The slaughter was brutal.
Weeks, months, of torment erupted from the slaves in a frenzy of unrestrained violence. The few dozen guards stood no chance against the mob, which appeared as one living organism as they swarmed over their victims.
What discipline they had was smothered beneath the rage of hundreds who had lived too long in the dark with nothing but pain, hunger, and hopelessness.
The defenders didn't just die, they were tortured.
Men were dragged to the ground and kicked until their ribs collapsed. Helmets were torn off, faces beaten into unrecognizable pulp with bare fists, rocks, tools. One poor bastard screamed as three miners pinned him down and one of them drove his broken finger into his eyes, their thumbs twisting in until only blood and jelly remained from the cavity.
Another was surrounded and beaten so savagely that when the slaves moved on, all that remained of him was a twitching sack of broken bone and meat that however still twitched.
