Liam's boots scraped the crumbled stone as he tensed, eyes narrowing toward the palace. They had barely closed half the distance — two hundred meters maybe — when a sharp, bone-chilling screech split the air. It wasn't a sound made by anything living. It was cracked and ragged, like a creature howling through a throat full of dust.
Everyone froze.
Out of the shadows near the palace's broken archway, it emerged.
The thing was horrific to look at — the withered, skeletal body of a centaur, its four legs thin and rotted to the bone, its humanoid torso wrapped in ancient, tattered bandages that hung off it like dried flesh. In one of its hands, it clutched a rusted, jagged sword, the blade so corroded it looked like it might snap at any second — but there was no mistaking the deadly intent with which it carried it.
Its hollow eyes locked onto the group with a hunger that was almost tangible. Murderous intent radiated off it like heat from a forge.
