The Lust Tier hovered amid the fractured plains, its needle-like legs piercing the earth like silent daggers, its blindfolded face tilted in mocking appraisal as the last echoes of violet beams faded into the crimson sky.
The air hung heavy with the ozone tang of entropy and the faint, acrid scent of dissipated conjurations, the ground scarred but pristine—no craters, no blood, just the absence of six thousand duplicates and their monstrous allies.
The remaining horde—barely a thousand now, their reddish-brown cloaks tattered, red eyes wide with shattered madness—lay scattered like broken dolls, unconscious forms slumped in the dirt, their regeneration halted by an invisible army of Limbo Tiers that had slipped through the chaos like shadows in a storm.
The constructs, featureless and silent, their pale flame eyes flickering faintly, withdrew as quickly as they'd struck, dragging the survivors into a spatial fold without a sound.
