The tunnel was alive with tension, shadows flickering at every corner as Mwana moved deeper into the labyrinth. His senses sharpened, knowing that danger lurked in every darkness. Every step echoed ominously as he navigated the twisting passages, the faint glow of his lantern barely piercing the gloom.
Suddenly, muffled sounds echoed ahead—distant whispers, hurried footsteps, and the faint clang of metal. Instinctively, he froze, pressing himself against the damp wall. The tunnel had become a battlefield before the battle even began.
From the shadows, figures emerged—Gorudan's goons, their skeletal forms cloaked in dark cloaks, weapons drawn, eyes gleaming with malice. They blocked the path, surrounding him from all sides.
"You're too late, boy," sneered one of them, voice echoing hollowly. "Gorudan's already claimed his prize—chaos in the depths."