The moment Malek's fingers brushed against the second artifact, an icy wind howled through the chamber. Shadows slithered across the walls, growing thicker and darker with every passing second. The ground trembled beneath their feet, sending small chunks of stone falling from the ceiling above.
"Get back!" Clara shouted, her instincts kicking in as she raised her blades. The air around them thickened with a tangible sense of dread, as if something far more dangerous than their enemies was lurking just out of sight.
Malek stumbled back from the altar, eyes wide with terror, as the second artifact began to pulse with a deep, foreboding light. The same light that had once seemed to offer salvation now felt like a looming curse, bathing the chamber in an unsettling glow. The rumble in the walls grew louder, shaking the very foundation of the temple.
"Whatever you just did, you need to undo it," Marcus barked, his voice sharp with urgency as he looked between the artifact and the collapsing temple around them.
"I didn't do anything!" Malek stammered, clutching the first artifact tightly against his chest. "It reacted the moment I touched it!"
Before Marcus could respond, the chamber's entrance erupted with dark figures pouring in—cloaked enemies, eyes gleaming with malicious intent, had found their way in, blocking the only exit.
Clara swiveled on her feet, ready for a fight. "We're trapped!"
With their backs to the altar and their enemies closing in, Marcus gritted his teeth and took position alongside Clara. Alaric was already firing arrows, hitting his marks with deadly precision, but for every enemy that fell, two more seemed to take their place.
In the center of the chaos, the second artifact's light intensified. It pulsed in rhythm with the tremors, sending waves of energy that distorted the air around it. It was as if the entire temple was alive and resonating with the power of the ancient object. Marcus could feel it too—the strange, otherworldly energy coiling through the air, brushing against his skin like a whisper of something ancient.
Suddenly, the enemies halted, their attention shifting from the group to the artifact. The cloaked figures exchanged silent glances, and for a brief moment, the air was thick with unspoken tension.
"What… are they waiting for?" Alaric asked, keeping his bow drawn, ready to fire again.
Then, from the ranks of the enemies, a figure stepped forward. Unlike the others, this one wore no cloak. His face was exposed—pale, gaunt, with hollow, haunting eyes. His presence radiated authority, and when he spoke, his voice was like cold steel cutting through the air.
"You have no idea what you're meddling with," the man said, his gaze fixed on Marcus. "That artifact does not belong to you."
Marcus felt a chill run down his spine. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the question. "You've been wandering blind, haven't you? Clueless about the power you've been carrying."
His eyes drifted toward the artifact in Malek's trembling hands.
Marcus tightened his grip on his sword. "Whatever this is, we're not handing it over."
The pale man's lips curled into a faint smile. "You misunderstand. That artifact… it's not a relic for you to possess. It's a key. And you're about to unlock something far beyond your control."
As he spoke, the pulsing light from the second artifact flared, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe and twist on their own. The chamber trembled violently, as if something buried deep within the temple was stirring.
Without warning, the altar split open with a deafening crack, and from its depths emerged a pillar of dark energy. The force of it knocked everyone back—Marcus, Clara, Malek, Alaric, even the cloaked enemies were thrown off their feet. The dark energy roared to life, swirling in the air like a vortex, pulling the shadows into it as it grew in size and intensity.
"What… what is that?" Malek gasped, struggling to his feet as the ground continued to shake beneath him.
The pale man's eyes gleamed with a terrifying certainty. "It's too late now. The ancient power has awakened."
Marcus, dazed but still focused, staggered to his feet and pulled Clara up alongside him. "We have to get out of here, now!"
But the dark vortex wasn't done. From within the swirling mass of energy, figures began to emerge—twisted forms, grotesque and unnatural, born from the shadows themselves. They moved with inhuman grace, their limbs too long, their faces distorted, as if they were a nightmare given form.
"Marcus, we're surrounded!" Clara called out, her voice steady but tense.
The grotesque figures advanced, their movements fluid and predatory. Every instinct screamed danger, but there was nowhere to run. They were trapped between the enemies that had pursued them and the monstrosities now pouring out of the vortex.
Alaric shot an arrow at one of the creatures, but it passed right through, as if the figure was made of smoke. "They're not real!" he shouted. "They're illusions!"
But Marcus wasn't so sure. One of the creatures lunged at him, and though it passed through him like a ghost, the cold it left behind was real enough. It sapped his strength, making his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts sluggish.
"Whatever they are, we can't stay here!" Clara said, cutting through another enemy only to find herself surrounded by the shadowy forms.
The pale man, watching from a distance, seemed content to let the chaos unfold. "This is only the beginning. The artifact has called them, and soon enough, they'll be free."
Marcus clenched his fists. "Not if I can stop it."
With a roar, he charged toward the altar, his mind racing for a solution. If the artifact was the key, then maybe it could also be the lock. But before he could reach it, the ground beneath him gave way, and he plunged into darkness.
The last thing he heard before the blackness swallowed him was Clara's voice calling his name, and the laughter of the pale man echoing in the distance.