The temple was no longer a place of silent, ancient worship. It had become a chaotic vortex of destruction. The ceiling, once a masterpiece of stone masonry carved with the history of the Fenrir clan, was now a jagged maw raining death upon the chamber. Huge slabs of rock detached themselves from the vaulted heights, crashing into the boiling reservoir of blood with a force that sent geysers of crimson fluid spraying across the temple floor. The Iron District snipers had turned the sacred site into a slaughterhouse, their heavy-caliber bullets chewing through the remaining pillars with terrifying efficiency.
Zeven felt the impact of the collapse before he heard it. The entire foundation of the temple shuddered, a deep, tectonic groan that vibrated through the iron pillar he was chained to
