He reached into Vinéa's chest, his hand passing through flesh and bone as if they were water, and withdrew something that pulsed with the same ancient light as the symbol. It was small—no larger than a human heart—but the power contained within it made Baal's own considerable might seem like a candle flame before the sun.
The fragment of Ira's essence. One of nine seals that kept the unspeakable locked away from the cosmos. And now it was loose, one of its guardians dead.
"Baal." The voice came from behind him, respectful but urgent. He turned to see seven figures materialising in the ruined throne room—the remaining demon kings, each arriving in their own spectacular fashion.
