The moment Chief Varros stepped back and declared his exhaustion, the room seemed to freeze—not in peace, but in dread.
The tension in the air thickened like smoke.
The two attendants flinched first, their eyes snapping to the towering, grotesque figure looming only a few meters away.
Its swollen, tentacled form pulsed like a living tumor, and the soft, wheezing rattle of its breaths echoed against the chamber's stone walls.
"C-Chief Varros…" one attendant stammered, his voice trembling. "W-what should we do now?"
Varros exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from his brow, trying to hide the subtle tremor in his wrist. "We don't have a choice," he said lowly. "It needs to be distracted. We must buy time… just a little." His voice, while rough, still carried the commanding edge of a seasoned warrior.
But the second attendant snapped to attention, eyes wide. "Distract… you mean us, sir?"
Varros didn't answer directly. He looked forward, calculating the next move in the silence.
