Step... Step... Step...
The methodical footsteps of leather shoes echoed ominously against the rotting wooden floorboards. The rhythm was steady, unhurried, and glacial.
Like the ticking of a clock counting down, leading a soul straight into the abyss.
The footsteps moved over the fallen bodies of dozens of men lying scattered across the first floor. They calmly ascended the wooden stairs without the slightest hesitation despite the slick of cooking oil.
Ren stood pressing his back against the wall of the second-floor hallway. His breath came in rapid, ragged gasps.
His towering, heavily wounded body was screaming in protest, pushed far beyond its breaking point. The fresh stitches Yurin had painstakingly sewn into him had ruptured once again from the sprint and the brutal effort of fending off the intruders.
Blood seeped from his stomach, soaking through the thick bandages and his dark pant, pooling into a stain on the floor.
