Their throats were cut. Their blood was collected in bowls, then poured onto the seals. The runes drank the blood eagerly, glowing brighter with each sacrifice, responding to something in the barbarians' essence that other blood couldn't provide.
The mark.
The death-mark of the Supreme Deity. It was written into every barbarian's blood, a permanent reminder of the god who had perished in the Thirteenth Region.
And it was also a key.
After the twentieth barbarian died, the door opened. Slowly, ponderously, revealing darkness beyond that even the vision couldn't penetrate.
The soldiers entered, carrying torches and weapons, seeking whatever treasure or power lay inside.
The vision didn't show what they found. But it showed what happened next.
