The Kashima Maru looked like it was claimed. As the fleet crossed the final threshold into the heart of the Death Realm, the sea of ash transformed. The grey, powdery medium that had supported their hulls for miles suddenly lost its buoyancy, turning into a terrifyingly still, bone white substance that resembled frozen cream.
SCREEECHH!!
The engines of the remaining cargo ships groaned, their propellers grinding against the solidification of the abyss until, with a final, metallic scream, they seized entirely.
Silence descended, a silence so unmitigated, it felt like a physical weight pressing against the eardrums. The leaden sky of the Astral Realm had been replaced by a void of bruised violet, a ceiling of stagnant mana that offered no light, only the oppressive sense of being watched by the unblinking eyes of the dead.
Ren Hanshin stood at the edge of the prow. He was no longer a man standing on a ship; he was a beacon of cold, celestial fire anchoring the fleet to reality.
