On the opposite side of the corridor, among the ranks of the Underlayer, the atmosphere was starkly different. There was no horror here, no paralyzed disbelief.
Instead, there was something far more unsettling: satisfaction.
Cassandra Vexmoor stood with her arms crossed, her pale features illuminated by the intermittent violet flickers of the dying corridor.
Beside her, Gorvasha Bloodtusk let out a low, rumbling sound that might have been a chuckle if the situation weren't so grim. Their expressions were open, undisguised displays of triumph.
They watched the culmination of months of infiltration, manipulation, and bloodshed unfold exactly as their architect had promised. Neither spoke.
Words would have only cheapened the moment. The silence between them carried the quiet, predatory pride of soldiers watching a grand campaign reach the precise, bloody conclusion their master had designed.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
