As Galen stepped out from the room where he had fought the three mercenaries, his steps faltered to a halt. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened at the sight that sprawled before him. The entire warehouse looked like the aftermath of a massacre—an ocean of blood and carnage.
'Damn,' he thought, his voice echoing within his mind. 'When Serah said he was the infamous Scourge, I thought it was just some exaggerated joke. But now…' His eyes trailed over the splattered walls, the mangled corpses, and the faint tendrils of smoke rising from burnt flesh. '…It's clear he truly is a walking carnage.'
He swallowed hard and took a few slow steps forward, the soles of his boots squelching softly against the blood-slicked floor. His gaze locked on Marcus, who stood a few paces away—calm, composed, almost serene amidst the chaos he'd wrought.
For a moment, Galen just stared. Then, despite himself, he scoffed faintly.
