Far beneath San Diego afterward where sunlight never reached and ancient stone swallowed every human sound beneath endless underground darkness, the cavern breathed slowly like something sleeping uneasily beneath the earth while foul water dripped endlessly from jagged ceilings and cold wind whispered through forgotten tunnels older than memory itself.
The underground smelled wrong tonight.
Not merely rotten.
Not merely bloody.
Alive.
Marcus Kane noticed immediately afterward while heavy boots crushed broken bones beneath the cavern floor and pale torchfire flickered violently against damp black walls surrounding the enormous chamber.
His ghouls felt it too.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not human panic.
Older instinct.
Inherited terror passed silently through monstrous bloodlines for centuries afterward while Eryndor's symbol burned faintly crimson across ancient stone pillars beneath the suffocating darkness.
