The sensation was nothing like when Lilith teleported him. It was also nothing like slipping through with shadow stride.
Damon's stomach lurched as reality twisted. The world reformed in a single blink, and he found himself holding Lazarak in one arm and Matia by the hand.
They stood in a deep, suffocating corner of the castle. The air was thick and stale, heavy with rot. Hundreds of stillborn crammed the halls, their malformed bodies writhing and twitching.
Above them drifted hundreds of discarnate souls, floating like pale, hollow ghosts, their wails trembling through the stone.
As soon as the trio appeared, the stillborn turned toward them. Infantile screams tore through the corridor as they charged.
Matia reacted instantly. Frost surged from her wings and exploded into rows of icy spikes that tore through the first wave.
Blood froze midair. More stillborn replaced the fallen and slammed themselves against the ice, clawing and pounding to break through.
