The supply depot burned like a beacon against the dawn sky. Thick black smoke twisted upward in oily columns, carrying the stench of charred flesh and melted metal into the crisp mountain air.
Grim stood amid the smoldering ruins, methodically harvesting ears from the scattered corpses while flames crackled around him.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency, the utility knife making precise cuts through cartilage.
"I've lost count, but hey I'm a collector at heart," he announced, wiping his blade clean on a dead elf's tunic. "The collection is growing nicely."
Lianna watched from across the courtyard, her face pale but resolute. She'd tried to help with the grisly work, but her hands shook too much to make clean cuts. The week of torture had left her with tremors that would take time to fade.
"How can you do that so casually?" she asked, her voice carrying a mixture of fascination and horror.
