Soul-Crushing Intent

The pagan temple loomed like a monolith of dark, weathered stone. Its sinister facade bore an unsettling mosaic of bones—arcane patterns formed by skulls of disparate creatures, while spines and ribcages twisted into macabre ornamentation. The walls themselves seemed to pulsate with a malevolent aura, as if steeped in the unholy essence of innumerable dark rituals.

Yet it was the temple's interior that set it apart from other nefarious sanctuaries. No sooner had they approached the looming edifice than their imposing officer wheeled around, shooting them a contemptuous glare before barking,

"All you worthless grunts, hustle! I want everyone inside in under thirty seconds. Latecomers get ten lashes and a front-row seat in tomorrow's battle. Make your choice!"