A deep groan echoed through the air as the colossal doors began to part, the ancient hinges grinding together like bone scraping against stone. Dust billowed in thick plumes, disturbed by the unnatural gust that surged from within—a wind that carried the scent of time itself, stale and suffocating, like the breath of something long forgotten.
The darkness beyond the threshold was unlike any mere absence of light. It was thick, oppressive—almost sentient. A silence weighed down upon the group, heavy and unnatural, as though the very air was holding its breath.
Then, without warning, flames burst to life.
DUM
DUM
DUM
One by one, sconces ignited in a cascading sequence, each reluctant spark sputtering into existence as if roused from centuries of slumber. The flickering glow chased away the suffocating blackness, revealing the sheer vastness of the chamber before them.
It was immense—an unfathomable cube stretching endlessly in all directions. The walls were lined with statues. No, not merely statues. A grotesque menagerie of frozen figures, locked in silent vigil.
Towering knights on warhorses stood in formation, wickedly curved scythes clutched in gauntleted hands, their warhorses frozen mid-snarl. Monstrous towers loomed, fortified with lifelike archers poised to release invisible arrows. Priests in heavy robes stood motionless, their faces eroded into empty sockets. And then—most disturbing of all—hundreds of goblins. Squat figures hunched in anticipation, their grotesque grins stretching impossibly wide, frozen in a silent, gleeful malice.
Each of the statue scattered around the place, by the wall or close but the center felt empty.
No one spoke.
The air remained unnervingly still.
Denwen's fingers twitched at his sides. Every instinct in his body screamed that something was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. It wasn't just the unsettling display of statues—it was the feeling. As though stepping through those doors had shifted something, an imperceptible shift in the world itself.
His gut twisted violently: 'We shouldn't be here'.
A low whistle broke the silence.
"Damn," Renji exhaled, grinning as he clapped Denwen's back. "And here I thought we'd walked into a death trap." He turned to the others, spreading his arms theatrically. "Look at this place! Giant statues? Mysterious, creepy aesthetic? This is some real ancient civilization shit!"
Denwen barely registered Renji's voice. His heart pounded, his eyes darting across the statues, searching—no, waiting—for something to move. He was certain of it. Something would move.
Elara took a cautious step forward, her sharp, observant eyes locked onto one of the massive knights. She ran her fingers along its surface, her brow furrowing. "This metal…" she muttered. "It's rare. Really rare. I don't recognize it, but if we haul some of this back—" she whistled low "—we're set for life."
"A treasure room, then?" Garrick's deep voice carried across the chamber. Unlike the others, he hadn't moved an inch since stepping inside. His broad arms were folded, his gaze heavy with scrutiny. "Strange way to store wealth."
"Strange is an understatement." Roran, usually unfazed, shifted uneasily on his feet. "I don't like this. The way they're positioned… it's deliberate. Too deliberate."
Kaelin, silent until now, ran a hand over his shaved head, his piercing eyes flicking toward the vast rows of statues. "Feels like a battlefield," he murmured.
A battlefield.
The words sent a fresh chill down Denwen's spine.
Korrin, however, seemed the least concerned. Hands tucked casually into his pockets, he meandered through the statues, his eyes scanning the figures with mild curiosity. "You guys are overthinking this," he drawled. "They're just statues."
Denwen swallowed. His throat was dry: 'Then why does it feel like they're watching us?'
At the far end of the chamber, Korrin stopped. His gaze settled on one particular statue—an elegant sculpture, distinct from the rest. Unlike the knights, human like statues with robes resembling priests, and goblins, this figure bore a delicate, feminine face, her serene expression frozen in metal. A crown adorned her head, intricate filigree twisting like veins through stone.
"Hey," Korrin mused, tilting his head. "Isn't it weird?"
Denwen stiffened.
"Every statue here only has two colors. Why just two?" Korrin's voice was distant, almost entranced. His hand rose, fingers stretching toward the queen's face.
Denwen's breath hitched. A cold spike of dread shot through him.
A sudden, static-like hum buzzed through his skull.
The door. The inscriptions. The illegible scribbles that had meant nothing before—now they twisted, shifting in his mind, some finally forming fractured words he could understand:
"Beware #@$#E@ touch @#$@# Queen @#@#$@#@ No Survivor @#@3 center @#@#@3 Win"
His pulse thundered. The words flickered in his mind like a pulsing warning.
BEWARE.
TOUCH.
QUEEN.
NO SURVIVOR.
CENTER.
WIN.
His blood ran cold.
His gaze snapped forward—Korrin's fingers were inches from the statue's towering arm.
NO.
"KORRIN, DON'T TOUCH HER!"
His voice tore through the chamber, raw and frantic.
But it was too late.
The moment Korrin's fingertips made contact—
The queen's hollow pupils ignited.
A molten golden light burned within them. Slowly, unnaturally, the statue's head turned, its movement unnatural—too fluid, too alive. The queen's gaze shifted, locking onto Korrin.
A sickening crack split the air.
Korrin's body locked in place, his face frozen in shock. Then—he shrank. Withered. His muscles caved inward, his skin tightening like dry parchment. His flesh crumbled, unraveling like sand in the wind.
His mouth opened—a silent scream, never given the chance to escape.
And then—
He was gone.
Not a corpse. Not even bones.
Just dust, dissolving into the stagnant air.
A suffocating silence fell over the room.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Renji stumbled backward, his face draining of color. "The fuck—"
Elara's hands trembled, her fingers curled into fists. She had seen death before—but not like this.
Roran's jaw clenched, his body tense as his mind raced. His instincts screamed at him to run, to escape now, but his legs were leaden.
Kaelin let out a slow exhale, his eyes never leaving the queen. "That wasn't death." His voice was low, measured. "That was erasure."
Denwen's stomach twisted violently. Korrin wasn't just dead.
He had been erased. Just like the corpses of the disasters outside the dungeon.
A slow, bone-chilling creak reverberated through the chamber.
BOOM
The door swung close and --
The Queen moved.
A grotesque, ear-to-ear smile carved itself onto her face, stretching impossibly wide. Her teeth—long, jagged, too many—gleamed like polished ivory. The golden light in her eyes flared brighter, locking onto Denwen.
The warmth in the chamber fled, replaced by a creeping, paralyzing cold.
Somewhere, deep within the maze of statues—
Something clicked.
A ripple surged outward.
And then—
The first knight's pupils flared to life.
Then the rooks.
Then the bishops.
Then the goblins.
One by one—
The statues awoke.
And then—
They moved.