Finally, they all stood at the heart of the broken vampire dungeon, gathered around the door, hesitation etched deep into their bones. The presence behind it was overwhelming — even though they stood far apart, their hearts pounded and their breaths came a bit ragged from the lack of oxygen in the suffocating air.
The arena was dark. No sun. No moon. Only the faint glow of molten magma crawling from the cracked earth lit the space dimly, adding both heat and oppression. The air was thick with the chaotic smell of blood and sulphur.
The chamber that once enclosed the door had not survived Zarynth's bloodlust-fueled destruction. Walls lay in shattered fragments across the ground — all except the door. It remained, embedded in the floor, fastened with chains from top to bottom, as though even ruin dared not claim it.
And even though what it imprisoned had somehow reached their minds, its voice never left their skulls — whispering, again and again:
