The blades whirl in their circular dance again and again, day after day, endlessly. The gears spin in unison. No one is around to notice their reliability. No one can hear the deadly, effortless noise they make in motion.

whish

Ages go by before someone notices. The reason that they’re here is of little consequence. They’re drawn to the noise, that deadly noise.

whish

They peer into the long, dark corridor. They step carefully, guided only by instinct and firelight. The noise is unnerving, but there is something valuable beyond it. A sliver of steel appears in their vision. They tumble past.

whish

Relieved, they let out a heavy sigh. A leather boot falls once more on the stone floor. The blades complete their duty. A powerful slice ends the intruder’s subterranean sojourn in near silence.

whish

The blades don’t care. Their dance continues.