On the first floor, the fancy hallway was a bloody mess, dead bodies ruining the shiny marble. Warden stood, his shirt tore, showing muscles hard as steel. His left hand held Erin Dranemount by the head, lifting her bloody, limp body. His right arm, briefly a huge axe-like blade, turned back to a hand, veins glowing with unknown mana.
He glared at the scared cult soldiers around him, their faces pale. "You weak fools, scared of this girl?" he roared. With a crunch, he crushed Erin's skull, blood and bone splattering the wall, tossed her aside like trash, turning to the soldiers, eyes blazing. "Why do I get stuck with useless idiots while other wardens get top fighters?"
A soft, creepy voice broke the quiet. "Wow, you're strong." The soldiers flinched, looking behind Warden.
