Lucas, Dean and their remaining squadmates plunged deeper into the pyramid's winding corridors. Each step away from the holding chamber felt like they were descending further into a tomb. The torches overhead sputtered and the air grew increasingly oppressive. Shadows clung to the walls as it was cast by the sigils engraved in the blackened stone. These runes pulsed with an unholy life as though whispering malicious secrets in a tongue long lost in time.
Lucas's breath came in ragged gasps. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples as it mixed with the grime on his skin. His heart was pounding. It was echoing louder with every step he took.
"Stay close," Dean murmured, his voice was calm but his eyes had a betraying worry. The massive warhammer that he created after leaving the holding chamber was stained with the blood and flesh of previous cultists they had encountered, now it was resting on his shoulder.
