Karl's grip tightened on Ryker's arm as the man with the carving knife crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His body went limp, lifeless, his eyes staring at nothing with the last remnants of defiance still frozen on his face.
The crowd erupted, roaring with applause in sharp, violent cheers slicing through the stale air like broken glass.
Karl flinched.
The sound wasn't celebration. It was hunger. Hunger for more. The people here were worse than he thought. He'd heard a lot about savages, but this was worse. They fed off chaos. Death meant nothing to them.
"Let's keep moving," Karl muttered, though his throat was dry and his legs wobbled beneath him. His voice trembled, but he forced it to be steady. He pulled his hood lower over his eyes, his heart racing, as he stepped away from the scene before the blood even cooled.
