The dais of jagged black glass was an island of eerie, suspended silence amidst the deafening chaos of the Fringes. Below them, the cavern floor was a churning, horrific sea of mutiny, as Fenice's starved army of exiled entities tore her elite guard limb from limb in a desperate frenzy for celestial scraps. But up here, elevated above the slaughter, the air was entirely still, thick with the suffocating stench of cosmic decay and absolute defeat.
Solis and Noir stepped onto the slick, obsidian-like surface of the dais. They moved in perfect, unbroken unison, their respective silver and golden auras blending into a breathtaking, protective halo that aggressively pushed back the encroaching shadows.
