The disappearance of the markers left Marcus staring at the passage walls in disbelief. Every scratch he had carved, every sign he had carefully left behind to guide himself through the maze, had vanished without a trace. Those damned black wind monsters had truly done him dirty. Now he was back at the beginning, forced to grope through the labyrinth all over again.
The Mystic Turtle's Tomb was officially a nightmare.
He rubbed his face, resisting the very real urge to shout at the empty tunnels. Hours of work gone. Progress erased. Whoever designed this place clearly hated players.
Still, complaining solved nothing. With a long breath, Marcus summoned his pets again, swung himself onto Blackie, and began marking the walls once more as he moved forward, searching for the hidden entrance to the second level.
Three hours passed in silence.
