Silver-red light exploded outward, washing over the shadow creatures like a wave. They recoiled, shrieking in voices they shouldn't have, scattering back toward the edges of the floating island.
Galthor stood in the center of the light, breathing hard. His aura couldn't maintain this intensity for long, but it had bought him a moment's respite.
He used it to observe his surroundings more carefully.
The floating island he stood on was perhaps a hundred feet across. In the distance, he could see other islands, connected by bridges of solidified shadow. Some of the islands held structures. Others held frozen figures, people caught in their final moments like insects in amber.
"You were a god once," Galthor said absently. "Before the Abyssal War."
He could feel the tainted divinity.
The entity didn't respond.
"I can feel it. Traces of divinity buried under all that grief. What were you the god of?"
Still nothing.
