The two assassins were running like their lives depended on it – because they did. They were hurt, badly. One clutched a side that was sticky and dark with blood, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
The other stumbled every few steps, holding a shoulder that looked like it had been twisted the wrong way. Their clothes were torn, dirty, and painted with the grim colors of a terrible fight. The long corridors of the Main Hall stretched out before them, never-ending.
Their hurried footsteps made loud thud-thud-thud sounds on the cold, smooth stone floor. The noise bounced off the walls, following them, making them feel like they were being chased by the sound itself.
Finally, they saw it – a break in the corridor, a wide opening. Hope flickered in their tired eyes. They used the last of their strength, pushing through the opening, bursting into a large, open space.
