The silence in that stuffy basement was so deafening that it was as if the walls were whispering in the ears of the people present.
Kaizen and Andrew, paralyzed by the disturbing discovery before them, stared wide-eyed at the man in the cell. He was sitting in a dark corner, his chains rattling as he moved. His hair was matted, and his clothes were torn and stained with dried blood. In his hand, he held a piece of bone, which he used as a tool to write on the walls. The smell of blood permeated the air, and seemed to become even more intense when the torchlight revealed the macabre nature of his improvised writing.
"My God... Urgh..." whispered Andrew, horrified and a little nauseous. "What happened here?"
The man in the cell looked up at the same time as he turned his head, and showed his eyes empty of any glimmer of sanity. He muttered unintelligible words, a continuous stream of delirium that made no sense.
