You are standing on the far end of what appears to be an ocean of blood. If you look behind yourself, you can see the way it seems to stretch on, endlessly behind you. There is barely any light here, but you can see slightly blacker shapes in the darkness, moving through the muck.

You can hear whispers, faded and distant, but still too close: fierce angry hurting snatches of conversation, though it is impossible to make out actual words. It feels like there are thousands upon thousands of eyes watching you from that darkness, and every single one of them wants you worse than dead.