Tomb Hunter Defeated

, guardians that had waited three thousand years for a heartbeat to hunt. He drew his rusted gladius, but the first blow from the guardian shattered the steel like winter ice. He was tossed against the hieroglyph-covered walls, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and the torch from his hand. In the growing dark, the glowing blue eyes of the sentinels were the only stars in his collapsing sky. He tried to scramble toward the exit crawlspace, his fingers bleeding as they clawed at the limestone. But the heavy stone slab at the entrance groaned, sliding shut with the finality of a gavel. The tomb hunter, who had boasted that no grave could hold him, looked up to see the guardians looming over him, their forms blocking the last sliver of light. As the hum reached a deafening crescendo, Silas realized the legends were wrong. The tomb wasn't built to hide a treasure; it was built as a

His traps turned on him. His own blade, blessed against the undead, shattered against a silence older than death. He screamed—not from pain, but from the sudden, awful realization that he had never been the hunter at all. Only a guest, long overdue. tomb hunter defeated