The tension in the air was palpable, a silence so heavy it threatened to choke them. The moment they stepped into the cavernous chamber, the ambient warmth of the outside world vanished. In its place came a suffocating chill and the oppressive scent of decayed flesh and scorched bone.
Then, they heard it.
Clacking.
Not just one or two sounds—dozens, maybe even more.
Fifty figures emerged from the gloom ahead, their bony forms illuminated by the sickly blue glow of the crystals embedded in the cave walls. They towered over ordinary men, their skeletal frames thicker and bulkier than any human remains. These were minotaurs once—now twisted undead hulks, each easily over eight feet tall, horns jutting from their cracked skulls, and empty sockets glowing with an unholy green fire.
"Skeleton minotaurs," Serina said, eyes widening in recognition. "Animated through dark magic. This is necromancy—strong necromancy."
