The air hung heavy with a sickly sweet scent, the aftermath of the berserk pill twisting the atmosphere. The assassins, no longer men but twisted parodies of their former selves, roared a challenge that echoed like a death knell through the Blood Hall. Zargon, a grotesque caricature of his former stature, led the charge. His single eye, now a burning ember in his monstrous head, seemed to lock onto Orpheus with a single-minded ferocity.
Gone was the grace of their earlier attacks. Now, fueled by the pill's dark energy, their movements were a chaotic storm of flailing limbs and brute force. They had become abominations, neither human nor beast, fueled by a primal rage that stripped away any semblance of reason or skill.
