The Core Chamber was vast, a spherical hollow carved out of the island's bedrock. The walls were lined with thousands of pulsating bio-cables, all feeding into the center. But it wasn't a machine in the center. It was a throne.
A throne constructed from the fused bones of dimensional beasts and the twisted metal of ancient artifacts. And sitting upon it was Subject Zero.
It—he—was humanoid, but only in the vaguest sense. He stood at least nine feet tall, his skin a translucent alabaster that revealed shifting black veins beneath. A halo of corrupted red mana floated behind his head, and massive, asymmetrical wings made of shadow and bone draped over the throne. His face was a mask of perfection, handsome and terrible, but his eyes were voids of swirling chaos.
Alvian narrowed his eyes. He recognized the face. It was distorted, aged, and corrupted, but the features were unmistakable.
