We don't want to tell the Academie de Suicidefoodisme Français its business, but "terror" in French is terreur, not terroir.
And what word could describe this tableau of butchery better than terreur?
Les amis, together even after their death and decapitation, favor us with the rictus of dismal joy. It's as though they have chosen to descend from their heaven to haunt the boulevard, to coax the hungry and demented. Or maybe this is simply their way of watching the final act of their lives' drama: not their release from the prison of life (O, blessed moment!), but the intimacy of their own consumption.
C'est la mort!