Breathing hurts.
The smell hits me first.
It's thick—like burning metal mixed with something worse. Acidic. Rotting. My nose is filled with it, burning every time I breathe in. It clings to my throat, making each breath heavier than the last. Every time one of the Dragon-Slimes swoops down, their bile dripping onto the ruins below, the air sizzles with that same sickening stench.
I can barely see straight. My vision swims with shadows and flickers of light. Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging, making it harder to focus. I swipe at my face, smearing blood across my cheek. My nose hasn't stopped bleeding since Thor's last hit. It's hot, sticky, and I can taste copper every time I open my mouth.
Everything's too loud. Every crash of debris, every shriek from the cultists, every hiss of a slime dissolving through stone—it's deafening. It all blends together in my head, a constant roar that drowns out my own heartbeat.
