The red wound pulsed on the horizon.
Lucifer had been walking toward it for what felt like days. The grey sky never changed. The ground beneath his feet shifted from sand to stone to something that felt like dried skin. He didn't ask how Damaris knew the way. He just followed.
Then they found the first sign.
A tree.
Not a real tree. Something that had once been a tree, now frozen mid-fall, its branches twisted into shapes that looked like arms reaching for help. Embedded in its trunk were faces. Human faces. Frozen in expressions of silent terror.
Damaris stopped walking.
"The Collector passed through here."
Lucifer touched the bark. It was warm. Alive. Wrong.
"How can you tell?"
Damaris pointed at the faces.
"These were souls. Unique ones. The Collector took what it wanted and left the shells behind."
Lucifer's hand dropped.
"They're still conscious?"
"No." Damaris's voice was quiet. "Just echoes. Memories. The soul is gone. The body is just... furniture now."
