As Ye Yang delved deeper into the prison's cold embrace, the air grew thick with an oppressive silence.
Each step echoed ominously, a stark contrast to the cacophony of his recent battle.
The path, illuminated only by sporadic, flickering torchlight, twisted and turned, leading him further into the fortress's hidden depths.
The chilling realization settled in that this was no ordinary dungeon; it was a place designed for utter despair.
Rounding a final, damp corner, Ye Yang's breath caught in his throat. Before him, in a desolate cell, was a man.
His limbs were stretched taut, chained to the unforgiving stone walls, and a heavy metal plate, also chained, constricted his neck.
It was a sight of pure torment, a cruel display of dominance. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the man's face came into clearer view, gaunt and pale, etched with suffering.
