Allen's lungs burned with every shallow breath. Blood seeped from open wounds, pooling beneath him, thick and warm. His vision blurred again—shadows twisting at the edges. Every pulse of his heart felt like a hammer striking rusted metal.
He tried to speak. Maybe make a joke, something to break the tension. "What a spa day," or "Is this part of the tour?" But his tongue was too heavy. His lips barely moved. All that came out was a soft, wet groan.
The lizardmen didn't care.
They whipped him again. A brutal crack of thorny vines lashed across his chest, reopening cuts. Blood sprayed, joining the dark stains already soaking the dirt.
Just a few feet away, Lunari giggled in her little pond—completely unaware.
She swirled in circles, splashing playfully with her tail, singing a nonsense tune to herself as though nothing at all was wrong. Her silver hair fanned around her like a halo, her eyes glassy and far off.
Then she noticed him.
