The river of souls was severed.
Lucifer and Lyra hovered in the middle of the massive, glowing channel.
The white light of the purified souls drifted upward, a silent, peaceful snowstorm rising toward the crust of the mantle miles above them.
Lucifer's breathing was heavy, wet with the metallic taste of Abyssal rot. Lyra held him tightly, her warm healing magic pushing back the corrosive dark energy he had absorbed.
"The feed is broken," Lyra whispered, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Her silver armor gleamed softly in the ambient light. "The egg is no longer receiving the souls."
"Good," Lucifer rasped.
He didn't linger in the embrace. He was a Warlord, and they were floating in hostile territory.
Lucifer pulled back slightly, his void-swirling eyes locking onto the massive, violet sun at the center of the Hollow Core. The Egg of Nihilanth.
