Within that consuming blackness, Lilith's senses expanded beyond their normal limits. She was like goddess descending from the celestial realm, in her case the Nether realm to deliver judgement and harvest souls.
She saw every monster on the island—not as blurred shapes or distant presences, but with perfect clarity. Each mutated cyclops was illuminated to her perception as if by a spotlight only she could see. Their gray skin. Their scars. Their single, terrified eyes darting left and right, unable to pierce the darkness that surrounded them despite doing their best, their overwhelming strength couldn't do anything.
She saw the settlement: forty-three cyclopes in total. Some were warriors, their bodies bulging with crude muscle, their stone swords already raised. Some were elders, their horns longer and more cracked, their movements slower but their eyes sharper. A few were young—smaller, their horns just budding from their foreheads, huddled together in confusion and fear.
