The chamber pulsed with ancient malevolence, its walls breathing in rhythm with some terrible heartbeat that existed outside the normal flow of time. Selena lay on the cold stone floor, Dante's hand still clasped in hers, when the temperature plummeted. Their breath came out in white plumes, frost spreading across the dark surfaces around them in intricate, venomous patterns. The light that had begun to emanate from their joined hands flickered and dimmed, as if something vast and hungry was devouring it.
Then the laughter came.
It started as a whisper, barely audible beneath the chamber's pulse, but grew in volume and malice until it filled every corner of the space. Selena felt Dante tense beside her, his free hand moving instinctively to the weapon at his belt. She tried to push herself upright, her body screaming in protest as the fractured heart of bone ground against itself in her chest, but she managed to prop herself on one elbow.
