Baal bowed so low that his forehead touched the gleaming obsidian floor. Then he snapped his fingers elegantly, and two chains of living iron shot up from the floor, binding Khal'Zir and the mutilated Vorin by their wrists and ankles. The chains coiled like hungry serpents, whispering ancient words of punishment.
Khal'Zir still tried to maintain his haughtiness, but his trembling eyes betrayed his fear. Vorin, without a chin, could only emit muffled grunts that mixed anger and terror. Baal did not need to pull them—the chains dragged them like prey to a stone mouth that opened in the floor, expelling a hot stench of sulfur and despair. The wing of eternal torture was not called that out of mere exaggeration. It lived up to its name. And it multiplied the concept of time.
When the floor closed, Lilith was alone in the hall. The blue candlelight flickered slightly, as if even the fire was unsure about staying.
