The Stench of Death

"How…no, no, this isn't real…it's a dream—an illusion!" He stammered out. 

He messily returned to his feet, covering his mouth as he shook his head, only able to glance at the bodies of his comrades that filled the chamber with a dreadful atmosphere. 

With his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness of the small chamber, he could see what transpired; a mess of blades were embedded in both bodies of his comrades, skewering them mercilessly as the gray walls were painted in their blood. 

Across the floor, blood-soaked blades laid alongside loose chains and medieval contraptions that looked to be nothing other than torture devices. 

"It's not real, right…?" He whispered to himself through his fingers. 

It was false; an illusion, a dream, a nightmare--this is the answer he brought his mind to, clinging to that fragile wish fervently.