The sanctuary deep within Pho's palace was a place few demons ever saw and fewer still survived visiting.
The chamber was circular, with a vaulted ceiling that rose fifty feet overhead, supported by pillars of frozen crystal that glowed with faint blue light.
The floor was polished to shine, reflecting the four figures who stood around a central table hewn from the same black ice as everything else.
Pho's four generals.
Kragoth stood to the north, his massive frame making even the oversized chamber feel smaller. Three meters of pure muscle and violence, his skin was a deep charcoal gray.
The greatsword strapped to his back was as legendary as he was, a blade two meters long and thick as a man's torso, forged from compressed ice that never melted and edged with enchantments that could cleave through steel like parchment.
His eyes, small and piggish in his brutish face, constantly scanned the room with the paranoia of someone who'd survived centuries by trusting no one.
