"...Return... to the furnace..."
"...Dumasong... accept us..."
"...Impurities... burned away... purity..."
These whispers were filled with devotion, just like the fanatical displays of the gray-skinned people before their deaths.
Perhaps there were some differences—some were laced with confusion, fear, or even resentment. But those negative emotions transformed into even finer motes of light, peeling away from the points of soul-light to dissipate into the lava, where they were utterly incinerated and purified by the furnace.
An unknown amount of time passed. Perhaps it was only a moment, or perhaps ages had gone by.
At the end of the torrent ahead, a massive, slowly rotating, blazing white vortex appeared.
Its center was pitch-black, as if it connected to the void.
Countless golden torrents of souls converged upon the vortex's edge from all directions. They were drawn in by its spin, stretched into fine threads of light, and absorbed into the swirling mass.
