Drayk’s POV
We fall.
It doesn’t feel like falling.
It feels like being dragged.
By the ribs. By the wound she left.
Red sky turns to black.
Stone turns to iron.
The air gets hot. Then hotter. Then so hot my ghost lungs can’t remember how to breathe.
`Hold on,` Draygon says. But he’s grinning. Like this is something he’s been waiting for.
We land.
No impact.
Just a throne room.
Big.
Bones for pillars. Ribs, skulls, things that used to be people.
Chains for curtains. They move even though there’s no wind.
And him.
The Devil.
Not horns and red skin.
No.
He looks like a man. Tired. Old.
Coat too fine. Hands too clean.
Eyes like the bottom of a well. No light down there.
He’s already looking at us.
“you’re early,” he says. Voice like gravel dragged over
