"Is he... is he even one of us?" a veteran Veynar warrior whispered, his hand shaking slightly as he gripped his bone axe, his eyes fixed on the black-armored silhouette. "Even the most savage Marauder doesn't cut a man apart like this while he begs..."
"Shut your mouth," Zeyra hissed from the front rank, though her own hands were clenched so tight her nails were drawing blood. "He is doing what needs to be done. The Zharun earned every single cut."
Beside her, Kira remained on her knees, her face buried in the dirt.
She wasn't watching the bloodbath, but every time Malphas's curdling shrieks echoed off the slate walls, her shoulders shook with a wild, convulsive sob.
The guilt in her chest was a burning fire, but hearing the monster who wore her friend's face being turned into meat provided a dark, hollow pit of relief.
