Lost Ones

****************

The heavy, sinister gates stood before them, a towering monument of dark, gothic architecture. Intricate designs of twisted, writhing figures and ancient symbols covered their surface, almost as if they were alive.

Ironscale, still dragging Cain with his blood tendrils, approached a set of hidden mechanisms embedded in the stone beside the doors.

He placed his hands on them, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he activated the mechanism.

A series of deep, resonating clicks and whirs echoed through the cavern, and the enormous doors began to creak open.

A strong gust of air swept out, carrying with it a pungent, overwhelming stench of iron and decay.

If the smell of blood in the cave had been bad, this was worse—a concentrated miasma that made Cain's stomach churn and his head swim.