The alley was a battlefield painted in blood and ash. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of carnage, the faint glow of fading runes casting eerie shadows on the cobblestones. The last cultist knelt before me, trembling and broken, their glowing eyes darting wildly between me and Lunara. Blood oozed from the gaping wound in their side, pooling beneath them in dark, viscous puddles.
Lunara stood a few steps behind me, her sapphire eyes cold and sharp as they assessed the scene. I didn't need to look at her to feel her presence—a steady, grounding force against the weight of the moment. But my focus was fixed on the trembling figure in front of me.
They tried to crawl backward, their clawed hands scrabbling at the blood-slick stones as though they could escape the inevitable. Their glowing runes pulsed weakly, flickering like a dying ember, and their sunken eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.
