The moment Damien and Isabelle stepped over the shattered remains of the bone doors, the concept of "temperature" ceased to exist.
It was absolute zero. The kind of cold that didn't just freeze water, but froze mana in the veins, halting the kinetic movement of reality itself.
But worse than the cold was the sky.
There were no artificial stars here, no rocky cavern ceilings. There was only a swirling, apocalyptic vortex of sickening Red Aura.
The same oppressive, world-ending color Damien had seen radiating from Emperor Thraka, but magnified a million times over. It felt like standing beneath the pupil of an angry, bloodshot eye that spanned the entire horizon.
They stood on a high precipice of black ice, looking down at the epicenter of Layer 9.
The dimension was a slaughterhouse.
