The tunnel swallowed them whole with little to no visibility, the scent of blood their guide.
Byung ran point, low and fast, boots skimming the stone as if the floor itself feared to slow him. His nose cut through the chaos like a blade: every breath sorted blood, death, smoke, and orc musk into a single, bright thread: Naz's scent wasn't as potent as the rest of them and the sharp iron of her blood. He had caught it three turns back. Maui had only just caught it now.
They burst into the first massacre without slowing, stepping over the corpse and Byung was visibly heartbroken by this.
Ten goblin bodies lay strewn like broken dolls, throats opened, chests caved, faces frozen in shock. A single set of huge boot prints cut through the carnage: Kraghul's. He had walked, not run. He had savored this massacre.
The second sighting was worse because there were even more goblins dead.
