The ritual circle reached its climax with a sound that was not a sound at all.
Reality peeled.
Space behind Lamair folded inward like a wound reopening, and the air tore apart in a slow, deliberate arc. Darkness spilled out, not the absence of light, but a substance that devoured meaning. A towering portal unfurled behind him, its edges jagged and asymmetrical, as though the Underworld itself had bitten through the veil rather than been invited.
Beyond it lay no landscape anyone could truly describe.
Endless black plains layered atop one another, rivers that did not flow but descended, skeletal spires rising and collapsing simultaneously. The sky was an abyss pressed full of weight, and somewhere deep within it all was a presence so vast and ancient that to acknowledge it was to feel one's pulse hesitate.
Thanatos was not visible.
He didn't need to be.
The pressure alone told the truth.
The hall reacted instantly.
