The Underground Grand Hall of Dark Night City.
Pitch-black blood dripped from the Feather Pen in Lynn's hand. His shadow kept twisting like the static on a malfunctioning old television. Countless black threads crept out of that shadow and climbed around him, yet they seemed puzzled and wary, not daring to draw close.
At the center of the hall, the eerie image formed by psionics reflected the Flesh Dominator's current field of vision.
The moment the authority activated, Eve's perception had also begun sharing the Flesh Dominator's sight.
"The Lord of Death?"
Sir Awen's gaze flickered, and he frowned.
"I've never heard that title. If it refers to that member of the God Race in the Main Universe, then in the three thousand years since my fall, I've never sensed any news of him."
The Holy Angel stared at the words reflected in the image.
"Probably not. Many gods have called themselves that. We can't limit our thinking to our own era. The gods in this Dark World aren't just from our time."
That title was reflected in Black String Moon's eyes.
Suddenly.
She froze.
She instinctively opened her mouth, but the voice that emerged was the Dollhouse's distinctive, hoarse voice.
"Before your era, in my time, there was once a walker of the Deep Sea who called himself the 'Lord of Death.' The Fallen of our era called him the 'Undertaker of the Deep Sea' and the 'Sleepless Shepherd.' As far as I know, he had existed since at least several epochs before."
"But by our era, even as an immortal god, he had encountered the same problem as me: Hell's erosion. He had lived too long. Sooner or later, time would drive him mad, making him part of Hell's mark, turning him into nourishment for this Dark World."