Emissary Of Darkness

They walked for what felt like hours—maybe more. The sky above remained an endless dome of burnt gold and sickly gray, offering no shift to mark the passage of time. The only rhythm was the crunch of their boots on scorched ground, the occasional gust of hot wind, and the thrum of their own tired breathing.

Then they saw it.

It rose from the horizon like a monument of defiance against time—a tall, massive, ancient building. But unlike the crumbled ruins that dotted the Ashlands, this structure stood untouched. It was pristine. Regal. Not a single crack marred its surface. No vines crawled up its walls. No dust settled on its entrance. It was as if the soulrealm had chosen to spare this place—or feared to touch it.

The architecture was unfamiliar. Its design carried the grandeur of old empires: towering columns lined the sides, etched with runes too smooth and perfect to have faded with age. A wide staircase led to an entrance framed by stone guardians—warrior figures frozen mid-step, weapons raised, expressions unreadable. The closer they got, the colder the air felt, despite the sun blazing above.

Hope froze.

Something inside him screamed.

This wasn't just an old building—it was wrong. Too perfect. Too clean. His instincts flared with a primal alarm, the kind that came from years of surviving on the streets, hiding from men.

He'd seen haunted houses in old, broken televisions on the outskirts. Back when he'd sneak peeks through shattered windows into the homes of people who still had electricity. The screen would flicker, static buzzing around images of cursed mansions and ghost stories—tales whispered by cheap programming. He never believed in ghosts. Not really.

But standing here, in front of this temple—or whatever it was—he did now.

"We aren't going in there, right?" he asked, voice low.

Nefer turned, her tone flat. "Yes. We are."

Hope's lips parted, a protest halfway out before she continued.

"This is the gate. The path that leads us to the river. That river will carry us to the Human Citadel." Her eyes scanned the stone entrance as if trying to decipher it.

"Damnation," Hope muttered under his breath.

"cant we just simply go round, passing through here is like asking for trouble "

But no one answered him.

Beside him, Massa showed no reaction. Her calm was unnerving—unflinching. As if this place didn't scare her. Or maybe she was just good at hiding it.

With no more words, they moved toward the entrance.

A massive door stood in their way. Carved with symbols and faces of long-forgotten warriors, it loomed over them like the maw of a waiting beast. Before anyone could lay a hand on it, it creaked open slowly—on its own.

The grinding of ancient hinges echoed down the silence like a groan from the earth itself.

Hope swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the water from earlier. Every part of him said: Don't go in there. Turn around. Run.

But he didn't.

Because Nefer walked forward without hesitation.

Because Massa followed.

And because standing outside was more dangerous than stepping in alone.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the world changed.

The darkness was suffocating.

It wasn't just the absence of light—it was a presence of something. A pressure that wrapped around the skin, crawled along the spine, whispered promises in ears that heard nothing. And oddly enough, it didn't welcome him, even with his affinity to darkness. In fact, Hope felt worse.

Like the darkness here didn't want him.

His ability to bend and flow through darkness—his comfort in the dark—was muted. Restrained. The walls were narrow and high, and yet the darkness made everything feel closer. He gritted his teeth, bearing it.

As they walked further in, something loomed on either side of them.

Statues.

Towering stone figures, each about twelve feet tall, lined the hallway like silent sentinels. There were ten on each side, twenty in total. Every statue was carved with terrifying precision—so lifelike they seemed like petrified giants. They bore full armor, their spears poised and shields ready, eyes cast down like watchful guardians of a dead king's tomb.

Hope could feel them. Not just see them, but feel them.

The aura they emitted—it was thick, heavy, potent. As potent as a corrupted fiend. No, stronger. This wasn't mindless malice. This was disciplined power. Intent. Presence.

Good thing they weren't Alive.

The hall itself was massive, at least 5

Five kilometer wide, and the ceiling soared far above, supported by thick, ancient pillars. The floor was pristine marble, reflecting faint glimmers of what little light there was.

Hope didn't say a word, but inside his head, the curse formed easily.

What the fuck is this place?

Suddenly, Massa muttered strange words under her breath—ancient language, twisted syllables that bent the air as they passed her lips. Her staff pulsed, and a soft light bloomed at its tip.

But that light… it didn't spread.

Instead of illuminating their surroundings, it barely touched more than a foot beyond the staff itself. The glow flickered and swirled in on itself, as if being devoured by the darkness. As though the very walls were drinking the light greedily.

"This isn't normal," Massa murmured.

No one needed her to say it.

They kept moving, deeper into the hall.

Nefer led, silent as ever. And for once, Hope was glad she did. If he had to go first into this cursed monument, he wasn't sure his legs would move.

They walked for what felt like another hour—time had no meaning in this place—until the hallway gave way to an enormous stone throne.

A monument of some kind. It stood over forty feet tall, its surface covered in inscriptions and fractured murals. But before they could inspect it, everything changed.

A voice erupted into the air.

It was loud—but not loud. More like it existed inside their heads, tearing through their minds like wind through broken glass.

"Welcome, Awakened."

The voice lacked emotion. Lacked personality. It was mechanical. Uncaring. Ancient.

"For you to survive this ancient building… you must pass through two simple tests."

Hope blinked.

And in that blink, everything vanished.

Nefer—gone.

Massa—gone.

The massive throne—gone.

He was standing alone in a vast space filled with mirrors. Dozens. Hundreds. From floor to ceiling, stretching in every direction. He couldn't tell where the room ended—if it had an end. His reflection stared back at him from every angle. Dozens of him. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Hands twitching at his sides.

No footsteps.

No echoes.

Just him.

Alone.

And the mirrors.

His own reflection blinked at the same time he did.

But only most of them.