The ruined diamond fragments of the shattered threshold crunched heavily beneath their boots as the pantheon stepped into the inner sanctum.
The throne room of the High Heavens was a testament to absolute, sterile arrogance. It was a massive, perfectly circular dome composed entirely of smooth, blinding white celestial stone. There were no windows to look out upon the universe. There were no tapestries depicting the history of the cosmos. There was only a massive, elevated dais of solid gold, and resting at the very top was the throne of the creator.
The King of the High Pantheon sat upon his golden chair.
He did not wear a crown of jewels or a heavy cape of velvet. He wore a flawless, immaculate suit of gleaming golden armor that radiated a blinding, oppressive light. His physical form was terrifyingly beautiful. His face was a masterpiece of perfect, symmetrical celestial geometry. His eyes were entirely composed of pure, burning white stars, completely lacking pupils or irises.
