The Ice Prison lay at the deepest level of Hell, a place for holding the most dangerous prisoners.
Crowley was imprisoned there. A layer of ice a thousand years old sealed the entire cell, while the Holy Light Restriction locked down its perimeter, stripping him of his power.
He had been lying there for two months, like a restless ordinary man.
"What anomaly?" Wu Heng asked, turning his head.
Martin pulled up surveillance footage. In it, the ice around the Ice Prison was melting, dissolving from the inside out. Cracks appeared across its surface, and wisps of black Mist seeped from them.
The Mist was faint, but it kept growing thicker.
"When did this begin?"
"Three days ago. It was slow at first, but it suddenly accelerated this morning."
Wu Heng rose to his feet. "I'll take a look."
The Ice Prison, at the deepest level of Hell.
There was no light here, no sound—only ice.
The ice stretched from the floor to the ceiling, as thick as a wall. The temperature was cold enough to freeze a person solid. Crowley's cell lay at the very deepest point, encased in ice like an insect trapped in amber.
Wu Heng stood outside the ice, staring at the cracks.
Black Mist seeped from them and drifted through the air. It had a scent—ancient, indescribable, as though it belonged to something even older.
Like chaos.
He reached out and touched the ice. It was cold, but the Mist around him was warm. When it touched his fingers, it coiled around them like a living thing, trying to burrow into his skin.
He withdrew his hand.
"Amara," he murmured.
Martin stood behind him. "What?"
Wu Heng did not answer. He looked at Crowley inside the icy cell. The former King of Hell was curled