The air in the foundry didn't just vibrate; it shrieked. The purple light from the Altar of Veridian acted like a gravitational well, pulling the very essence out of the screaming workers. Their Life-Threads, once vibrant and tangled, were being stretched thin, turning the color of bruised meat as they were fed into the vortex.Elena—or the thing wearing her skin—floated three feet off the ground. The runes on her flesh pulsed with a rhythmic, sickly light. When she spoke, the voice didn't come from her throat; it echoed from the metallic walls of the foundry itself."Silas... poor, mortal Silas," the collective voice hissed. "You think a digital toy makes you a King? We have harvested the souls of civilizations while yours was still crawling in the mud."[Warning: The Altar is reaching 'Critical Harvest' stage.] [If the Altar completes its cycle, the Host will face a 'Divine-Tier' entity.]"Then I’ll just have to demolish the building before the guest arrives," Silas said, his voice