The air inside the structure was thick and suffocating, vibrating with a low hum that Max could feel in his bones. The walls shifted like molten metal, their surfaces adorned with symbols that pulsed in an unnerving rhythm. At the far end of the chamber, the massive shape stirred again, its movements slow and deliberate, like something ancient waking after centuries of slumber.
Max clenched the flashlight tightly, its beam trembling as his hands shook. He didn't dare move closer, but the journal in his pocket felt like it was burning against his chest again. He pulled it out, flipping through the pages with frantic urgency.
The sketches and notes grew more erratic the deeper he read. His father's neat handwriting devolved into jagged scrawls, the words nearly illegible:
"These are not ruins. They are wounds in the fabric of reality."
"They speak in whispers, but their truth screams."
"Beware the Wardens."
The last note sent a shiver through Max's spine. Wardens? Were they the figures outside? Or something worse?
A sudden clang echoed through the chamber, making him jump. The massive shape shifted again, and Max instinctively backed away. As he moved, his boot scuffed against a low pedestal he hadn't noticed before. On it lay an object—small, metallic, and eerily familiar.
Max knelt, picking it up cautiously. It was a locket, tarnished with age but unmistakable in its design. The ouroboros—the serpent eating its tail—was etched into its surface. He pressed the clasp, and the locket clicked open to reveal a faded photograph inside.
His father.
Max stared at the image, his heart pounding. Viktor Kron stood in the photo, younger but unmistakable, wearing a determined expression. He wasn't alone. Beside him was another man, his face partially obscured by shadow. In the background, the same alien structures loomed, their jagged forms unmistakable.
"What the hell were you doing here, Dad?" Max whispered.
Before he could process the implications, the chamber trembled violently. The hum in the air grew louder, almost deafening, and the shifting walls began to close in, narrowing the space around him.
The massive figure at the far end of the chamber unfurled, its full form revealed at last. It was not a creature but a construct—a towering, humanoid machine made of the same molten, shifting material as the walls. Its body was covered in glowing symbols, and its face was featureless save for a single, burning eye at its center.
The chanting in the air crescendoed, and the construct's voice rumbled through the chamber like thunder.
"You bear the mark of the one who broke the seal. You are not welcome."
Max stumbled backward, clutching the locket. "Wait—I don't even know what this is! I'm just trying to find my father!"
The construct loomed closer, its movements slow but purposeful. Its single eye focused on Max, and a wave of crushing pressure filled the chamber.
"You carry his taint. His sins are yours to answer for."
Max's mind raced. The locket, the journal, the portal—everything pointed to his father being deeply involved in whatever this was. He gritted his teeth, holding the flashlight up like a weapon. "I didn't ask for this! If my father caused this, then help me understand why!"
The construct paused, its glowing symbols dimming slightly. For a moment, Max thought he had gotten through to it. Then the pressure returned, stronger than before, and the construct raised one massive arm, the shifting metal forming a blade that gleamed with otherworldly light.
Max's instincts screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The walls had closed in completely, and the doorway behind him had vanished.
Suddenly, the locket in his hand flared with blinding light. The ouroboros symbol glowed, and the pressure in the chamber vanished as quickly as it had come.
The construct froze, its single eye narrowing. It tilted its head, as if listening to something Max couldn't hear.
"You… carry his mark." The voice was quieter now, almost contemplative. The glowing symbols on its body shifted, forming new patterns. "The Seeker's bloodline. The path is open."
Before Max could respond, the construct turned and struck the wall with its massive blade. The molten surface rippled and parted, revealing a passageway beyond.
The construct stepped aside, its form dissolving into the walls like liquid metal. The glowing symbols dimmed, and the chamber fell silent once more.
Max hesitated, staring at the open passage. Every instinct told him to leave, to find a way back to the portal and escape this nightmare. But the photograph in the locket, the journal's cryptic warnings, and the voice of the construct all pointed to one undeniable truth.
His father had been here. And the only way to understand why was to go deeper.
With a steadying breath, Max stepped through the passageway, the darkness ahead swallowing him whole.