The gates to the throne chamber stood cracked—black stone veined with pulsing red lines, twisted in spirals like melted bone.
The air hung thick, charged with malice, a weight that pressed against Leon's chest.
The army behind them was wounded, scattered, but still pushing, their footsteps echoing faintly in the bone-walled corridor.
Leon stood beside Saria and Terya, his black and crimson tunic torn, his hands trembling with the faint flicker of his magic.
The massive double doors groaned open under their own weight, revealing the throne hall—a long, dark expanse, its obsidian walls lit by veins of crimson light, the floor tiled in bone-white slabs.
At the far end, the throne loomed, a jagged monstrosity of iron and bone, its base fused with the corpses of demons and humans, their limbs faintly twitching.
