The air within the Spire of Sins grew stagnant as the Council of the Seven moved through the lightless corridors.
The silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic thrumming of the Abyss, the heartbeat of a realm that existed only to consume.
"How is the search for Lom progressing?" Deimos asked.
His voice was a low vibration that seemed to pluck at the threads of reality.
Now that the shock of Belial's defeat had settled, the focus had shifted. They needed the head of the traitor who had peddled their secrets to the Emperor of the Pantheon.
"I have dispatched every high-tier Demon God available," Belial replied, his handsome face marred by a twitch of suppressed fury. "They have scoured every inch of the demonic realm. There is not a single trace of his mana signature in the entire demonic realm. It is as if he has ceased to exist."
