"Allen! Save me! They're everywhere!"
Ron's voice cracked, a jagged sound of pure, unadulterated hysteria cutting through the suffocating ink of the temple. In the absolute darkness, he could feel tiny, hooked claws snagging his trousers, dragging upward with a sickening persistence. He tried to back away, his boots skidding on a floor that felt like it was made of moving glass, but something else—something cold and multiple—was patting the back of his heels, ushering him toward a fall.
"Stay still, Ron!" Allen shouted, his own voice tight as he kicked a cluster of the creatures off his shins.
"I can't! They're biting!" Ron panicked, flailing his arms in the dark. His heel caught on a ridge of stone, and he felt the sickening lurch of gravity taking over. He began to pitch forward, his hands reaching out into a void that offered no grip. "No! No, no, no!"
He let out a blood-curdling scream, certain he was about to fall face-first into a carpet of mandibles. But just before he hit the seething floor, two powerful hands clamped onto his shoulders from behind, yanking him upright with a violent jerk. Ron's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird; he could feel the wriggling mass beneath his soles, the crunch of shells, and the tiny, sharp nips at his ankles. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. The darkness was a physical weight, pressing the air out of his lungs.
"Breathe, Ron! I've got you!" Allen's voice boomed right next to his ear, vibrating with a commanding resonance that finally pierced through Ron's mental fog.
On their other side, Nancy had managed to grope her way through the dark, her fingers catching Allen's cloak. She was shivering violently, her skin crawling with a phantom itch that felt all too real. "What are these things? Allen, they're on my arms! They're stinging!" She shook her wrists frantically, trying to dislodge the prickly intruders that seemed intent on colonizing her sleeves.
Allen could feel the sheer volume of the swarm. For some reason, the vast majority of the insects seemed fixated on Ron—perhaps the scent of his sweat or his sheer, kinetic panic was acting like a beacon. He couldn't let this escalate. If they stayed here much longer, they'd be picked clean to the bone by a million tiny mouths.
"Ron, Nancy, listen to me! Shut your eyes tight and open your mouths. Now!" Allen barked.
"Are you mental?" Ron wailed, his teeth chattering. "They'll crawl right down my throat!"
Nancy didn't argue. She trusted Allen's survival instincts more than her own fear. She tugged his sleeve once to show she was ready, and Allen immediately tilted a vial of Unicorn powder into her mouth. The fine, shimmering dust tasted like ozone and starlight. Turning to Ron, Allen didn't wait for permission. He reached out in the dark, caught Ron's jaw, and forced the boy's mouth open, dumping a generous measure of the white powder inside.
Then, with a sharp mental command, Allen reached into his Pet Space. "Come out!"
A heavy, metallic scent suddenly began to bleed into the air—a smell like rusted iron and old blood. It was the signature musk of the Two-headed Basilisk. Although the creature was currently in its 'mini' form, no larger than a house cat, its predatory aura was a tidal wave.
As soon as the Basilisk hit the floor, the rhythmic clicking of the swarm changed. The aggressive, forward-moving sound turned into a frantic, scratching retreat. Allen could feel the floor clearing around them as the tiny creatures scrambled over one another, desperate to put distance between themselves and the apex predator that had just appeared in their midst.
"What is that smell? Is it another monster?" Nancy whispered, her voice trembling.
Ron, meanwhile, was experiencing a bizarre sense of relief. He could feel the spider-like things that had been clinging to his back and legs falling off in droves. The sudden absence of those tiny, prickly feet was so intoxicating that Ron started shaking his whole body like a wet dog, addicted to the feeling of them hitting the floor.
"It's alright now. They've tucked tail and run," Allen said, his voice returning to its usual warm, steady tone.
"Bloody hell, Allen," Ron panted, still twitching. "Did you pack a Dungbomb? I didn't know they worked on spiders! I'm buying a crate of those as soon as we're home. Best weapon I've ever seen."
Allen didn't bother correcting him. Let Ron think it was a prank item; it was easier than explaining the Basilisk. "Wait here. Don't move an inch. I need to check that scepter."
Relying on his spatial memory, Allen moved toward the statue of Osiris. He climbed the basalt base, his fingers finding purchase in the carved folds of the god's robes. He reached the hand of the deity and felt the cold, smooth surface of the Black Orlov gemstone.
The moment his palm pressed against the stone, he felt a violent pull. The magic within his core, usually so well-regulated, began to pour uncontrollably into the scepter.
VROOOM.
A pillar of blinding white light erupted from the gemstone, cutting through the darkness like a physical blade. The beam shot across the temple, striking the Lotus Throne in the center. The Book of the Dead, still resting there, was caught in the light. It rose into the air, its black pages fluttering and unfolding until it hung suspended in mid-air, a glowing centerpiece of ancient power.
Ron and Nancy stared in awe. Images began to bleed out of the book—vivid, glowing projections of ancient life. They saw farmers on the Nile, noble banquets, and the elaborate burial of a young king. Even though they couldn't read the hovering hieroglyphs, the story was clear: this was the autobiography of Tutankhamun.
As the light filled the room, the true nature of their attackers was revealed. The floor wasn't covered in spiders. It was a sea of scorpions—thousands of them, now lying dead or paralyzed, their stings stilled by the Basilisk's presence.
Suddenly, a voice began to chant. It didn't come from a throat; it came from the stone itself, a deep, resonant vibration that felt like it was being spoken by the earth. It was ancient Egyptian, but through some trick of the temple's magic, the meaning flowed directly into Allen's mind.
It was a prayer of transition. A hymn for the soul leaving the dark and seeking the dawn.
"I am the sacred lotus, born from the breath of Ra... I seek the Field of Reeds, to bathe in the light that never fades..."
The words were beautiful, filled with a desperate, sincere longing for peace. As the final notes of the chant faded, the floating images began to spin. They whirled faster and faster, turning into a glowing nebula of gold and white, eventually condensing into the shape of a brilliant sun hovering directly over the Lotus Throne.
On every petal of the massive stone throne, the Eye of Horus appeared, glowing with a soft, protective blue light.
Allen's mind raced, connecting the dots of his historical studies. "The nostrils of Ra... the rays of the sun..." he muttered. "The pyramids weren't just tombs; they were stone rays of sunlight meant to act as ramps to the sky."
He clapped his hands, the sound echoing through the now-brilliant temple. "It's a Sky Ladder! This is it!"
"A ladder?" Ron asked, squinting at the swirling light. "I don't see any rungs."
"It's a magical transport, Ron! Tutankhamun built this as his personal elevator to the afterlife. Once he resurrected, he was supposed to use his magic to trigger the scepter and ride the 'sunlight' back to the surface. He left himself a back door!"
Allen explained his theory with infectious excitement. For the first time all night, there was a clear path out of the nightmare.
"So we just stand on the big flower and we're home?" Ron looked at the Lotus Throne with newfound reverence.
Nancy was so overwhelmed with relief that she burst into tears. She lunged forward, pulling both Allen and Ron into a fierce, bone-crushing hug. Ron froze, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled a Weasley sweater, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Allen felt the awkwardness of the moment, but he understood her terror. He gently patted her back, his eyes fixed on the glowing whirlpool above. "Alright, Nancy. Let's get out of here before the scorpions wake up."
He politely disentangled himself, jumped onto the throne with a practiced ease, and reached down to pull the others up. The three of them stood huddled in the center of the lotus, holding hands as they looked up into the swirling nebula of the Sky Ladder. They waited for the sensation of lifting, for the rush of air, for the sight of the Egyptian stars.
Seconds ticked by. The light hummed. The images rotated.
But they didn't move.
"Er... is it a slow ladder?" Ron asked, his voice wavering with renewed anxiety.
Nancy looked up at the whirlpool, her tears starting again, but this time they were born of a fresh, biting fear. "Allen? Why are we still standing here? How do we make it go?"
The Sky Ladder continued to spin beautifully above them, tantalizingly close, yet they remained anchored to the cold, dead stone of the underground tomb.