The procession began to move, a slow, inexorable tide of iron and blood flowing back through the shimmering tear in reality.
The Underlayer's army did not march with the frenetic energy of invaders anymore; they moved with the deliberate, heavy confidence of conquerors claiming their inheritance.
They weren't just passing through a portal; they were stepping into a world they had already broken.
At the vanguard of this grim parade walked Xerollion. His silhouette was carved against the swirling energies of the dimensional gateway, a figure of absolute dominance.
Flanking him were Cassandra and Gorvasha, their weapons still stained with the viscera of their enemies, their breathing still ragged from the adrenaline of slaughter.
Just behind them trailed Mordecai, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away, replaced by a visible, nervous pride that made his hands twitch at his sides. He looked less like a soldier and more like a witness to something divine.
