Donovan, Theran, Miriam, and Mikhail lay sprawled across the dirt, their bodies battered and their mana reserves depleted from their failed attempts to resist Lyerin. Despite their exhaustion, the spark of determination refused to fade from their eyes. As they crawled forward, the silence of their grim reality was finally broken by Donovan, his voice barely more than a strained whisper.
"You ever notice," Donovan began, pausing to catch his breath, "how Lyerin seems... obsessed with making things entertaining for himself? Like it's some grand show only he understands?"
Theran, dragging himself forward with labored breaths, gave a dry chuckle, though it quickly turned into a pained cough. "Yeah... the guy doesn't just kill. No. He has to turn it into some twisted carnival of suffering. Who does that?"