Hera's victory was but a hollow echo.
The golden Decree of Law Hera had imposed began to crack, not from an outside force, but from the sheer, unnatural pressure of the feast she had just consumed.
Hera's triumphant stance buckled. A sudden, agonizing heat ignited in her chest—not the warmth of the Anchor's power, but a roiling, acidic fermentation.
She clutched her throat, her regal purple eyes widening as they filled with a thick, viscous obsidian fluid.
The scream that left her lips was not her own, but it was more of a dissonant chorus of a thousand starving infants.
"You cannot... devour... the Void!" the voices shrieked through her.
Hera fell to her knees in the vacuum. A torrent of black liquid, teeming with millions of tiny, blinking eyes and microscopic, snapping mouths, erupted from her mouth and eyes.
