Just as the Clown had predicted, the moment Lokiviria saw the tombstone, his mind shattered.
There were no tears. There was no screaming.
Lokiviria simply turned and began the descent toward the deepest recess of the cave. He remembered his mentor telling him once that something useful lay dormant in the dark below. Whatever it was, Lokiviria was going to find it.
He wanted revenge. He wanted to burn it all down.
He moved like a husk, a man void of a soul, shuffling one heavy foot after another toward the abyss. High above, embedded in the cavern ceiling, a single luminescent gem captured every agonizing step.
Behind the lens of that gem, the Clown watched, his voice a low, distorted murmur in the shadows.
"Will he offer himself up? Will he trigger the sacrificial ritual?"
The Clown leaned in, fascinated. "Desperation looks so... pathetic on him, doesn't it?"
