The beast followed, scythes dripping with viscous black fluid, step after step echoing in the yawning hall. It stepped out of the thin alley, jerking the blades of its scythes of the wet dark liquid. Sezel's breath came in ragged gasps, his whole body throbbing with pain from the earlier crash.
The air in this section of the palace was less suffocating than the grave-cold cell block behind the monster, but it scarcely made a difference. Still there was no light, Sezel was lucky he had those glasses which allowed him to see in the dark. If not for the glasses, he knew without doubt he'd be long dead.
The situation right now wasn't any better. The Flesh Reaper, towering nearly two meters, each limb armored in black chitin and ending in those notorious, murder-bright scythes loomed in front of him and a trench deepened below. With his battered body, no, even if his body was in better shape, he wouldn't be able to run from the terror of the Flesh Reaper.
