No one knew how much time had passed, but the screams gradually grew fewer.
The roars were the first to disappear.
Then came the manic laughter.
In the end, only ragged breathing remained, along with the sound of blood dripping from blades, chains, and walls onto the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
In the deathly silence of Infinite Hell, it was clear enough to send chills through one's heart.
Corpses lay scattered across the passageway.
Some still held the poses they had taken when lunging to kill, while others had had their necks snapped by chains.
Others had collapsed beside their cell doors, their fingers still reaching toward the end of the corridor, desperately trying to grasp that so-called freedom even in death.
Only a little over a dozen people remained standing.
Catarina Devon's once-seductive face was now especially twisted by blood and excitement.
She licked the blood from the corner of her lips, her gaze bewitching and mad.
Sanjuan Wolf's enormous body was crammed into the depths of a cell.
Even his low laughter sounded like tremors from deep within a mountain, making the entire corridor quiver faintly.
Basco Shot grinned grotesquely, his foot still planted on a corpse that had long since stopped breathing.
He did not care how many people had died just now. He merely narrowed his eyes and greedily stared toward the end of the passageway.
Avalo Pizarro rolled his neck, his joints cracking loudly, his eyes filled with greed.
Patrick Redfield stood quietly in the shadows, his clothes stained with blood, yet he still looked like an elegant nobleman.
His expression differed from those of the laughing criminals around him.
There was no frantic madness, only the indifference of someone opening his eyes to look at the world again after years of silence.
Besides them, several