At the end of the stairs was a closed, black iron door.
He walked up and pressed a protrusion on the edge of the door.
GRIND—
The iron door slid open to both sides.
A foul stench—a mix of blood, acrid piss, and various other indescribable, putrid smells—wafted out on a faint breeze, washing over them.
The extreme stench made the four of them instinctively cover their mouths and noses.
The Insect Master, seemingly long accustomed to it, descended slowly with his hands behind his back.
They passed through a narrow, oppressive, winding stone staircase, descending over a hundred steps before a space opened up below, one that was nearly a thousand square meters in size.
The entire space was incredibly dim. A single passageway ran down the middle, flanked on both sides by small prison cells partitioned by stone and wooden bars. A few glowing ore deposits on the walls flickered with faint light.
CREAK—
