The portal closed behind them with a muffled roar, as if the very air had been ripped from the world.
The cold came first.
It wasn't the natural chill of the absence of heat, but the kind that seemed to bite into the soul. The wind blowing from the plains of Last Night carried the whisper of a thousand lost voices, mingled with the distant sound of chains, hammers, and screams muffled by the depths.
Vergil lifted his chin and looked around.
Before him, the horizon stretched as far as the eye could see: a vast expanse of black and gray rocks, riven by rivers of liquid metal that ran like pulsing veins. The sky was a swirl of shadows, starless, only blue lightning that writhed within the clouds like hungry creatures trying to escape.
And at the center of it all, rising like a monumental scar, was The Mouth of the Abyss—a crater so deep it seemed to swallow the light, spewing out instead a dense, blue vapor made of pure Void energy.
