(Third Person).
The tunnel was deathly quiet now—nothing but the hiss of burning debris and the echo of dripping blood.
The stench of gunpowder and iron clung thick to the air.
Meredith stood amidst the ruin, her chest heaving. Around her, bodies lay scattered—human soldiers felled by her rage, their weapons twisted and broken.
The blade of her sword dripped crimson in the faint, flickering light.
Her gaze swept the carnage until it found the fallen warriors—their own. Two lay still, their eyes glazed over. The others were crumpled and bleeding, barely holding on.
A tremor passed through her hand. Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside the nearest warrior's dead body once again, her fingers trembling as she brushed his arm.
Her throat burned. She had promised herself she wouldn't lose anyone.
Her gaze flicked to the blood painting the ground. Then a desperate thought crossed her mind.
