The chamber was thick with silence, the kind that pressed on the lungs and stretched moments into eternity. Dust floated in the dim air, faintly illuminated by the dull glow of the torches lining the walls, but the shadows seemed heavier than any light could pierce.
Mia stood at the head of her squad, her spear lowered but not slack, her posture sharp as a blade. Every heartbeat felt amplified as her eyes locked on the figure before them.
The devil was seated on what could only be described as a throne of jagged stone, its shape twisted, almost organic—as if the walls themselves had bent in reverence to his presence. His figure was tall, nearly two meters, human-like yet undeniably otherworldly. Horns curled elegantly back from his temples, their tips sharp as polished obsidian. His wings, folded behind him, gleamed faintly as though made of both shadow and steel.
