Lok'Ra, standing just beyond the bars, let out a peal of laughter, rich with amusement and disdain. She watched with an almost morbid fascination as Enyora writhed in distress, her mirth unbridled. "You look like a wild creature!" she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "Such a delightful display! Perhaps I should fetch some more oil, just to see how far you can go!" 
The words danced in the air, venomous and sharp, as Lok'Ra savored the sight of her victim's suffering. Each syllable dripped with cruelty, a reminder of the power she wielded in this darkened world. Enyora's heart raced, a tempest of rage and despair swirling within her as she realized the depths of the orc's malice.
Another scream echoed from the upper levels of the prison, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Enyora's spine. Lok'Ra's lips curled into a smirk, her eyes gleaming with a dark delight. "As much as I revel in this little game of torment," she began, her tone deceptively calm, "I still have a duty to fulfill. I must kill you for my husband."
Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of vengeance. "You took his life," she continued, her voice a chilling whisper, "and now I shall take yours. Only then will I be able to sleep peacefully, free from the haunting echoes of his death." 
Lok'Ra stepped closer, her presence a suffocating shadow that loomed over Enyora. The cruel determination etched on her face spoke of a relentless resolve, a woman driven by the fires of retribution. "Your end is nigh, and with it, the closure I so desperately seek," she declared, her voice a sultry melody, laced with the promise of impending doom. Enyora's heart raced, each beat a desperate plea for survival amidst the encroaching darkness.
"I hope you sleep and never wake up again!" Enyora screamed, her voice a furious battle cry as she hurled herself against the door, desperation fueling her every movement. Her heart raced with a wild determination, but Lok'Ra merely chuckled, unfazed by the outburst. 
With a swift motion, Lok'Ra unsheathed her sword, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light, as dark and foreboding as her intentions. "That’s never going to happen," she replied coldly, the words dripping with malice. In one fluid motion, she drove the sword toward Enyora, piercing through her eyes with a sickening precision. Enyora's anguished scream pierced the air, a haunting echo of torment that reverberated through the stone walls. 
"With your eyes destroyed now, you are nothing but useless trash to my brother," Lok'Ra sneered, her voice devoid of any empathy, reveling in the destruction she had wrought. Enyora's world dissolved into a cacophony of pain and darkness, her spirit teetering on the brink of despair.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Willem lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, his left leg a mangled ruin, blood pooling around him like a dark halo. The chieftain, towering and merciless, raised his hammer once more, the air thick with tension as he prepared to obliterate Willem’s remaining leg. When the hammer descended with a thunderous crash, it shattered the bone beneath, leaving Willem utterly helpless, the agony coursing through him like fire.
All he could do now was wait for the inevitable end, the crushing weight of despair settling heavily upon him. The distant, heart-wrenching scream of Enyora from the depths of the dungeon reached his ears, intertwining their fates in a shared symphony of suffering. In that moment, they were bound by their agony, two souls ensnared in a web of darkness and despair, each bearing the weight of their torment in silent solidarity.
"Please..." Willem begged, his voice a quivering whisper that barely broke through the suffocating silence that enveloped him.
His heart raced, a frantic drumbeat of fear echoing in the oppressive stillness, each pulse a reminder of his impending doom. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, amplifying the terror that gripped him.
Before him loomed the orc, a grotesque figure of raw power and malice, towering over the boy like a dark cloud threatening to unleash a storm. The creature's skin was a patchwork of scars and blemishes, each mark a testament to countless brutal battles fought and won. Muscles rippled beneath its rough hide, coiling with a palpable strength that promised pain and destruction. 
The orc's yellowed tusks jutted from a twisted jaw, framing a grin that was as grotesque as it was menacing. Its eyes, dark and soulless, glinted with a predatory hunger as it surveyed its captive, a cruel pleasure dancing in its gaze. The creature's breath rolled off it in waves, hot and rancid, sending shivers spiraling down Willem's spine and deepening the dread that clawed at his insides.
As the orc loomed closer, the air thickened with the scent of decay, a foul reminder of the darkness that surrounded him. In that moment, Willem understood that he was but a fragile wisp of life, ensnared in the grasp of a monstrous fate, his pleas echoing futilely in the chasm of despair that separated him from hope.