Zyrith stood up, his robes of woven shadow flowing around him like liquid smoke. The air in the Core Area grew heavy as the density of Highland Energy here was so thick it might even melt the skin of a Foundation Establishment cultivator in seconds.
Behind him, massive incubation pods suspended from the ceiling throbbed. Inside them were not humans or barbarians, but Amalgamations. Twisted fusions of Decrint flesh and local beasts, crafted to be the perfect shock troops.
"The Anchor has stabilized enough. The restriction has lifted," Zyrith murmured, his telepathic voice echoing through the chamber. "They think they have won a victory by destroying a mere relay node. They think they have saved their kin."
A cruel, thin smile stretched across his face.
"Let them come. Let their 'Spirit Severing' champions enter. I need stronger puppets. The ones before were... fragile. Broken toys. But a cultivator who has touched the edge of the Dao... their minds will be a delicacy."
