The deafening rumble of collapsing debris echoed through the labyrinthine tunnels, shadows swirling like restless spirits. Mwana's pulse hammered in his ears—each breath ragged yet sharp, every sense strained to its breaking point. The smoke and dust clouded his vision, but instinct drove him onward, his lightning boots crackling furiously with each step.
Ahead, the chaos reached a fever pitch; the echoes of distant explosions, shouts, and clashing steel reverberated like a savage symphony. The tunnel's darkness seemed alive, whispering threats as the winding passages twisted in an endless nightmare.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught his eye—a flash from the corner, then another—rivals darting between the shadows, hunting their own survival amid the chaos. Mwana's wings unfurled instinctively, catching a gust of wind, as he pressed himself into the tunnel wall, resolve hardening with every heartbeat.
