The stench was unbearable. Damp stone mixed with charred fur, and the acrid tang of demonic essence that clung to the air like rot.
Damien walked through it all, unfazed, his boots splashing through shallow pools of blood and slime. At his back, Lyone trailed silently, his face pale but his grip tight on his weapon.
Every few steps, another beast lunged from the shadows.
Misshapen wolves with too many eyes.
Hulking boars whose tusks dripped black miasma.
A serpent that slithered along the ceiling like a streak of tar.
Each one shrieked with madness, lunging blindly at the first pulse of living essence they could sense.
Each one fell.
Damien cut through them with an efficiency that told Lyone he wasn't here for sightseeing, barely slowing as Fenrir or Aquila intercepted, tearing their prey apart before tossing the remains toward Luton.
The slime devoured each corpse with eager gulps, its body pulsing and expanding with every kill.
