The rhythmic clop of hooves echoed through a desolate wasteland, a monotonous counterpoint to the gnawing worry twisting Elian's gut. Hours on the road had left a layer of dust clinging to everything, a physical manifestation of the grim journey ahead. Haijr, the supposed location of the death facility, loomed on the horizon, a collection of hunched, broken shapes against the bruised purple twilight.
As they drew closer, an unnatural silence settled over the village. No barking dogs, no children's laughter, not even the creak of a weathered windvane. Just an oppressive stillness that sent shivers down Elian's spine. The stench of decay hit them first, a fetid wave that made Res wrinkle her nose in disgust. The once-vibrant buildings now stood as skeletal husks, their windows like vacant eye sockets staring sightlessly at the approaching riders.
Elian dismounted, his boots crunching on the dusty ground. The air hung heavy with the weight of untold tragedy. A child's forgotten doll lay abandoned in the street, its missing eye mirroring the hollowness he felt inside.
"This isn't right," Mr. Zers muttered, his voice tight with a mixture of fear and anger. He scanned the ruins, his gaze lingering on the collapsed doorway of what might have been a bakery. "Where is everyone?"
Res knelt beside a charred well, the bucket rope dangling uselessly into the inky depths. She sniffed the air. Smoke. Not recent, but not ancient either. The attackers hadn't lingered.
Elian's gaze fell on a cluster of hastily-dug graves on the outskirts of the village. Fresh earth. Too many graves. A cold dread settled in his stomach, a premonition of horrors to come.
"We need to split up," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Search for survivors, any signs of the facility."
Res and Mr. Zers nodded grimly. The silence pressed in on them, broken only by the rasp of their own breaths. As Elian explored a half-collapsed house, his hand brushed against a damp, moss-covered stone slab hidden beneath a pile of debris. Curiosity piqued, he wrestled it free, revealing a dark, gaping hole that plunged into the earth.
A faint, muffled scream echoed from below, raw and desperate. Elian's heart lurched. This was no natural cellar. This was their target. He gestured to Res and Mr. Zers, a silent communication passing between them. They were in for more than they bargained for.
Elian's headlamp sputtered, casting wavering shadows that danced on the clammy tunnel walls. The air hung thick with a metallic tang, a mix of rust and something far worse. Each crunch of bone underfoot sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through him. Res, ever the scout, moved ahead, her form a silhouette swallowed by the darkness beyond the light's reach. Her hand, calloused from countless missions, never strayed far from the spear in her hand.
Behind them, Mr. Zers's labored breathing echoed like a bellows. The man wasn't young anymore, and the weight of his armor seemed to press down on him even more in the oppressive confines of the tunnel. Yet, his weathered face, etched with lines of past battles, remained resolute. Every few minutes, he'd reach for a small pouch on his belt, a silent reassurance that they weren't entirely unprepared.
Then, the tunnel opened into a cavern. The stench hit Elian first, a wave of putrid decay that clawed at his throat. In the flickering light, he saw it - a makeshift butcher's table, stained crimson and littered with rusted tools. Shackled to the damp walls were emaciated figures, their hollow eyes reflecting a spectrum of terror and despair.
Res choked back a sob, a guttural sound that echoed in the cavern. Elian saw her knuckles whiten as she gripped her dagger, the fury in her eyes a stark contrast to the bone-deep fear that threatened to consume him.
Mr. Zers's curse was a low growl, the sound raw and primal. His hand instinctively went to his sword hilt, the leather worn smooth from years of use. The air crackled with a tension so thick it felt almost tangible.
Suddenly, a scraping sound echoed down the tunnel, a horrifying counterpoint to the silence that had held them captive. They exchanged panicked glances. This wasn't their objective, this wasn't what they were prepared for.
Without a word, Elian lunged for Res, shoving her back into the shadows of a rocky alcove. He fumbled with his own pouch, desperation clawing at him as he searched for a vial of darkness potion. His fingers brushed against the cool glass, sending a jolt of relief through him.
Just then, the scraping stopped right behind them. Elian held his breath, willing himself invisible. The stench intensified, a fetid blend of sweat and something utterly rotten. A guttural chuckle vibrated through the cavern, sending shivers down his spine.
Then, a slimy tendril lashed out from the darkness, cold and slick against his skin. Elian recoiled, the vial clattering to the floor and shattering. A primal scream tore from his throat as he was yanked backwards. He landed hard on the cold stone floor, the air knocked from his lungs.
Mr. Zers roared a challenge, his voice ragged but defiant. Elian saw him engage their attacker, a blur of steel meeting something far more grotesque. But the hulking figure was too strong, too fast. With a sickening crack, Mr. Zers crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
A sob escaped Res's muffled cry. Elian twisted against the slimy bonds, the creature's fetid touch sending waves of nausea through him. He saw the figure looming over Res, a cruel smile splitting its face. Rage, hot and primal, surged through him, momentarily eclipsing the fear. He had to do something, anything.