My blood ran cold, a thick, heavy weight gripping my heart, but I fought the urge to flee the vision. If it were only Luke, I would have left without looking back, and probably cried myself to sleep again, but tears would have to wait. The reason for that was the massive demon gate hovering over the chasm.
It was a deep, inky black so dark it seemed to absorb the light of the morning sun. It must have been close to a thousand feet tall, bigger than any gate save the one my staff had summoned above High Valley. The currents of mana swirling across its surface were thick as trees, emitting the pressure of an eighth-level soul. The oily miasma could only ever come from one attribute. This was a curse gate.
