Chapter 14 – Under the Weight of Darkness

  Thirty steps.

  Steve counted because the alternative was thinking about what waited below.

  Each step echoed differently on the descent—no longer the dry creak of the temple's wood, but something deeper, more hollow. As if they were descending into something alive that was slowly swallowing them.

  The light from the trapdoor above disappeared after the tenth step.

  Not gradually. Suddenly. As if something had closed an invisible door behind them.

  The darkness that enveloped them was not ordinary.

  It wasn't just absence of light—it was *presence*. Something dense, almost tangible, pressing against the skin, entering through the nostrils with each breath. Steve felt its weight on his shoulders, like invisible hands trying to push him back.

  The air was different down here. Colder. More humid. Loaded with a smell that made his stomach churn—wet earth mixed with something organic decomposing. Not strong enough to make him vomit, but present enough to never be forgotten.

  Twenty steps.

  Steve's hands touched the wall beside him to maintain balance. The surface was rough—no longer wood, but irregular stone, covered by something viscous that stuck to his fingers. He didn't want to know what it was.

  Twenty-five.

  The group's breathing echoed strangely. Sounds distorted, returned from impossible angles, as if there were hidden chambers in the surrounding walls.

  Thirty.

  The last step.

  Steve felt the ground change beneath his feet—no longer creaking wood, but solid stone, cold, that seemed to suck heat through his boots.

  Fog's voice broke the suffocating silence.

  "Man, these are some sinister and long stairs, huh."

  He tried to sound casual, but there was tension in his voice. The kind of comment made to fill the void before the void fills you.

  He looked forward.

  Everything was completely black.

  There was no visible end. No distinguishable walls. Just absolute darkness that seemed to extend infinitely in all directions.

  That's when Keara moved.

  She took a step forward, closed her eyes, and raised both hands to chest height. Her lips moved, tracing words in a voice too low for Steve to hear completely—only fragments of ancient language that made the darkness itself seem to recoil slightly.

  "**Divine Light.**"

  Her voice echoed with weight that shouldn't exist in two simple words.

  Then she *glowed*.

  It wasn't gradual. It was instantaneous.

  Keara's entire body lit up with white, warm light, starting from the center of her chest and spreading in gentle waves to her fingertips, to the strands of her hair. It wasn't aggressive light like flame or lightning—it was *gentle* light, the kind that reminded you of peaceful mornings and safe homes.

  The darkness recoiled like a wounded animal.

  The underground was revealed.

  Steve held his breath.

  They were in a wide chamber, much larger than should fit under the temple. The ceiling was low—irregular stone stained black with mold and time. The walls were stone too, but roughly worked, as if they had been hastily excavated by desperate hands.

  And ahead of them, illuminated by Keara's light, were three doors.

  Three arches carved into the rock itself, each leading to different corridors that lost themselves in the darkness beyond the light's reach.

  The left door had symbols carved around it—overlapping circles, lines crossing in patterns that made the eyes hurt if observed too long.

  The center door was completely smooth, without marks, without decoration. Just black, empty stone.

  The right door had stains. It was impossible to tell if they were blood, rust, or something worse, but they ran down the edges like dried tears.

  Fog looked at the three doors, frowned, and said what everyone was thinking.

  "And now? What are these three doors?"

  His voice echoed strangely, returning distorted, as if three versions of him had spoken simultaneously from different places.

  Dagon turned to Jelím, his expression serious.

  "Hey, Jelím," he said, his voice low but clear. "Which direction do we follow now?"

  Jelím didn't respond with words.

  Just nodded slightly, an almost imperceptible movement behind the white mask.

  Then she slowly raised both hands, her fingers curving in precise gestures, like someone playing strings of an invisible instrument.

  The air around her seemed to vibrate for a brief second.

  The cult member who was guiding them—until then motionless as a statue—shuddered violently.

  His head turned at a wrong angle, empty eyes fixing on the left door.

  The deformed mouth opened with difficulty, muscles contracting unnaturally.

  "The way..." the voice came out dragging, dead "...is this door."

  The arm rose rigidly, the finger pointing to the left arch with the carved symbols.

  Finn didn't hesitate for a second.

  "Very well," he said, his voice hard as stone. "Let's go."

  He began walking immediately toward the indicated door, his steps firm, determined, without looking back to see if the others followed.

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  His entire posture screamed barely contained desperation.

  Tense shoulders. Hand squeezing and releasing the sword hilt in an irregular rhythm. Breathing faster than it should be. Each step seemed to carry invisible weight that increased with each meter.

  Steve watched him from behind, and for the first time since meeting him, truly *understood*.

  It wasn't just urgency.

  It was fear.

  Fear of arriving too late.

  Fear of finding only bodies.

  Fear of breaking the promise he had made.

  The group followed in silence.

  They crossed the left arch and entered the corridor beyond.

  It was narrow—only two people would fit comfortably side by side. The stone walls seemed to lean slightly inward, creating a claustrophobic sensation that the ceiling could collapse at any moment. Keara's light could barely penetrate the darkness ahead, revealing only the next few meters of the path.

  The smell grew stronger here. It was no longer just distant decomposition—it was something more immediate, more *present*. Iron. Old sweat. Crystallized fear.

  They walked for an impossible amount of time to measure. Underground, without sun, without clocks working properly, minutes stretched or shrank without pattern.

  Steve found himself walking beside Fog.

  The silence weighed too much. He needed something to break the growing void in his own mind.

  "Who are these prisoners?" he asked, his voice coming out lower than intended.

  Fog didn't look at him immediately. He continued looking forward, at Finn's back in the distance, before responding.

  "The other two girls are Finn's sisters," he said, his tone too casual for the weight of the words. "But one of them..." he paused "...is his fiancée. She's expecting a child."

  The world seemed to stop for a second.

  Steve felt something tighten in his chest.

  *Pregnant.*

  *She's pregnant and was captured by these...*

  He looked at Finn ahead—at the tense shoulders, at the hurried steps, at the hand that wouldn't release the sword.

  And for the first time, he truly understood.

  It wasn't just about saving someone.

  It was about saving *everything*.

  Finn's entire future depended on arriving in time.

  Steve swallowed hard, feeling new weight on his own shoulders.

  Fog broke the silence again.

  "And you?" he asked, turning his head slightly. "What are you doing in this forest?"

  The question caught Steve off guard.

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought quickly.

  *I can't tell the truth.*

  *I can't say I'm from another world.*

  *I can't...*

  "I was brought here as a slave," he lied, forcing his voice to come out firm.

  Fog finally looked at him directly, his expression softening slightly.

  "I'm sorry for you."

  The guilt hit Steve like a punch to the stomach.

  *I lied.*

  *He's being kind and I lied to his face.*

  He tried to fix it quickly.

  "No, relax," he said, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "It's okay. I wanted to come here, in a way."

  Fog raised an eyebrow.

  "You *wanted* to?"

  "Yes, but..." Steve hesitated "...it's a long story."

  *To a certain extent it's true*, he thought bitterly. *I'm a slave to this system. I was ripped from my world without choice. Without a chance to refuse.*

  *But cruelty?*

  *This world isn't that different from mine.*

  *There I was weak, humiliated, beaten.*

  *Here I'm weak, almost dead, dependent on others.*

  *What's the real difference?*

  The HUD blinked in front of his eyes, calling attention as it always did at the worst moments.

  > **ERROR**

  > User: Unidentified

  > Class: Unidentified

  > Level: 0

  > Special Attributes: Disabled

  Steve gritted his teeth, looking at those words that had pursued him since he arrived.

  *What does this system want with me?*

  *Why me?*

  *Why doesn't it work?*

  He looked forward, at the group walking with purpose and power.

  Dagon—experienced, strong, confident.

  Finn—skilled, determined, capable.

  Jelím—powerful, controlled, fearsome.

  Fog—competent mage, useful, necessary.

  Keara—essential healer, kind, valuable.

  And then he looked at his own hands.

  Hands that trembled. That could barely hold the sword. That were covered in goblin blood he had killed out of desperation, not skill.

  *I'm useless.*

  The thought came with cruel clarity.

  *In my world, I was weak. Humiliated. Beaten. Invisible.*

  *Here, in a fantasy world where it should be different, where I should have a system helping me...*

  *I'm still weak.*

  *Still depend on others to survive.*

  *Still dead weight.*

  He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. Anger grew—not at others, but at himself.

  *Why did I come?*

  *Why didn't I run when I had the chance?*

  *Why do I keep going, slowing everyone down, being protected like a child?*

  "Hey."

  Dagon's voice came from behind him, low, close.

  Steve turned slightly, trying to hide his expression.

  "You okay, kid?"

  The question was simple, but carried real weight. Genuine concern.

  Steve forced a smile on his face—the same fake smile he used in the real world when he wanted to hide pain.

  "I'm fine," he replied, his voice coming out too firm, too controlled.

  Dagon stared at him for a long moment.

  His eyes were sharp, experienced. The kind that saw through social masks with irritating ease.

  He said nothing.

  Just slowly looked away, with an expression that made it clear: *I don't believe you, but I won't force it.*

  Steve felt the knot in his stomach tighten more.

  They continued walking.

  The corridor seemed endless. Keara's light revealed only the next few meters, always the same—stone, darkness, more stone, more darkness.

  That's when something changed.

  Ahead, at the light's edge, a different glow appeared.

  It wasn't a reflection. It wasn't an illusion.

  It was *real light* coming from somewhere beyond the corridor.

  "Look!" Keara said, her voice rising in hopeful tone. "I think that must be the exit!"

  She pointed forward, where pale white glow leaked from a distant opening.

  Finn's expression changed instantly.

  His eyes narrowed. His jaw locked. His steps accelerated without him realizing it—walking becoming almost running.

  They reached the opening.

  And stopped.

  All at the same time, as if they had hit an invisible wall.

  Because what they saw didn't make sense.

  The corridor ended in a natural chamber—not excavated by human hands, but formed by the earth itself over centuries. The ceiling was irregular, stained black and green by ancient mosses. The walls curved at strange angles.

  And in the center of the chamber, illuminated by light coming from above through a narrow crack in the rock, were more stairs.

  Not descending.

  *Ascending.*

  Wide steps of ancient stone, worn by time and use, leading upward through the crack, toward the surface.

  Steve felt confusion hit like a wave.

  *We descended to ascend?*

  *This doesn't make sense.*

  The controlled cult member advanced mechanically to the base of the stairs.

  Stopped.

  Raised his arm rigidly, pointing upward.

  "It's... up... there."

  The dead voice echoed through the chamber.

  The group exchanged looks.

  Steve was the first to state the obvious.

  "You know they could be waiting for us up there, right?"

  Heavy silence.

  Finn turned slowly to him.

  His expression was empty of everything except deadly determination.

  "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice low but firm.

  Then his expression softened just a fraction. Something almost human returned to his eyes for a brief second.

  "Steve..." he continued "...if you want to leave now, you can. You've helped us a lot already. I personally thank you."

  The words were sincere. There was no demand. No judgment.

  Just permission to flee before it was too late.

  Steve felt something break inside him.

  *This is my chance.*

  *I can leave.*

  *I can get out of here, find a way out of the forest, survive.*

  *No one will judge me.*

  *No one will stop me.*

  But then he remembered.

  He remembered Keara healing his wounds with kindness that reminded him of his mother.

  He remembered Dagon saving his life three times.

  He remembered the healers in the village—the ones who had cared for him when he was broken and bleeding.

  *One of them is Finn's fiancée.*

  *She's pregnant.*

  *She's up there.*

  He took a deep breath.

  Forced courage he didn't feel.

  "No," he said, trying to sound more confident than he was. "I'm going with you."

  He paused.

  "And besides... I want to help save those healers who saved me."

  The entire group turned to him.

  Surprised looks. Confused.

  Finn frowned.

  "Healers?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

  Steve nodded quickly.

  "Yes. Two healers who saved me when I was almost dead. It was almost yesterday. One of them had blonde hair..."

  He didn't finish the sentence.

  Because he saw the change in Finn's face.

  The tension disappeared for a second. His shoulders dropped slightly. His eyes widened with something Steve hadn't seen in him before.

  *Hope.*

  A smile—small, broken, but real—appeared on Finn's face.

  "Very well," he said, his voice failing slightly. "Let's go."

  He turned to the stairs.

  And began to climb.

  The steps were wide but irregular, worn unevenly by centuries of use. Some cracked. Others with pieces missing at the edges.

  Steve climbed right behind Keara, feeling the muscles in his legs burn with the effort. There weren't many steps—maybe twenty—but each one seemed heavier than the previous.

  The light coming from the surface grew stronger as they climbed.

  It wasn't light from torches or bonfires.

  It was *natural* light. Daylight.

  When they emerged, everyone stopped at the same time.

  And remained in absolute silence.

  Because what was before them stole their words.

  A temple.

  But not like the one above—it wasn't a simple, shadowy wooden structure.

  It was *colossal*.

  Ruins of giant stone rose around them like bones of a dead titan. Massive columns, some still standing, others broken and toppled, scattered across the ground like trees felled by an impossible storm. Each column was at least ten meters in diameter, covered in dark green moss and roots descending like exposed veins.

  Stone blocks the size of houses were scattered in patterns that suggested some ancient order, some forgotten purpose. Symbols were carved into every surface—not the crude symbols of the temple above, but *real* art, worked with mastery that transcended time.

  Circles within circles. Stars of impossible geometry. Eyes. Many eyes. All looking toward the center.

  And the roots.

  *God, the roots.*

  They descended from colossal trees surrounding the temple—trees so ancient and large they partially blocked the sun, creating a pattern of light and shadow dancing over the ruins. The roots didn't just touch the stones—they *embraced* them, *consumed* them, growing through cracks, slowly splitting blocks over decades.

  Moss covered everything like a dark green mantle, softening the sharp edges of stone, transforming ruin into something almost... alive.

  The air here was different.

  Heavier. More *ancient*. As if each breath carried the weight of centuries, of dead civilizations, of buried secrets.

  Steve felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

  It wasn't ordinary fear.

  It was primitive recognition of being before something *sacred*.

  Or something that used to be sacred and was now something else.

  The controlled cult member took another step forward.

  Stopped in the middle of the ruins, between two fallen columns.

  The deformed mouth opened.

  "It's... here."

  The voice echoed through the ruins wrongly, returning distorted from multiple directions.

  Finn looked around, assessing, his eyes sweeping every shadow, every space between the stones.

  Then he turned to Jelím.

  "Jelím," he said, his voice firm but carrying a real request. "This man has brought us this far. I thank him very much."

  He paused.

  "I ask that you don't kill him. Just leave him unconscious."

  Jelím remained motionless for a long moment.

  Then the voice came from behind the mask, cold as always.

  "Enemy is enemy," she said simply. "No matter how useful he was or is."

  Finn didn't look away.

  "Please."

  Silence.

  Then Jelím sighed slightly—an almost inaudible sound.

  "So be it."

  She snapped her fingers.

  The sound echoed through the ruins.

  The cult member collapsed immediately, falling heavily on the stone floor. He was still breathing—Steve could see his chest rising and falling—but was completely unconscious.

  Finn nodded once, grateful.

  Then turned to the ruins ahead.

  To the center, where the columns converged, where all the symbols pointed.

  "Let's go," he said.

  And began walking among the ancient stones, toward the heart of the forgotten temple.

  The group followed him.

  Steve felt each step echo wrongly.

  As if they were being watched.

  As if something in the shadows between the ruins was *waiting*.

  And for the first time since they descended those stairs, Steve was absolutely certain of one thing:

  They were walking straight into a trap.

  And there was no turning back.