A scent that clung to the throat like smoke.
A few soldiers gagged quietly. Nicolas grimaced.
"Move him," the captain ordered.
They descended down a narrow ramp into the gloomy underground.
Torches sputtered along the walls, their weak light casting long, dancing shadows.
Chains rattled in distant cells. Somewhere nearby, someone cried in pain.
Somewhere else, someone laughed—slow and broken.
As they passed a row of barred cells, a prisoner stirred.
He was tall but gaunt, missing several teeth, his long hair matted against his skull.
His eyes gleamed with hunger—not for food, but for cruelty.
"Ohhhh… what do we have here?" the man rasped, dragging his fingers along the iron bars with a scraping metallic screech. "Fresh meat?"
He leaned forward, breath foul even from a distance.
"And such a pretty little boy, too… I'm going to enjoy your ass later, sweetheart."
His words echoed down the corridor.
Sick laughter erupted immediately.
