The tunnel loomed before them like the open maw of some ancient beast—wide, cold, and drenched in an oppressive aura that clung to their skin like oil. Mandira and King Soris stood side by side, staring into its depths.
A sickly dark mist curled from its entrance, and the very air around it trembled faintly. It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that screams danger.
Mandira narrowed her eyes. "This… This is not natural. Not even dungeon magic can create this sort of presence. I don't think Shennong has control over whatever this is."
King Soris nodded, his glamorous armour gleaming faintly under the flickering torchlight. "Then we turn back. This is not a place for the living."
She exhaled, relieved by his agreement. "Good. I'll order the knights to—"
SPLURT.
Without warning, a grotesque, translucent hand—like melting slime—shot out of the tunnel and snatched King Soris with horrifying speed.
"Your Highness!" Mandira screamed, reaching out—but he was gone.
