Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, the three of them paused for a bit before continuing, as they were shocked by how such an intricate facility could be owned by a group of orcs.
The walls were ribbed with ancient, rusted metal arches that looked like the skeletal remains of a subterranean monster and other demon species.
The air was hot, smelling of grease, ozone, and the copper tang of blood.
"Keep moving," Damien ordered, his voice echoing in the cramped space.
He ran at the front, the Pantheon Sword in his hand glowing with a dull, hungry white light.
Behind him, Elian wheezed, clutching his chest, while Isabelle brought up the rear, her daggers drawn and her eyes glowing a low, warning red.
BOOM.
The ground shook. Dust rained from the rusted ceiling.
"He's following us," Isabelle hissed, glancing back into the darkness.
"Thraka. I can feel his anger vibrating through the earth. He's practically tearing the mountain apart to get to us."
