Morgan circled back, landing on the ruin of a building, stopping a short distance away from the dying Bretnar.
On the nearby crumbling rooftop, three of the five creatures left were still alive.
Dark blood spilled from the gashes on their bodies, creating a slowly growing pool on the weathered stone.
The rest of the group had taken to the air within the dimly lit cavern when their comrades began falling like dominoes during the ambush.
In a split second, the cornered prey they had been pursuing became the predator, and the hunters had become the hunted.
Morgan somberly watched the surrounding ruins warily, alertly observing them for the slightest of movements.
" This is quite strange," he thought silently, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.
Just when he'd been about to finish them off, a fleeting memory had flashed through his mind, causing him to hesitate.
A creeping suspicion slowly rose, refusing to be denied even as he crept forward.
