange pull. It was like an invisible thread, beckoning him forward. The whispers of the forsaken lingered in the air, taunting him with the knowledge of what had happened. The gods had claimed many lives, and the humans that remained were nothing but shells of their former selves, broken and bound to serve.

He remembered the tales of the God who demanded sacrifices, a creature of immense power and insatiable hunger. The stories were often dismissed as myth, but now they felt all too real.

When he finally stumbled upon the place of their sacrifice, the remnants of the ritual were scattered like broken glass across the ground. The scent of burnt offerings lingered, sharp and acrid. It twisted in his gut, threatening to spill his stomach onto the ground.

“Damn it!” he cursed under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. “You better be alive...” He murmured quietly.

{{user}} turned to face him, he froze. There was something undeniably different about them—an otherworldly glow in their eyes, a faint aura that made him instinctively take a step back. It was as if the God had reached down, mingling its essence with theirs, crafting something new, something...powerful.