The chamber vibrated with pressure, a heavy sound that pressed on Asher's mind. The braziers burned brighter as the cultist spoke, feeding power into the chained creature on the altar. The beast jerked violently, its jaws snapping against the bindings, chains starting to crack.
Asher looked over the room. Two dozen cultists stood ready, disciplined and armed. Their masks were shaped like predators—wolves, snakes, boars, vultures. Together, their presence formed a wall between him and the altar. Behind them, the half-formed beast strained like it was about to break free.
The leader lifted his hand. At once, the cultists drew their weapons—blades of black steel and chains dripping with a foul, metallic smell.
"You've defiled the Hollow Vein," the leader said. His mask showed sharp teeth carved into a grin. "You won't go any further. Your blood belongs to the Maw. Your soul will be its food."
