After Zich left the cell, the door closed behind him once more. The lamps, bright enough to be almost blinding, continued to flood the entire room with light, stripping every corner, crack in the floor, and shadow beneath the furniture clean away, leaving almost nowhere that a shadow based class could use to their advantage.
For ordinary people, such a room would be little more than uncomfortable for the eyes. But for the two defeated players who relied on shadows to move, the environment itself felt like a long and silent form of torture.
The Iron Guard still stood watch outside the door. The massive black figure remained completely motionless, its dark greatsword hanging in front of it. A crimson glow shone through the gaps in its helmet, like an executioner that never needed rest. The two defeated failures had been staring at it for a long time, yet the longer they looked, the colder they felt inside.
