No one fucked with what was mine
The fort loomed ahead like a giant corpse, a massive, decaying monument to whatever bloody battle had torn through it. The air was thick with the scent of death—rotting flesh, spilled blood, and something far more sinister: the stench of demonic energy still hanging in the atmosphere like a rancid fog.
Every breath I took was laced with the metallic tang of blood, the sickly sweetness of decay. It clung to the back of my throat, made my stomach churn, but I shoved it down. There was no time to lose my nerve, not now.
I forced myself to keep moving, my boots crunching on the rubble-strewn ground as I entered the fort. The place was a wreck, walls cracked and crumbling, bodies strewn across the floor in grotesque, twisted shapes.
It was obvious that a fierce battle had taken place here, but it wasn't just the destruction that set my nerves on edge it was the silence. The oppressive, heavy silence that weighed down on me like a physical force.