---
The underground chamber did not feel like a victory hall.
It felt like the inside of a beast that had been cut open and then forced to keep breathing.
Torches hissed against damp stone. Smoke crawled along the ceiling in lazy ribbons. The air stank of sweat, fear, and iron-tasting blood, layered over the older smells of cheap oil, rusted chains, and stale liquor that had soaked into the walls for years.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Not corpses. Not yet.
Men groaned on the floor like broken furniture. Some clutched ribs. Some curled around their knees. A few trembled so hard it looked like the stone itself was vibrating. Their eyes kept drifting to Sekhmet and then away, as if staring too long might invite the same fate.
Above them, wings shifted and rustled.
