Hand in hand, Scindra led Havana from the dim chamber, her bare feet silent against the cold obsidian floor. The massive doors groaned open on hinges that sounded like bone grating against bone, revealing a cathedral of impossible scale.
The hall defied reason.
Its walls were alive with torment. Severed heads lined every inch, nailed to blackened stone like trophies, their features twisted in frozen screams. Eyes, glassy and wide, seemed to follow Havana with a desperate hunger. Some still twitched, mouths gaping as if trying to scream past death, tongues black and swollen.
And yet, despite the horror, Havana couldn’t help but feel awe.
The vaulted arches rose high, carved with infernal scripture that shimmered like embers, and depictions of serpents entwined with writhing, moaning bo
