Roger looked up at one of the wall paintings.
The scene depicted an open field where a young boy lay idly on the grass, head lifted as if he were basking in the afternoon sunlight.
Yet, the boy's face was covered with an expression of terror, and moving closer, one could even hear the faint screams escaping his mouth.
His limbs were pinned to the ground, his belly slit open with entrails being pulled out and methodically placed around him.
It seemed that only the scorching sun could dispel the dark energy lingering upon them.
The entire canvas soaked in the scent of fresh blood.
The figures within were sketched in just a few strokes, and Roger couldn't make out their features; he continued walking upwards, observing each wall painting along the way.
Without exception.
The people in the paintings were all enduring torturous agony, and each one was alive.
"Look, what's this?"
