### 293

As you strike your killing blows, the creatures crumple to the snow, their bodies undergoing a gruesome transformation. Slowly they implode, twisting and shrinking as they contract, until all that is left are three evil-smelling pools of bubbling black venom surrounded by tatters of cloth.

Hurriedly you sheathe your weapon and run deeper into the ruins, eager to put distance between yourself and the remains of your ghastly foes.

Turn to 270.