As they coexisted, their energies slowly began to intermingle.
The cold of the evil spirit core seeped into the heat of the flesh core, while the heat of the flesh core seeped into the cold of the evil spirit core.
Cold and heat alternated endlessly, energy flowed, and light was born.
It was neither the ghostly green flame of the evil spirit core nor Kloz's golden-red saliva, but a new kind of light.
Dark red light, like embers on the verge of going out, like blood scabs formed over a wound, like the sky in the final moment before dawn.
It condensed into a fist-sized ball of dark-red flame, hovering at the center of the rift, eternally restless.
Fine patterns covered its surface. On one side were icy cracks of ghostly energy, like fractures across a winter lake; on the other were proliferating flesh patterns, like the rings of an old tree.
Within it were two dim green lights—Morko's ghostfire eyes—like two green stars in the dark-red orb. There were also countless crimson dots—Kloz's tiny scarlet eyes—like innumerable red stars.
It rose and fell, pulsed, and breathed.
With every pulse, gray mist spread from the orb and drifted toward the Evil Ghost World; with every pulse, a sweetly bloody scent spread from the orb and drifted toward the God-Devouring World.
Evil spirits and flesh, fear and gluttony—neither could ultimately triumph. They could only remain eternally entangled, becoming a taboo core between the two worlds.
The teleportation rift had not closed. That silver-white pillar of light remained, but it was much dimmer and thinner than before, like a spider's thread about to snap.
Small amounts of ghostly energy and sweetly bloody scent still seeped from the rift, drifting toward both worlds.
On the Bone Wasteland of the Evil Ghost World, several