The stone corridors trembled, dust and debris crumbling from the ceiling as the last of the corrupted beasts convulsed in desperation. Their distorted, tar-slicked bodies quivered and reformed, tendrils of blackened flesh knitting together with unnatural ease. Gnarled, skeletal limbs twisted and snapped, reforming grotesquely, as if refusing to accept death.
Sara's crossbow string snapped taut, loosing a bolt with deadly precision. The projectile punched through a beast's rotting chest—but before it could stagger, the wound convulsed and sealed shut, black tendrils writhing like a nest of vipers.
Jason lunged next, twin daggers flashing in an arc. His blades carved deep into the monster's flank, but the flesh swallowed the steel instead of tearing muscle and bone, rippling like a viscous, living tar. The beast didn't even flinch.
A stench of decay, sulfur, and scorched flesh clogged the air, so thick it clung to their tongues, coating each breath with rot.
