The echoing footsteps down the volcanic corridor fell heavy, utterly devoid of life's rhythm.
The obsidian walls encasing them gradually dimmed. Dark red runic veins pulsed lazily, exuding a stifling, sulfur-choked heat. From the descending ceiling, water dripped, shattering the silence with a rhythmic clink.
Riven Sudrath brought up the rear. His massive frame dominated the cramped confines of the passage.
His black hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gray eyes were now locked onto a single point: Rumina's back.
Riven's right hand clamped around the hilt of his short sword with a white-knuckle grip, his nails digging hard enough to nearly draw blood from his own palm. The Wyvern claw gouges on his left arm throbbed with a sickening ache, but the pain completely evaporated—swallowed whole by the pure, unadulterated fury blazing in his chest.
Ahead of him, Rumina limped forward.
