As soon as the words "Tenth Empyrean World" left Cain's mouth, the eyes of the Primordial burned. Coldness and killing intent flared like a storm inside Anark's gaze, vast enough to shake the room. He drew in a long, steady breath, adjusting heart and mind before speaking.
"I have no knowledge of that place," he admitted, voice deep, ancient, heavy. "Only a feeling. And that feeling tells me one truth—that I hate them, and that they hate us."
Cain clenched his fists. He had longed to wrest some hidden fragment of knowledge from Anark's ancient memory, some clue about the nature of the Tenth Empyrean World. Anything would have been useful since what he had pulled from Azazel's essence had been practically useless.
The True Depravita of Sloth had left behind memories forged within the Everstrife Empyrean World, experiences of power, and knowledge of techniques. But every trace of his time in the Tenth World had been erased.
