Time moved strangely within the dungeon—too slow to be comforting but too fast for Lionel to fully comprehend. His body ached with every second that passed. Bruises covered him from head to toe, and fresh cuts marred his arms, leaking blood that refused to clot.
His breathing was shallow, ragged, as he gripped his dimly glowing Shadowflame Sword. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, dulling the pain but not enough to make him forget how close he was to collapse. If not for that rush of survival instinct, Lionel doubted he would still be standing.
Five Emberclaw Beasts stood before him, their sharp teeth bared, glowing eyes locked on his every movement. They didn't attack, not yet. He noticed their hesitation—they wouldn't strike unless he moved first. Was it caution? A tactical delay? Or were they grieving the packmates he had already slain?
