Sezel saw the serpent-like beasts closing in from all directions, through his blurry vision he noticed some of them moving towards the corpse of the Flesh Reaper. He wanted to scream, to roar at them to get away from his prize. 'Get away from that, I killed it and the rewards are mine.' But his body was a shattered ruin, and the only sound that escaped his lips was a pained, wet gasp.
He lay broken on the cold stone, his form battered and painted with blood. Damp, white hair fell across his face, obscuring one eye, the other eye glinting crimson under the sunlight from the top of the dome, where the dust-laden glass was.
"Tsk, I don't even have my katana," he rasped, the words scraping his throat. The sword had fallen when he and the Flesh Reaper had plummeted from the corridor above. Not that it mattered. In his current state, he could barely lift his own arm, let alone a weapon.
