On the left stood a hunched crone. Skeletal fingers, nails tinted a corpse-blue, slipped from the sleeves of her black robe, at her waist spun a rosary of soul orbs.
On the right loomed a swollen-faced old man, eyes rolled white, drool threading from the corner of his mouth. He gripped a chain-bound scythe wreathed in ghostly fire.
They were the Nether Duo whom Dioz had summoned in haste, Granny Deadclaw and Lord Drowned Souls.
"Grand Elder Dioz, what calamity drives you to such panic?" Granny Deadclaw's voice screeched like nails skittering across a chalkboard.
A quick glance at the children's ashes had irritation flickering in her eyes. "Had you not hauled us here, we'd be tempering afresh vessel with the Hundred Ghosts Soul-Refining Art."
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