The silence that enveloped the chamber after the stone wall slammed shut felt heavier than a storm of arrows raining down.
It pressed down on the survivors like an oppressive weight, one they couldn't shake off.
The Crimson Jackals staggered to their feet, battered and bloodied, their torches casting weak circles of light across the gruesome scene.
The floor resembled a butcher's slab,bodies sprawled at grotesque angles, skewered and nailed to the tiles.
Pools of blood mirrored the flickering flames, transforming the entire chamber into a haunting reflection of crimson.
The stench was unbearable,iron mingled with sweat and the faint rot of ruptured organs.
One man leaned against the wall, his chest heaving as a bolt jutted from his side, blood dripping in a steady rhythm.
He tried to speak but only managed a desperate wheeze.
His comrades glanced at him briefly before looking away; no one wanted to help.
They were too busy holding themselves together.
