The Hall of Guardians stretches endlessly, each statue looming larger in the flashlight beams, shadows writhing across the walls like black water. Marcus can feel the key in his pocket pulsing, warm and urgent, as if warning him of something unseen. Every step forward feels measured, the cold stone underfoot pressing uneasily against his soles.
Ethan keeps his eyes on the carvings along the floor, tracing patterns that seem to shift under the flickering light. "They're… following us," he mutters. "Not in a straight line, but responding to movement. I think we might have to agree to what Noah said."
Noah swallows audibly, glancing from statue to statue. "Awakened or not… they're massive. And moving."
Maya clutches her notebook so tightly the pages crinkle. "We can't stop. We just have to get to the door."
Lena steps carefully, eyes scanning each shadow. "Keep the light ahead. Don't let it fall behind you. And do not speak louder than necessary. They respond to sound too."
Marcus leads, gripping the key, feeling the vibration grow stronger with every pace. The first statue—Horus—swings its wings slowly, stone feathers scraping lightly against the ground. Its eyes glow faintly red, and a sense of weight presses on Marcus's chest, as if the air itself is heavier.
Then, movement flickers at the edge of his vision. A mummy, long entombed, now stands half-hidden behind a statue. Its wrappings are loose and frayed, bones gleaming faintly under the flashlight. It tilts its head unnaturally, watching.
"Noah… keep your distance," Marcus whispers, barely audible.
The mummy steps forward. Each movement is deliberate, fluid, eerily silent. The statues shift as well, almost imperceptibly, as if coordinating with the undead figure. Marcus feels the pyramid's pulse in the air, a silent rhythm that commands attention.
Maya's pen falls to the floor with a soft clatter. She freezes. Lena grabs her hand, squeezing tightly. "Do not panic. We move together."
They inch forward, five hearts hammering in unison. Every breath sounds loud in the suffocating space. The door at the far end of the hall, the one Ethan identified as the next threshold, looms closer—but so do the threats.
A deep rumble shakes the chamber. Dust cascades from the ceiling. The statues' heads tilt in unison, watching, tracking, calculating. The mummy rises fully now, unwrapping in a silent hiss of linen and sand, its hollow eyes glowing with something unnatural, something patient and predatory.
Marcus knows instinctively: they are being hunted.
The key in his pocket vibrates violently, almost searing against his palm. The warmth spreads up his arm, a warning and a guide.
"Almost there," he breathes. The others follow, trusting him, though every step risks drawing the attention of both stone and flesh.
With one final glance behind them, Marcus sees the mummy begin to move faster, joined by the nearest statues. They are no longer just guardians—they are hunters.
The pyramid, endless and silent until now, has begun to close in.
The chamber darkens further as the statues and the mummy advance. The beam of Marcus's flashlight trembles in his grip, casting elongated, grotesque shadows across the walls. Every step echoes too loudly in the oppressive silence, each footfall magnified by the hollow stone. Dust swirls like smoke, blurring the edges of the figures that now move with terrifying precision.
The mummy lunges first, skeletal fingers snapping forward, missing Marcus by mere inches. The sound of linen tearing and brittle bones scraping stone echoes in the chamber like a scream frozen in time. Marcus stumbles back, barely catching his balance.
"Run!" Lena shouts, grabbing Maya's arm. Her voice cracks under the terror, yet there is no hesitation.
Noah nearly trips over a raised stone slab but scrambles forward, heart hammering. The statues follow, their massive stone limbs swinging with a speed and weight that no one thought possible. The air vibrates with the grinding of stone, and Marcus can feel the rhythm in his chest—an unnatural pulse matching his own heartbeat.
Ethan swings the flashlight toward a statue of Sekhmet. Its eyes flare briefly, red and alive, and the ground trembles as it steps forward. "Move! Now!" he yells, shoving Marcus ahead.
Maya screams as a sarcophagus lid rattles violently behind them. From within, a second mummy emerges, its hollow gaze fixed on them, dragging tattered wrappings behind it like black smoke. The smell of decay and old metal fills the chamber, choking, nauseating. Marcus presses the key against the circular lock mechanism in his pocket, and a faint glow spreads outward, illuminating the hieroglyphs along the walls. The statues hesitate, a second of recognition—or warning. The mummies hiss, their sound hollow, scraping against stone like nails on a coffin lid.
They sprint toward the far door, the cold stone under their feet slick with centuries of dust and sand. Marcus glances over his shoulder. A statue of Horus lunges, wings outstretched, catching Noah's sleeve and sending him sprawling. Lena dives forward to pull him up, narrowly avoiding a second swipe from the skeletal hand of a mummy.
The corridor ahead seems to stretch endlessly, the shadows multiplying, twisting into forms that do not belong. Marcus can hear something beneath the floor—deep, grinding vibrations, like the movement of something colossal, alive beneath the pyramid's foundations. Breath ragged, hearts pounding, they reach the next threshold—the door where the key must be used. Marcus fumbles with it, fumbling in panic as the mummies close in, their jaws snapping, linen flaring like smoke in the flashlight beams.
Behind them, a deafening crack echoes as one of the statues slams its stone fist into the wall, sending dust and debris into the air. The pressure is suffocating, the air vibrating with the collective weight of the ancient guardians.
With a desperate motion, Marcus slides the key into the lock, turning it with all the strength he can muster. The door groans, stone grinding on stone. The statues freeze for a heartbeat, the mummies hiss—but the key glows brighter, almost painfully so, and the door creaks open.
"Go! Go!" Marcus screams.
They tumble through the doorway, stone jaws snapping just behind them, dust filling the narrow corridor as the chamber seals itself again with a final, thunderous rumble.
For a moment, they collapse against the wall, gasping, trembling, hearts racing. Their hands are scraped, their clothes dusted with stone and sand, and every nerve is alive with terror.
Marcus looks down at the key in his palm. Its glow fades, but its warmth lingers, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"They're not finished," he whispers, voice trembling. "They're still hunting us."
Somewhere behind the sealed chamber, the statues and mummies stir, patient, relentless… waiting for the next opportunity to strike.