The Floor 3 portal deposited them into a world drowned in grey.
Thick, oppressive fog immediately pressed against Nathan's face like a damp rag, cutting visibility down to less than a sword's length. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and wet decay, a deep saturated dampness that instantly seeped through their cloaks and settled into their bones. Beneath their boots, the ground was a treacherous slope of loose shale and petrified tree roots.
Somewhere in the blinding whiteout, a high-pitched whistle echoed. It sounded like wind whipping through a narrow canyon, but the cadence was too rhythmic. Too intelligent.
Nathan's [Hunter's Insight] flared, painting the mist with faint thermal silhouettes. "Multiple contacts!" he barked, tightening the formation. "Small, hunched. They're moving in a wide perimeter. Twelve... no, fifteen of them. Pack hunters."
