The Shades howled, their cries like the wails of countless grieving wolves, a sound that crawled into the marrow of the soul.
It was not merely a sound but an emotion, a lamentation of agony and longing, echoing with the anguish they carried in life and the torment binding them in death.
Their cries hung in the air like a heavy mist, thick with sorrow and regret, the kind of sound that could haunt a man long after his battles were won.
These were not mere shadows. They were tethered fragments, bound to the outskirts of Hades by their own despair.
Neither worthy of Elysium nor condemned to Tartarus, they existed in a liminal purgatory, a mockery of rest, their "anchors" glinting faintly like cursed chains.
Rex cracked his knuckles, the sharp pop cutting through the eerie cries like a defiant battle cry. Though he felt a pang of sympathy for their plight, he couldn't let himself wallow.
