The air was thick with dread as Allen, Fina, and Rinni pushed through the undergrowth toward the source of the scream. The pained cry echoed again—closer now—until they broke into a small clearing.
What they saw twisted Allen's gut.
The beastkin boy lay sprawled on the forest floor, blood matting his fur and staining the moss beneath him. The elf had her boot crushing into his back, her expression blank with cold hatred. The dwarf, grunting with effort, was dragging the boy's arm toward the dark maw of a yawning hole at the base of an enormous tree. The opening was pitch black, radiating an eerie stillness that made the hairs on Allen's neck rise.
"Don't squirm, runt," the elf muttered, eyes flashing. "We'll be rid of you soon enough."
The dwarf heaved harder. "Just get his scrawny hide over the edge—damned little shit's barely worth the blood."
