Seventy-four days in Elysium had passed since Jack first discovered the Umbral Lotus.
The crimson moon dominated the night sky, casting an intense red glow across the twenty-fifth floor of Tartarus Spire with intensity that made shadows seem to writhe.
The phenomenon occurred once every five years, a celestial alignment that transformed the normally pale sky into what appeared to be the blood of the gods dripping from the heavens.
Thirty-nine thousand demons assembled around the castle's perimeter, their collective presence creating pressure in the air that made reality feel thin.
They stood in perfect formation, organized by rank and capability, their discipline a testament to the authority that bound them to service.
The Mistborn occupied the outer rings, ninety-three wraiths whose translucent forms flickered in the crimson moonlight.
