The ruin's air hangs thick, heavy with the stench of damp stone and something sharper, like sour metal or blood left too long in the sun. Either one, it reeked badly.
My boots scrape the uneven floor, each step echoing a gritty crunch down the corridor despite my efforts to tread lightly, the sound swallowed by the oppressive darkness. The walls, carved with strange, twisting runes that pulse faintly, seem to pace with me, their glow flickering like a heartbeat I can't quite trust. My pistol rests loosely in my hand, my mind sharp as my eyes dart to every shadow, every drip of water, every misplaced echo. The treasure's somewhere ahead, I think.
No, I knew.
The patterns are there, and I've unravelled them already.
Behind me, Tobin, a lanky wisp of a man, stumbles under a sack stuffed with relics—bits of carved stone and glinting metal we've scavenged from this cursed place—his clumsy steps scuffing loudly. His breath comes in short, whining gasps, his sweat-slicked face twisted with effort.
"Clara, how much farther?" he moans, his voice grating like chalk on a bad day. "This place is… wrong. Those things on the walls—are they moving?"
"Shut it, Tobin," I say calmly, my tone soft to avoid an echo. My eyes flick to the floor, studying its deceptively plain surface with fierce intensity, alarm bells ringing in my head. I take another step and hear the faint grind of stone on stone. That's my hundredth step since the last trap, and the next one stank to high heaven of danger.
.
"Pfft… too easy," I murmur, smirking.
"Step where I step, Tobin, or you're dead." I glance back at my utterly useless companion, my stare cutting through him to ensure the message lands. He nods, jittery, his eyes darting like a cornered rat's.
'He's going to fuck this up' my pessimism whispers, a constant ache in my gut. He's been a burden since we entered, his clumsiness a louder threat than the ruin itself. I was half certain that if i were to die here, it would be from his hands.
I take in the expanse of the hallway and draw a deep breath, steeling myself. With no hesitation,I start walking. Brisk pace, full confidence, skipping a step at two, two at five.
Arithmetic progression in trap mechanics? Nerds, I think, scoffing.
A scuffle behind me halts my stride. I turn, watching Tobin struggle to keep up, his foot hovering as if guessing his next step.
Should I just kill him? I wonder, half-serious. Before I can intervene, he notices my glare and freezes, my eyes shooting daggers. "Are you trying to get us both killed? Painfully??"
He shifts the sack, his bony shoulders sagging, and mutters, "No…"
"Then don't think, just step," I snap, turning to continue. "Not like you're good at either"
"Hey!!I just want the treasure. Gold, something to get me out of here—"
"If you shut up and focus, you'll get it," I cut him off, my voice sharp.
"I'm not a kid, Clara," he bristles. "I can talk and walk just fi—"
Click. His foot lands on the wrong tile. We both freeze, my eyes tracing from his leg to his horrified expression.
Really? The tile sinks in slowly, mocking us. A hiss splits the air, and a spear of jagged black crystal shoots from the wall, aimed at his chest. I lunge, my brain already calculating the shard's angle, shoving him to the right tile. The spear grazes my arm, pain flaring like fire, hot and fierce. I bite back a curse, my legs straining to stay balanced, my breath ragged as I haul him up, my fingers digging into his scrawny arm. "Tobin, if I die because of you, I'll kill you. Stay. Behind. Me. And. Shut. Up."
His eyes, wide and pale, quiver like a cornered animal's. "S-sorry, Clara," he stammers, his voice trembling. "I didn't see it."
"Of course you didn't," I growl, brushing ash from my jacket, the fabric damp with sweat. My apathy surges—why am I saving this idiot?
Oh, right, I can't carry all that loot.
My mind, always calculating, maps the corridor: traps, false routes, dead ends. "Move," I say, my voice low, urgent. "We're close."
I didn't need a map to tell me. The chills up my spine were enough.
Tobin shuffles behind me, his breathing loud, his footsteps uneven. "Clara, you sure about this?" he whines, the sack clanking. "What if it's a trap? What if—"
"Shut it, Tobin," I hiss, whirling on him, my glare pinning him. "Can you do that, at least? Just stop talking!" He flinches, clutching the sack tighter, his eyes flickering with something—fear, maybe resentment. I don't care; there's no time to care. I turn, my pistol drawn, the metal cool against my palm, and kept moving.
The corridor opens into a vast chamber, its ceiling a swirling mass of shadow, stars bleeding into writhing shapes that churn my stomach. At the centre, an altar stands, ringed by statues—tall, faceless figures, their surfaces etched with runes that hum, low and menacing. A glowing orb rests on the altar, pulsing like a living thing, its light almost irresistible. There it is, sitting pretty like it didn't just cost me hours of torture and a fortune in equipment.
"Haa… finally," Tobin huffs, stepping forward, but I drive the butt of my pistol into his chest, holding him back.
"It's never that easy, Tobin. Use your head."
My chest tightens, not with hope but with the certainty that nothing this good comes free. There's always a catch. Something stirs in the corner of my vision, and the room rumbles.
And bingo.
A hulking beast lurches from the darkness, all bone and jagged flesh, its many eyes burning with hate. Four legs, countless claws, a wide snout, and teeth like a nightmare. It staggers toward us, then vanishes.
"Down!" I shout, watching it reappear above me, claws tearing the air, the ground shaking under its roar. I dive behind a statue, its stone cold against my back, the runes glowing brighter as the beast nears. Its claw slams into the statue, the impact jarring my teeth. I draw my second pistol and open fire, drawing its attention from Tobin, aiming to lure it to the room's edge. I break from the statues' circle, the beast hot on my heels—then it stops, right at the boundary.
It turns, darting for Tobin.
My mind clicks, piecing it together. The statues' runes glow brighter when it nears, tethering it to this circle. It can't leave the damn altar.
"Tobin!" I yell, my voice echoing. He's cowering behind a pillar, his face pale, the sack clutched to his chest.
I steady my aim, years of math sharpening my angles. Bullets spark against the beast's hide, each shot deliberate, targeting its glowing eyes. I sprint across the room, launching myself into the air and dropkicking Tobin away from a slashing claw, out of the circle. The beast roars, a sound that vibrates in my bones, and swipes again, its claws grazing my shoulder, pain searing hot and wet. I grit my teeth, firing, my arm steady despite the burn. "Come on, you bastard," I mutter, dodging another swipe, my boots sliding on the ash-strewn floor.
I watch it keenly, memorizing its patterns—its attacks, its defences. I dodge a swipe before it lands, burying a bullet in its ribs. "My turn." I dive left, a second before its tail whips through my previous position. I fire again, blinding another eye. Again, and again. Watch, decipher, dismantle.
The thrill of breaking you.
The beast roars in frustration, bloodier than me now, its eyes still defiant. I raise my pistol, ready for the final shots.
"Clara!" Tobin's voice cracks, shrill and desperate. I glance back, and my stomach drops. Shadows move at the chamber's edge—people. Three figures, cloaked in tattered rags, their blades glinting like hungry stars. One grabs Tobin, pinning him against the pillar, a dagger at his throat, his eyes wide with terror.
"Kill the beast, gunner," the leader snarls, his voice low, muffled by a bone mask etched with runes. "Or your boy's blood paints this altar."
Tobin's gaze pleads, his face ashen, his lips trembling. My pessimism whispers, He's useless. Let him go. My tactical mind agrees, but my heart, damn it, doesn't. I'm attached to the fool.
The idiot just had to get caught.
I nod, turning back to the beast, my pistol steady. It's weakening, staggering, my bullets finding their mark. But these cloaked bastards have me pinned, and I'm not dying for Tobin. My eyes flick to the statues, their runes pulsing with the beast's movements. An idea sparks.
"Tobin, you owe me," I shout, aiming at the nearest statue's rune. My shot cracks stone, the sound sharp. Silence echoes as I fire on the others, shattering the runes holding this stage together. They break one by one, like fuses overloading. The beast roars, unbound, charging the cloaked figures.
They scatter, cursing, the leader shouting, "You'll regret that!" Tobin's dropped, sprawling on the floor, forgotten in the chaos. I sprint for the altar, dodging the beast's flailing limbs. I grab the orb, its weightless mass strange in my hand.
"Tobin, let's get out of here!" I call, my voice raw with triumph. He doesn't need urging, bolting for the door faster than me. I reach the archway, turning to bow mockingly at the strangers struggling against the beast's desperate attacks. At the peak of my bow, I place a grenade at the entrance's centre and dash away. The explosion rocked everything, no doubt sealing the mouth to the altar.
I hunch over, struggling to stand, fighting for breath. "Nice distraction, Tobin."
The young man, slumped on the floor, heaving, waves me off. "It was nothing."
"Shall we check our prize?" My words jolt strength into him, and he scrambles to his feet, stepping beside me. We stare at the orb, imagining the riches it promises. For a moment, I let myself believe I've won.
But where's the mission completed prompt?
Then—pain, white-hot, explodes in my side. I stumble, gasping, and look down. A blade, slick with my blood, juts from my ribs. I turn, locking eyes with Tobin. His face, no longer pathetic, is cold, greedy, his eyes glinting darker than the chamber's shadows. His trembling fingers now steady, almost tender with assurance.
"Sorry, Clara," he whispers, twisting the knife, his voice soft but sharp. "I'm such a klutz, aren't I?"
My vision blurs, the orb's glow fading as my knees hit the stone, the cold biting through my leggings. "You sneaky son of a…" I rasp. He yanks the blade free, and my blood gushes, warm against the floor. I collapse, the weight in my chest heavier than ever, betrayed by the fool I dragged through this hell.