Chapter 138: Not Finished

The ascent had just begun. Blood still clung to their boots, thick and blackened from the High Priestess’s corpse. The orb—green and swirling with malevolent energy—rested in a reinforced containment case on Hal’s back. But just as they neared the halfway point up the temple stairs, Feron stopped dead. "...Do you hear that?" Inigo froze, then raised a fist silently. Everyone halted. A sound—distant and rhythmic. Thud. Thud. Thud. Like something massive dragging its limbs. From the walls, a low vibration pulsed outward. The green flames in the sconces dimmed, flickering uncertainly. Then, an eerie groan echoed from below. The kind of sound stone should never make—wet and alive, like flesh tearing. Feron backed up two steps. "The summoning... we stopped it too late. Something still got through." The stairwell trembled. Chunks of stone cracked loose from above, and without warning, a section of the steps behind them collapsed—sealing the path they’d just come from with a violent rumble. "Shit," Hal muttered. "We’re boxed in." From below came a screech—high-pitched, grating, and utterly inhuman. Then footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Inigo immediately dropped to a knee and summoned an RPG. "RPG out!" he barked. He pulled the launcher off his back, flipped the sight up, and chambered a high-explosive round with a metallic click. The squad spread out, weapons raised. Lyra kept her bow drawn, eyes sharp. They waited. And then it came. Not a serpent. Not a lizardman. Something else. It pulled itself into view—massive, bloated, easily nine feet tall. Its flesh was dark and slick, almost amphibian in texture, but it wore armor—cracked and ancient. One arm ended in a jagged blade fused to its bone. Its head was a horror—no eyes, just a row of vertical slits pulsing as it breathed. A large rune glowed on its chest, carved into the flesh like a brand. "The hell is that?" Lio muttered. Feron stared, voice dry. "It’s a Herald. A failed godling." Inigo didn’t wait for more exposition. "Clear backblast!" The squad ducked as Inigo braced the RPG, locked onto the massive figure at the base of the landing, and fired. The launcher spat flame and smoke. The rocket streaked forward, striking the creature center-mass with a concussive boom. The Herald was thrown back—slamming into the stone wall and collapsing into the rubble. Dust choked the air. "Target down?" Meryl asked, scanning. But Inigo didn’t lower his launcher. Through the settling smoke... movement. The creature stood back up. Armor dented. Chest scorched. But still very much alive. And angrier. "Shit. Reloading!" Inigo yanked a fresh rocket from his back and began the process. "Light it up!" Lyra shouted. Meryl and Brenna opened fire. Lio dropped into prone, his scope aligned, and started firing precision shots into the creature’s legs. Rounds struck home—sparks flew, flesh split, blood spattered—but the thing kept moving. Each step cracked stone, and as it surged forward, it raised its fused blade-arm and hurled a slab of broken masonry toward them. "Move!" The squad split just in time. The stone block shattered against the stair wall where Brenna had just been crouching. Feron snapped his fingers. "Blinding rune!" He hurled a talisman toward the Herald’s feet. It erupted in a flash of white-blue light. Like a flashbang. The creature screamed—its chest runes flaring violently—and stumbled, dazed. "Now!" Inigo had the RPG up again. He fired a second time—this time aiming for the upper torso. The warhead struck true. The blast blew the Herald off its feet and into the far wall, detonating in a rolling wave of smoke, fire, and shattered rock. A piece of its arm went flying. A chunk of shoulder was simply gone. The creature collapsed, unmoving. Everyone held their breath. "Hold your positions," Inigo said, lowering the launcher slowly. "Lyra—eyes." She stepped forward cautiously, bow ready. The smoke cleared in slow wisps. Then—without warning—the Herald’s remaining arm slammed to the floor. It wasn’t dead. It pushed itself up, slower this time, but deliberate. Inigo’s face tightened. "That should’ve blown its spine out." Feron’s voice was grim. "It’s regenerating. The rune is pumping corrupted mana through its system." "And we just pissed it off," Sark muttered, tightening the grip on his warhammer. The creature howled—a sound that made the walls tremble—and charged. Straight up the steps. "Incoming!" Meryl shouted. Brenna primed a canister and rolled it down. A concussive charge detonated beneath the Herald’s feet, but it kept coming—now missing an arm but moving faster, bounding on all fours like some hellish beast. "Disperse and flank!" Inigo ordered, switching from the RPG to his assault rifle. The squad broke formation—Lyra climbed onto a higher ledge on the wall, Sark and Hal stayed close to bait it in, and Meryl, Feron, and Inigo formed a mobile fireteam to cut around the edges. Gunfire roared. Inigo fired controlled bursts into the creature’s chest and legs. Sark baited a swing, took it on the shield, and retaliated with a slam of his hammer into the side of its knee. Crack. It dropped for a moment, just long enough for Hal to shove a short sword into its side—then retreat as it lashed out blindly. "Lyra!" Inigo called. She loosed a volley—three arrows in quick succession. One struck the rune on its chest. The glow flickered. "That’s it!" Feron called. "Target the rune directly! It’s the power core!" Inigo adjusted his aim and emptied half a magazine into the glowing sigil. The creature reeled, its chest smoking, light sputtering like a dying ember. "Grenade!" Brenna tossed a fragmentation charge at its feet. Boom. Chunks of black flesh exploded outward. The creature staggered, collapsed to one knee. Lyra fired one last arrow—this one tipped with alchemical fire. It struck the rune dead center. Flames burst from the impact, the rune cracking like broken glass. The creature shrieked—a deafening, guttural death-knell that echoed across the entire temple. Then silence. Smoke. Ash. The Herald slumped forward, its head striking the stone with a heavy thud. No movement. No glow. Just the stink of death. The squad remained still for another ten seconds, weapons trained. Then Inigo raised a hand. "Clear." They all exhaled at once. Sark kicked the corpse once. "What the hell was that?" "Herald," Feron said again, panting. "A failed avatar. Probably trapped here as a failsafe. If the Priestess died, it was designed to activate." "So we nearly walked right into a second boss fight," Hal muttered. "Great." Inigo slung his rifle over his shoulder and retrieved his launcher. "And I just burned through both rockets." "You saved us with the first one," Lyra said, wiping blood from her cheek. "That gave us the opening." He nodded and turned toward the stairs. "We’re moving. No telling if there’s a third monster waiting. Sark, Hal—double watch. Feron, I want your runes primed. We move in five." The squad reformed—scarred, bruised, and running low on ammo—but alive. And the relic was still secure. As they ascended once more, no one spoke. They had survived two bosses in a single temple. The stone stairs narrowed near the summit, opening into a long corridor lined with flickering sconces. None of them spoke. Not after everything they’d just survived. The hallway twisted left, then right—leading them through a vaulted chamber with cracked murals and a ruined altar, then to a final stone arch. Feron pressed a palm to the rune-lock beside it. The mechanism groaned, and the stone parted with a reluctant hiss. Cold air rushed in. Inigo squinted into the sunlight spilling through the exit. They had made it. The outside world was waiting. The squad stepped out onto the temple’s upper terrace, a crumbling cliffside landing overlooking a deep valley carpeted with mist. The ancient ruins behind them loomed like a dead god’s skeleton, half-buried in the mountainside. Below, where the forest met the slope, two JLTVs were parked beneath the shade of towering ironwood trees—heavy, armored, and blessedly intact. Sark let out a low whistle. "Now that’s a view." Lyra pulled her hood down, sweat-streaked hair clinging to her cheeks. "Remind me never to accept another temple raid again." Brenna gave a tired laugh. "You say that every time." Meryl dropped her rifle onto its sling and rolled her neck. "And every time we end up taking the job anyway." Hal stepped toward the edge of the terrace and looked down the winding path that led to the base. "Trail looks clear. No signs of movement." "Good," Inigo muttered. "Mount up. Let’s not tempt fate." They descended the path in silence. Birds chirped overhead—an eerie contrast to the death and fire still clinging to their gear. Every snap of a branch made them flinch, but nothing followed. The two bosses were dead. By the time they reached the clearing, Sark had already popped the hood on the lead JLTV and was checking the coolant levels. "She’s still humming," he said. "Bless her armored heart." Inigo nodded. "Split between the two. Sark drives the lead, I’ll take the rear." Lyra hesitated. "Mind if I ride up top for fresh air?" "Go for it," Inigo said, tossing her a headset. "Just stay clipped in." They loaded up quickly. The relic was placed in a shockproof case between Meryl and Feron in the back of Inigo’s vehicle. Everyone double-checked their mags, sealed their helmets, and slammed doors shut. Then the engines roared to life. Twin plumes of dust followed as the JLTVs pulled away from the temple ruins, tires grinding over gravel and mud. The convoy dipped into the forest trail, branches brushing armored sides, shocks bouncing with every bump. The rhythm of movement slowly lulled them into silence. Hours passed. And finally, as they crested the last hill before the valley city below, the skyline appeared—towers of steel and glass rising beyond the outer wall. Home.