Floor Two.
As the great bronze door creaked open with a low rumble, Mark instinctively reached up to adjust his breathing mask. The moment the seal broke, a wave of air flooded out, hot, metallic, and wet with the thick scent of blood.
Mark stepped inside.
And froze.
What greeted him was not a room. It was a slaughterhouse.
A vast chamber that stretched like a basin carved into the mountains of hell. Blood pooled across every slope, every crack in the obsidian floor, seeping into trenches where bones had piled up like discarded logs.
The walls were lined with deep claw marks, some etched with fire, others with acid, others clearly made by creatures with raw brute force.
Thousands of corpses littered the space.
Some massive, some small. But nearly all of them shared common features, fangs, claws, and fur. Canine Beast types.
