The interior of the hollowed-out asteroid was a horrifying subversion of divine architecture. If the Temple of Origins was a cradle of starlight, Fenice's makeshift command centre was a festering, rotting geode. The walls of the cavernous space were slick with a pulsating, purplish-black miasma that dripped from the ceiling like coagulated blood. The stench of rusting iron and decayed ozone was so thick it was almost gelatinous, pressing oppressively against Solis's protective silver aura.
Solis and Noir stepped through the jagged entrance, entirely cloaked in the shadows of the Fringes. They moved with the silent, synchronised grace of apex predators entering a rival's den.
