The corridor ahead narrowed into a throat-like tunnel, slick with the same pulsing organic tissue that lined the walls. Every step was squelch and suction, as if the tower itself resisted their passage. The air grew hotter, more humid, and every breath tasted like old blood and rot.
"Feels like we're walking into something's stomach," Korrik muttered, sword at the ready, his armor still smeared with black ichor from the last fight.
Inigo walked at point, M4 Carbine raised, scanning ahead. The corridor twisted left, then right, then dropped slightly into a widening chamber. His boots stuck slightly with each step, as if the floor wanted to drag him down and keep him there. Lyra and Arienne followed silently, the latter casting faint barrier pulses as they moved.
As they entered the new chamber, it became clear this wasn't just another passage—it was a lair.
