The atmosphere within the Chamber of the Ancient Throne was no longer silent. It was thick with a celebratory, suffocating pressure. The obsidian walls, which had waited for eons in the dark, seemed to vibrate with a low, hungry frequency.
At the center of the room, the towering, nameless monument stood as it did in the days of old. The first slot remained filled with the Dark Red Core, its blood-colored light pulsing in a rhythmic, expectant thrum.
Nihilrax stepped forward, his form a flickering silhouette of Absolute Zero. Behind him, the Abyssal Harbinger—the fused entity of the "Uncles"—loomed like a mountain of bone and shadow. In the Harbinger's primary hand, it held a swirling, screaming sphere of Deep Crimson and Ash: the harvested soul-fragment of Zarathorak.
"The lineage of Ingi has finally paid its tithe," Nihilrax's voice echoed, cold enough to crack the obsidian floor. "With the Bloodweaver's essence, the bridge is complete. Pyrion's shadow will finally have a body."
