Meanwhile, in the underground realm, so vastly different from the world of humans it was like night and day, the air inside the Demon King's tower was as tense and rigid as stone.
His face was set in a hardened scowl, dark veins crawling visibly beneath his bronze skin like swirling snakes. His black eyes were fixed intently on a large, marble-like orb resting on his desk. The orb displayed disoriented images and fragmented scenes of a cottage high in the mountains. And the longer he watched, the darker the veins on his skin became, and the longer the horns on his head grew.
"Your Greatness, how are you going to fix this? You've only made things worse instead of bringing him back here," said the Droot, his tiny companion, pacing anxiously across the table where the Orb of Wisdom that allowed them to observe the other realm was perched.
The creature's tiny hands slapped the sides of his wrinkled, childlike face in dismay at what his master had accomplished.
