The core chamber was a cathedral of corruption.
Galthor stood at its threshold, staring at something that shouldn't exist. The Abyssal core hung suspended in the center of a vast spherical space, a pulsing mass of darkness and light that hurt to look at directly.
It was roughly the size of a house, rotating slowly, its surface rippling with patterns that might have been runes or might have been the screaming faces of the damned.
Around it, reality bent.
Up was down. Left was right. Distance became meaningless. Galthor could see the far side of the chamber clearly, but he knew instinctively that walking there would take hours or seconds, depending on factors he couldn't predict.
The core's power was immense. Even from here, he could feel it pressing against his divine essence, simultaneously attracting and repelling. It wanted him to come closer. It wanted him to stay away. It wanted to consume him and be consumed by him.
