"Crimson Throne."
A thunderous hum filled the chamber, and from the crystalline ceiling above, reality itself seemed to split apart. A massive circular gate materialized — a construct of red stone and molten metal, etched with a thousand glowing runes. The symbols formed a seamless ring of otherworldly script, pulsing like a heartbeat, shifting between languages older than time.
Inside the circle, interlocking geometric shapes rotated in cryptic patterns, a labyrinth of light and shadow that defied the eye's attempt to follow. Rivers of molten energy flowed through the gate's lines like liquid fire. It wasn't just a doorway; it was judgment given form.
The gate began to open.
On the other side stretched a vast crimson realm — a dimension that shimmered like endless molten glass. The air itself seemed to scream, every sound warped by divine resonance.
The Crimson Exarch looked upon it without emotion. Then, with quiet finality, he turned to the shattered figure of Black Mask.
