Arthur and Aziel slowly walked through the crowd of bodies, their footsteps careful and deliberate. The sound of their boots against stone was occasionally punctuated by the crunch of brittle bone or the metallic scrape of disturbed armor. The air hung heavy with the scent of decay—not the fresh, pungent odor of recent death, but the ancient, dusty smell of long-departed life.
Arthur stopped and kneeled down over one of the fallen. They were wearing a full suit of steel armor... well, half a suit, as the bottom half of their body was nowhere to be seen. The torso ended abruptly at the waist in a mess of jagged metal and what might have once been flesh, now desiccated beyond recognition. The steel, once polished to a mirror shine, was now dulled by time and the elements, covered in a fine layer of the same dust that blanketed everything in this wasteland.
