The carriage swept through the inner sanctum of Crimson-Hold, the violet flames of the Nightmares casting long, flickering shadows against the obsidian walls.
As they pulled up to the grand staircase of the Ducal Palace, the sheer scale of the architecture was suffocating.
Every pillar was carved to resemble weeping spirits, and the red mana lamps bathed the courtyard in a hue that looked like fresh arterial spray.
"We have arrived," Seraphina said, her voice regaining its icy composure.
She stepped out of the carriage, ignoring the sting of her side wound with a stoicism that reminded Damien once again of Elise's stubborn pride.
Dozens of servants dressed in high-collared, charcoal-grey uniforms bowed in unison. They weren't orcs or low-tier demons; they were high-humanoid abyssals, their skin pale and their movements unnervingly synchronized.
