The architecture of the tower bled upward from the obsidian floor.
Spires of cracked black stone and woven crystalline bone formed a narrow, sloping corridor. Thick red veins pulsed sluggishly just beneath the surface of the walls, carrying the slow, dragging rhythm of a resting heart. The crimson mist rolling off the Godless Crucifix's boots clung to the baseboards, retreating from the center of the path as he walked.
Elias followed. He had no legs to move, no lungs to draw the freezing air. He existed as a condensed sphere of blue light, hovering at shoulder-height behind the towering entity. The crushing gravity of the fourth dimension pressed against the edges of his consciousness, a constant, heavy demand that he hold his shape or dissolve into the dark.
The corridor widened into a sprawling, circular chamber.
