The interior of the World-Eater was not a biological stomach. It was a graveyard for reality.
Lucifer, Elara, and Lyra drifted through the zero-gravity expanse. The air was a thick, highly corrosive green mist that hissed violently against their magical shields.
Floating randomly through the vast, lightless dimension were the half-digested remains of ancient, dead worlds.
They bypassed a shattered, frozen moon that was slowly crumbling into silver dust.
A few miles away, the crushed, glowing remnants of a dying dwarf star drifted lazily through the acidic fog, its gravity entirely neutralized by the beast's internal physics.
"I've seen better interior decorating in a goblin cave," Lucifer muttered dryly, shifting his boots to push off a floating slab of petrified obsidian.
Elara let out a short, breathless laugh. The Twilight Sovereign hovered beside him, her violet-flaming spear providing a small radius of clear light in the gloom.
