She didn't need to finish the thought.
They all understood the implications.
The Abyssal Lokas didn't wage war in any conventional sense—they didn't seek territory or treasure or even victory in any meaningful way.
They existed solely to transform everything they encountered into extensions of their own endless hunger, to spread corruption like a plague that infected not just flesh but the very concept of existence itself.
"We need to seal it," Ironshade said, stating the obvious because sometimes the obvious needed to be spoken aloud to make it real.
"The question," Eradarin murmured, his amber eyes reflecting the unholy light emanating from the rift, "is whether we can do so before something decides to step through and introduce itself to our world."
As if summoned by his words, a shadow moved within the distortion—something vast and hungry and utterly alien, pressing against the boundaries of the rift like a predator testing the strength of cage bars.
