We advanced in silence, only the echo of our footsteps breaking the stillness of the ruins. I trailed behind, making sure we didn't suffer any surprises or unexpected attacks, although I didn't need to. But looking at each wall, each pillar eroded by time, was familiar in a way I couldn't explain. As if my own hands had shaped this place, and I'd somehow forgotten.
The rubble and cracks carved strange paths. This wasn't how he remembered it... or how he thought he remembered it. Something had changed. A subtle corruption permeated the air, clinging to the stones, warping what had once been pure. He felt its presence with every step, like a whisper he couldn't silence.
"This place gives me a bad feeling," Emil commented, his voice breaking through the silence. He sounded tense, though he tried to hide it.
The others didn't respond. Their faces remained impassive, intent only on their duty, oblivious to the sense of threat that hung over us like an invisible fog.
We continued forward until we stopped in front of a gigantic door. I stood motionless, staring at it. It was unlike anything else. Worn, covered in dust and debris, its presence dominated the entire space. It was sealed, but what caught my attention most were the symbols covering it. Chaotic, shifting shapes that seemed to move with a life of their own as soon as I laid eyes on them.
Something stirred inside me. Not fear, not doubt… but a deeper, older unease. I knew, without needing confirmation, that behind that door lay the heart of this temple. The center of everything I had ever built here.
But one question lingered: 'When? When had I done this?' My memory, vastly honed, shouldn't have failed me. And yet, there was a void there, an absence of memory I couldn't fathom.
The feeling of loss grew, subtle as the slow flow of sand through my fingers. Something, at some point, had slipped out of my control. I forced myself to look away from the door. This wasn't the time to search for answers.
We advanced through cracked corridors, passing under vaults whose stones seemed to groan with our steps. Dampness had seeped in everywhere, leaving blackish mosses climbing the walls, nourished by something other than water and shade.
The soldiers stood in close formation, weapons ready, their gazes hardened. Yet I sensed small cracks in their composure. Shifting glances, hesitant steps. The tension was an enemy as real as any creature that might lurk in here.
That's when I noticed it.
The old man, a man I had learned was called Dorian, murmured prayers as he walked. It wasn't strange in itself; many sought refuge in their faith in the face of horror. But there was something anomalous about his words. They weren't imperial hymns.
The cadence, the intonation... they were different. Like a forgotten language, brushing against the senses in an uneasy way.
I focused seriously. The words seemed to creep through the air, vibrating in a way that wasn't natural. I recognized fragments. Names that shouldn't be spoken. Praise not directed at the Emperor, but at older, darker things.
Dorian noticed my gaze and immediately lowered his voice, pretending to pray silently. But it was too late. He'd heard enough.
I didn't say anything. I didn't confront him. Not yet. Doing so here, in this place, with the walls looming, would only sow panic. And panic was the prelude to death.
I continued walking, as if I hadn't noticed anything. However, every fiber of my being remained alert. It was already obvious that the enemy wasn't just outside. He had already set foot inside our circle.
The temple seemed to sense it too. As we went deeper, the atmosphere became heavier, as if every meter we advanced was a challenge imposed by something that didn't want to let us out.
We turned into a partially collapsed corridor, where the roof had partially collapsed, exposing fragments of the temple's upper layers. That's where I saw the first sign.
In the accumulated dust on the ground, there were footprints. They weren't human. The footprints were irregular, some ending in claws, others in impossible tentacle-like shapes. As if several different creatures had passed through there, or perhaps, as if the same creature changed shape with each step.
I crouched down, examining them closely. They didn't look recent, but they weren't ancient either. The dust around them hadn't completely settled yet.
"What do you see?" Emil asked, coming closer.
I raised my hand, asking for silence. It wasn't wise to mention him out loud. Here, I felt like even the words could be heard by ears outside our reality.
We continued forward. Each room we passed through was worse than the last: cracked walls, statues of ancient warriors deformed, as if an invisible hand had corroded them from within. Some seemed to twist slightly when you didn't look directly at them.
Then the whispers started.
At first, they were soft, barely touching consciousness. Murmurs in forgotten languages, echoes of ancient battles resonating in the empty corridors. I swore some soldiers heard them too. They looked at each other nervously, tightening their grips on their rifles.
It wasn't an illusion. I, too, felt the constant pressure, like an invisible fog brushing against my skin, trying to infiltrate my thoughts.
But my mind was a bulwark. It had been designed, rebuilt, and perfected over centuries to ward off madness. I was aware of every intrusion, every attempt at corruption.
They, on the other hand, were not.
In the distance, a dull rumble shook the air. An ancient door, closing. Or something moving... something large.
I turned to the group.
"Stay still," I ordered in a low, authoritative voice. "Keep your formations tight. Don't respond to anything you hear, don't look at anything you shouldn't."
Some nodded. Others gulped, visibly pale. The seed of fear had already taken root. I knew we would soon have our first encounter. And not everyone was ready for it.
The hallway opened into a large hexagonal room, supported by cracked columns. The darkness was almost total; only our flashlights cut through the darkness, scything the air like knives.
I paused for a moment. I felt it before I saw it, but it was still a surprise. The air was heavy, saturated with the stench of old blood and rotten flesh. Something was waiting for us in the darkness.
"Stop," I ordered, raising a closed fist.
The group stopped. I silently thanked them for their discipline: not all of them would survive the night, but at least they would die doing their duty.
A movement. A body that hadn't been visible a second before.
From the rubble emerged a hideous creature: a poxwalker. A walking corpse, bloated, covered in festering sores. Its eyes, glowing with a sickly light, stared at us.
He was not alone.
Behind him, others emerged: twisted, babbling, blasphemous prayers to dark gods. And beyond, in the deepest shadows, loomed larger, more dangerous figures. Lesser daemons. Chaos Nurglings.
There was no time for warnings.
"Fire at will," I said.
The first shot rang out, and the room erupted in violence.
Shrapnel briefly illuminated the collapsed columns. The poxwalkers staggered forward, indifferent to the pain. Each impact they received only slowed them for an instant before they continued on their way.
I moved forward. Most people would have retreated. Not me.
A demonic creature—a scrawny aberration with overgrown claws—launched at me. I dodged its attack with surgical precision and, without a sound, sank the blade of my sword into its deformed skull. The creature convulsed, spat out black liquid, and fell limp.
It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last.
Around me, the fighting was a hushed chaos: gunfire, muffled screams, terse orders. I saw Emil take down a poxwalker with a well-placed shot to the head, and a young soldier dragged into the shadows before he could even scream.
The poxwalkers kept coming, like a putrid tide. Many more than we'd faced before.
The corruption in this place was deeper than he had imagined.
Perhaps... deeper than he could yet control.
I moved like a specter among them, striking and dodging, my mind working with a cold clarity that only centuries of perfection could grant me. Allowing myself to clearly feel how their rotting bodies burst with ease under my blows, the feeling of disgust being suppressed by the hatred that came with seeing these people's poor souls transform into just that.
The lesser demons—the true offspring—emerged then, as if the spilled blood had been their calling. Creatures of corrupted flesh, with elongated limbs and mouths where none should exist.
One of them, with a twisted torso and scythe-like claws, roared. A sound that didn't originate in its throat, but seemed to emerge directly inside our heads.
Some men hesitated. I don't blame them. Even I felt the weight of that aberration resonate in my conscience, like a distant echo in the vast well of my mind.
—Concentrated fire on the big ones, I ordered.
My voice cut through the fear like a blade.
The group responded. Bullets pierced the air, seeking out demonic flesh. Some projectiles sank into their unnatural bodies with no visible effect, but others found cracks in their unstable form, dissolving them in bursts of putrid steam.
I dashed towards the nearest one.
The demon raised its claw, seeking to split me in two. But I was no longer there. I slid down its flank, spun around, and summoned my most trusted weapon with a simple thought. My sword, a weapon that took on a simple appearance, burned briefly under the touch of my will. The blade pierced its monstrous knee.
The creature fell on its side, howling, and I finished it off with a clean cut across its throat.
There was no glory in the slaughter. Only necessity.
To my right, Emil was fighting hand-to-hand, using his rifle as a club when the bullets ran out. He wasn't inexperienced, for a common mortal, but his energy was that of a man who fought with desperation, not skill.
A second Nurgling charged our flank.
Two soldiers were knocked to the ground like dolls. I heard bones crunching under the creature's force. One of the men tried to crawl, his leg twisted at an impossible angle. He wouldn't get far.
I had to intervene.
I propelled myself forward. Every movement was pure economy: minimum energy, maximum effectiveness.
I lunged at the sapling, dodging its descending claw by a hair. The creature tried to parry my attack, but I had already penetrated its guard. My sword sank deep into its abdomen. It wasn't enough.
With a twist, I ripped the weapon from its corrupted flesh and stabbed again, this time at its center of gravity. The demon fell, its body dissipating in nauseating smoke.
Looking up, I saw the battle beginning to turn in our favor. Not because we were stronger. But because we were more determined. And, in my case, because I had been built to survive worse than this.
I wiped the sticky blood from my face without thinking. We couldn't stay there. We couldn't afford any more losses.
"Regroup," I ordered, my voice resonating with unquestionable authority. "We're moving forward."
I could have made a mistake by taking Emil's power away, but I still felt the eyes of the darkness. The temple wasn't finished with us. Nor was I finished with it.