A while later, in an unknown location.
The chamber was carved from black stone, windowless, and lit only by the faint red glow of the veins that pulsed through its walls like sluggish blood.
Shadows swam in the corners, alive, shifting, and heavy with dread.
Two pairs of eyes gleamed in the dark—one silver, sharp as a blade, the other a nervous, sickly yellow that flickered like a candle in the wind.
The silver belonged to Vaelthar, the Portal General—the one who had ripped holes in space and carved pathways for the demon armies to swarm through.
He was the one responsible for transporting the demons to the neutral faction and then to the capital.
His calm presence alone was enough to freeze most demons in place, though tonight even he seemed unsettled.
The yellow eyes belonged to Moriz, the weakest among the summoned generals.
He hunched low, his claws twitching against the stone floor, his voice quivering though he tried to hide it.
"They're gone," Moriz muttered.
