The machete cleaved through the makeshift barrier, meeting resistance as it struck bone and sinew. The boss's scream of pain reverberated in the confined space, a haunting melody of suffering. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the tattered rug beneath their feet in a macabre tableau of violence.
Despite the agony, the boss clung to consciousness, the survival instincts of the shadows refusing to release their grip. In a final act of defiance, he mustered the strength to swing the revolver toward Cyrus. The small firearm, now an extension of his desperate will, connected with Cyrus's side, leaving a searing trail of pain.
The room pulsed with an intensity that transcended the physical realm. Blood, a morbid tapestry, painted the walls as the combatants grappled in the throes of their violent dance. The symbols on the walls seemed to shimmer with an eerie significance, bearing witness to the relentless struggle within the labyrinth of shadows.
