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>>Ariston

The air in the underground temple was thick—humid with sweat, rancid with desperation.

The glow of flickering torches lined the damp stone wall. The ground beneath my boots was uneven, covered in a mixture of dust and broken bottles.

I moved carefully through the shifting mass of demons, eyes scanning the crowd, searching—for anyone, anyone at all, who seemed to have their senses intact.

But all I saw were hungry eyes, trembling hands, fevered whispers murmuring prayers to something unseen.

Abyss worshippers. Slaves to the black milk.

Useless.

There was no point in looking at the crowd, so I looked around the balconies. We had entered a balcony too through the door which was on the second floor, while the crowd of demons were on the ground floor.

I kept walking till the point I spotted someone. Standing at the temple's edge, near a cracked pillar, was a lion demon.