Silence hung like a funereal shroud in the wake of Damien's ominous words. All eyes were locked on the towering, shadow-wreathed abomination dominating the far reaches of the council chamber, its very presence seeming to leach warmth and vitality from the air around it. Diane could scarcely draw breath, so thick was the miasma of primal dread and revulsion clogging her heightened senses.

"Father..." she managed to rasp at last, her voice little more than a faint croak. "What...what is that profane thing?"

For a long, smoldering moment, Damien did not respond. When he finally turned his penetrating stare towards his daughter, the look in his ancient eyes was one...