The Spatial Rift had taken us to the heart of demon-controlled territory, somewhere in the ruined territories between Brithlilte and Blacksound. It was where I had found the horde the night Luke came to find me, deep in the foothills beneath the peaks where they held council. We stood in the middle of a shallow canyon, with broken walls crawling with corrupted ivy. The gathering twilight painted the rocks black, casting long shadows across the uneven floor.
The mountains were absent of bird calls or the cries of animals, replaced by the scrape of claws on stone, the rasp of scales, and the distant screeches of scuffling scions.
They didn't stay distant for long, drawn to our arrival by the glittering light of my aura. Scions appeared from the crags, creeping from fissures and crevices. Towering evolved demons scaled the cliffs, held off by Luke's aura alone. I shrank close to him, clutching his arm.
