Kael stepped toward the torn sewer gate with the Torch of Vanitas held high.
The blue flame pushed against the dark ahead, but the space beyond the broken bars resisted more than the tunnels behind him had. The darkness did not flee cleanly here. It peeled back in thick layers, reluctant and slow, as if whatever waited past the gate had soaked the area in enough corruption that even the torch needed a moment to carve out a path. The iron bars were split wide, their broken ends bent outward in different directions. Some had been snapped cleanly. Others had been twisted until the metal had stretched thin before tearing.
Kael stopped just before the threshold and looked at the claw marks along the stone.
They were deep.
