He sat, broiling, a thick mat of flesh, fungi, and rot that was enveloping the demonic realm.
Wave after wave of demons were shoved through the rifts, ragged-edge and brimming with tension from being forced open, wider, for so long; with the end of each the wave, the holes through which they arose were released and sealed behind them.
The inhabitants of this plane had but one thing to do, and any thoughts that they might chance a return should be forced far from their minds.

They are on their own.

Let them make of the planet what they will, force it into chaos, into madness.
Attack from all sides!
The world is your foe -- defend yourselves, weaken it, destroy all that you can!
Distracted, worn, when so many have fallen, opportunities for precision strikes may yet amass by the dozen, by the hundreds.

Should the demons fail--and he did not expect them to succeed--he would at least still have this plane all to himself, a solid foundation of his own to mount attack after attack, wearing the enemy down, chipping away at their defenses until he found a way to finally, finally wrap his tendrils around the spinning sphere and crush the planet down to its core, pierce that blazing star and at last scatter its plasma to the void!

As the last of yet another wave left through a rift, he let go of the edges, and the hole began to waver.
Its edges fast rammed closer together, but it wobbled in sealing itself entirely.
Not a problem; a few others of the tears had behaved as such.

As his tendrils slipped around it to form a barricade and force it shut, something whisked back in, filtering past his walls in a hovering flight.
He was blind, and could not see the bright light it emitted, but the heat such photons and plasma produced was felt harshly upon his flesh.
The ice melted, hissing, steaming, from any skin that drew itself too close, and the skin itself began to boil, burn, even burst to reveal yet more layers of solid rot beneath.

As he had done with the previous invader of his body, the roof that lay high above the stranger erupted with multiple lightweight and wispy hanging mycelium tendrils, that flung themselves down from the ceiling, ready to caress any physical body, ready to sense the slightest breeze that momentum might cause.
These too, however, were fast affected by the heat and radiation within proximity, and more had to continually be produced to fill in any gaps whereever they disintegrated.

Something was here, something had come in.
Whether it had intelligence mattered not, whether it was a demon come seeking revenge or a hiding place mattered even less.
Disobeying his orders or a stupid foreigner, whatever it was now stood as an intruder....

His body began to bulge and burble, the water vapor that rose from his body began to condense midair as he thickened the walls surrounding the stranger, one byproduct of such a feat being an increasing atmospheric pressure.
A semi-liquid began to form, floating, drifting, and began to attach themselves to the hanging threads; the chemical properties were altered, and they formed something like small suction spikes, nematocysts-- piercing, stinging things that would change the threads into something more akin to jellyfish stingers, ready to explode on contact, pumping a venom into whatever touched them.
Whether they would have any effect, however, remained to be seen.

The fleshy wall was thick, an amalgamous mat of rot that seemed to extend without end, even beyond the boundaries of the universe itself at one point; but, of course, the wall was a physical thing, and had no such defenses against the incorporeal sight of a mental probe that could see through solid objects.

It was brimming with everything from rotting corpse parts to fungi and viruses; this included a variety of organs, brains, hearts, stomachs and more, although they were placed in such a way that they seemed almost random.
Each organ had a part to play, but there were hundreds, if not thousands, of them, pumping out and sucking in an assortment of chemicals, fluids and solids alike.

Out of all the fleshy sacs and mycelium vessels within the hellscape, one did stand out, however.
It was one of a dozen like it that would readily be within view; like many things, it was cold, dark, and pressurized -- far more than that which could be seen on the outer boundaries of the wall.

What made this particular dark vacuum different were two things:
One was that the entirety of the "room" was covered in a fleshy web; the walls dripped with what was essentially gastric acid, flooding the floor, and running out through a small drain in a corner that poured the stuff out somewhere at the foot of a section of wall that split one of the underworld's hellish cities in two.
The other was what lay at the core of the room, close to the floor; what seemed to be a chilled sphere, no bigger than a beach ball, that froze the netting around it, and that dimly glowed a dreadful hue of blackish red; it flared, pulsed, and writhed on occasion, not unlike a star on its own.

Still, enough observation might prove that the room, and what it held within, seemed to possess little to no purpose in the grand scheme of things.