The rusted door loomed ahead, glistening with rivulets of damp water. Johan's breath clouded the cold air as he ran his hand over the corroded carvings.
"This… this is it," he whispered. "The same door. Julian's door."
He swallowed, lighting his old brass lighter again. The small flame danced weakly, reflecting off the ancient symbols. For a moment, the light seemed to ripple— as if the carvings themselves shivered awake.
A low hum filled the chamber.
"What the devil—?"
The ground quivered under his feet. Then came a stench — sulfur, rot, and something older than time. From the darkness beyond the door, something stirred.
Two curved horns. A long, sinewed neck. Hooves scraping the stone floor.
The creature emerged slowly — its head that of a goat, but its body twisted with sinew and shadow. Its eyes burned with red coals, and its breath came in labored hisses. Chains hung from its shoulders, clinking as it moved.
"Az'raen," Johan breathed. The name escaped before he realized it — his own voice trembling as the memories rushed in, unbidden.
He stumbled, clutching his head. The sound of screams filled his skull.
"Julian! Behind you!"
"Move! It's coming through the corridor—!"
The memory ignited in painful flashes.
Julian Becker stood before the same creature years ago — his revolver drawn, his friends circling it, torches trembling in their hands.
"Keep your eyes on its arms! The claws— they bend backward!" Julian shouted.
Az'raen roared, slamming its hooves down. The chamber cracked. Rubble rained from above. Marcus and Venn tried to flank it, but the floor gave way — a trap of shifting slabs hidden beneath the sand. They fell screaming into spikes below, their voices cut short in an instant.
"Damn it!" Julian cursed, firing again, but the bullets merely tore through mist.
"Use the mirror sigil!" Elias cried, tossing him a small relic— a silver disc engraved with runes.
Julian caught it, raising it just in time as the beast lunged. The sigil flared, reflecting the monster's own hellfire back into its face. Az'raen screamed, its flesh melting into shadowy vapor. In the chaos, Elias swung his blade— the very weapon forged from the guardian's temple metal, shimmering blue.
The creature staggered back, and Julian saw the opening. "Now! Strike it down!"
Elias did — the blade piercing its throat, blue flame bursting from within. But in the beast's dying throes, it lashed out, claws raking across Elias's arm. The sound of tearing flesh echoed.
"Elias!"
Blood splattered across the floor. The smell of iron filled the tomb.
"Go!" Elias hissed, clutching his wound. "Take the weapon… we can use it against the last one!"
Julian grabbed the blade — its hilt hot, pulsing faintly with magic. They fled through collapsing halls, the creature's final roar fading behind them. That was how they deceived the last guardian — by using Az'raen's dying weapon, whose aura masked their human scent long enough to slip past the final throne room.
But the price had been unbearable.
Julian's voice echoed again in Johan's head — his own voice, from another life.
"Three gone to traps… one broken beyond saving… all for a relic we never understood."
The visions flickered and faded. Johan dropped to his knees, clutching his skull.
"Stop… stop!" he gasped. "You're gone… it's gone…"
When his eyes opened again, Az'raen stood there before him — dead. The creature's massive body had long since decayed into brittle husk, bones blackened and cracked. Its horns were half-buried in dried mud, and the weapon — that same blue-forged blade — lay beside it, dull but intact.
Johan's heart pounded. "You… died here? After all that…?"
He knelt beside the corpse, eyes narrowing. "But how? The others sealed the tomb… No one should've reached you."
He rose slowly, his boots squelching in the wet stone as he moved deeper. The tunnels were quiet now — unnaturally so. The traps, once deadly and hidden, lay dormant. The rune-wards etched into the walls were cold, their light long extinguished.
"Like the place itself is… tired," he murmured. "As if it's been waiting."
He passed through a corridor lined with faded frescoes — scenes of kings devoured by their own gods, of beasts kneeling before the sun. And there, at the end, it sat: the final guardian.
A hulking figure upon a stone throne. Skin grey and cracked like weathered marble, its eyes closed, hands gripping the remains of an enormous sword. Behind it, a gate of gold shimmered faintly with an aura so heavy it pressed against Johan's chest like a weight.
He took one cautious step forward. The air vibrated with low, droning power.
Johan exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Ah, again," he muttered under his breath. "Sh*t."
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