"Tch…" Allen hissed, exhaling slowly.
He was floating in a space of pure darkness. Galaxies of shadow blazed passed him, weaving through his body like silent tempests. Within the silence, one thing was certain—the heat.
It was getting hotter with every passing second.
Allen's skin reacted instinctively, the fine hairs standing upright as if to shield him from dehydration. But it wasn't enough. Sweat poured from his body like he'd been baptized in saltwater. His breathing grew heavier, his limbs more sluggish.
Then came the light.
Not white. Not pure. But a dull, flickering orange—the color of wild, relentless fire.
This was the Underworld.
The skies above churned with dark clouds, like the bruised skin of some fallen god. The ground beneath him was chaos incarnate—a floor of scorched black rock cracked and broken, rivers of lava flowing like veins of living flame.
