The underworld's energy kept being devoured into the three cocoons like thousands of black rivers forced to flow through a hole far too narrow. The scorching hell-winds no longer felt like wind; they had become a violent pull that swallowed everything they touched. The garden ground trembled, trees snapped like brittle bones, and the black-iron gazebo began to crack under the pressure of evolution.
Belial stood at the closest point, arms folded, though his black eyes narrowed sharply. The arrogant smile he usually carried slowly faded.
"The energy they're absorbing… the intensity just increased again."
His voice was lower than usual. "If this continues, the entire 68th floor will be drained dry."
Lumielle stood a few meters behind him, her wings of light trembling uncontrollably. Her usually calming golden glow had turned pale, as if fear itself was leaking from her body.
