Panic. Cold, sharp, and utterly alien. It wasn’t mine, not entirely. It screamed up from the pit of my stomach, from the very core of my being where The Hunger resided – a raw, primal terror that clamped down on my muscles, freezing me in place for half a horrifying second. The entity within me, the predator that gifted me strength and savagery, the thing that revelled in the hunt and the kill, was afraid. Deeply, existentially afraid. And that internal recoil, that sudden vulnerability from the monster sharing my soul, was almost more terrifying than the grinding stone or the pulsing blue light.

  The heavy stone panel finished its inward slide with a final, echoing thump, leaving a dark, ten-foot-wide passage gaping in the far wall. The rhythmic blue light pulsed from within, casting the main chamber in alternating waves of eerie illumination and deep shadow. The silence that followed the grinding stone felt impossibly loud, filled only by the sharp, intensifying hum of the damaged construct in the center of the room and the crackle of static electricity that made the air itself feel brittle.

  Then, movement. Not from the passage. From the thing.

  With a screech of tortured, protesting metal, the ten-foot-tall, angular construct jerked upright. It had been partially embedded, perhaps dormant, but the opening of the passage, the surge of energy, had woken it fully. Sparks showered from rents in its dark, alien plating. Its head unit, a blocky, damaged structure atop its torso, swivelled jerkily on unseen mechanisms, emitting grinding complaints. It scanned the chamber, and then… it focused. Dim red optical sensors, like dying embers, flickered to life within recessed sockets, locking onto me.

  A fresh wave of static discharge crackled through the air, stronger now, making the fine hairs on my neck and arms stand straight up, prickling painfully against my skin. The ozone tang grew sharper, burning the back of my throat. This wasn’t just some dormant relic anymore. It was active. Alert. And its attention was fixed entirely on the only living thing in the room besides itself. Me.

  My own survival instincts, honed by years of desperate living and sharpened by The Hunger’s predatory edge even a terrified predator is still a predator, finally kicked in, shoving aside the symbiote’s debilitating fear. Analyze. Assess. Survive.

  Okay. Situation: One massive, damaged, but clearly hostile construct between me and the main crypt exit. Active, and based on the desiccated guard at its feet, capable of draining life force. One newly opened passage emanating dangerous energy and the source of The Hunger’s unprecedented terror – unknown threat level, but likely high. One dead guard, proof of the construct’s lethal capabilities. Mission: Investigate the disappearances, determine the threat, eliminate if possible, bring back proof. Secondary objective, rapidly becoming primary: Get the fuck out of here alive.

  Escape was paramount. But just turning and running meant confronting that metal monstrosity head-on. Understanding the threat, finding a weakness, might be necessary before escape was even possible. Flicker wanted answers, and frankly, so did I. What the hell was this thing?

  The construct took a step. Then another. It moved with a ponderous, dragging gait, one leg clearly damaged, scraping against the flagstone floor with a sound like fingernails on slate. But it moved with relentless purpose, closing the distance between us. It wasn’t fast, but it was big, radiating an aura of ancient, implacable power that dwarfed any physical beast I’d ever faced. The sheer wrongness of it, the alien geometry, the cold, mechanical intent – it was deeply unsettling on a level beyond simple fear.

  It raised one of its arms. Not smoothly, but in a series of jerky, ratcheting movements accompanied by grinding sounds. The arm didn’t end in a hand or claws. Instead, it terminated in a complex cluster of thick, metallic rods, tarnished and pitted but visibly humming with contained energy. As it raised the arm, the tips of these rods began to glow faintly with the same sickly blue light pulsing from the open passage.

  Fuck. Weapon system activating.

  It didn’t charge. It didn’t swing. It stopped, maybe thirty feet away, and simply pointed the glowing rods towards me.

  I braced myself for… something. A blast of energy? A projectile? Nothing visible happened. But I felt it. A sudden, horrific wave of lethargy washed over me, heavy and cloying, like wading through invisible treacle. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t heat or cold. It was… a pull. A gentle, insidious draining sensation, focused somewhere deep inside my chest, as if my own life force, the very energy keeping me alive, was being drawn out, pulled towards the machine like iron filings to a magnet.

  DANGER! FLEE! NOW! The Hunger’s warning wasn’t a whisper this time; it was a silent, frantic scream echoing in the depths of my mind, raw terror amplifying the draining sensation tenfold.

  There was no conscious thought, only reaction. Pure, honed instinct. I threw myself sideways, diving behind the solid bulk of a large, ornately carved stone sarcophagus nearby. I hit the cold floor hard, the impact jarring my already bruised ribs, rolling into the deep shadow behind the ancient coffin.

  Just in time. The air where I had been standing shimmered for a fraction of a second, like heat haze rising from scorched earth. The draining sensation vanished the instant I broke line of sight. I pressed my hand against the cold stone of the sarcophagus, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The stone felt unnaturally cold where the invisible beam must have passed near it, colder than the ambient temperature of the crypt.

  Okay. So, direct confrontation was definitely out. That draining beam… I hadn’t felt anything like it. It didn’t wound; it just… absorbed. Like the guard. How long could someone withstand that before becoming another dried husk? I didn’t want to find out.

  Pinned down. The construct hadn’t moved, its red optical sensors likely scanning the chamber, searching for me. Its humming filled the silence, a constant, unnerving thrum. I risked a quick peek around the edge of the sarcophagus. The machine stood motionless, its arm still raised, the rods glowing faintly. Waiting. Patient. Like a machine would be.

  With my immediate survival momentarily secured, I forced myself to scan the rest of the large chamber more thoroughly, using the alternating pulses of blue light from the passage to pierce the shadows. My enhanced night vision, usually a significant advantage, felt muted here, overwhelmed by the strange energy pervading the room.

  I saw more scorch marks on the floor now, fanning out from the base of the construct, leading towards the open passage like dark veins. Signs of past energy discharges? Or pathways for channeling power?

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  Then, in the far corner of the chamber, opposite the newly opened passage and partially obscured by fallen masonry and deep shadow, I saw them. The other two. The remaining missing guards.

  My stomach tightened. They were slumped against the wall, frozen in postures of desperation. One seemed to have been trying to crawl away, the other raising a useless sword. And they were in the exact same state as the first guard. Utterly desiccated. Skin like brittle parchment, clinging to skeletal frames. Mouths wide in silent screams that echoed the terror still vibrating within me from The Hunger. Their equipment lay scattered around them – dented helmets, useless shields, swords fallen from lifeless grips.

  It looked like they’d been caught here when the construct activated, or perhaps disturbed whatever was in that passage. Caught and drained dry where they stood. This wasn’t a quick, merciful kill. It was slow. It was absorption. The construct, or whatever it was connected to, didn’t just kill; it fed on life force. A cold, mechanical hunger that made the biological needs of the entity within me seem almost natural by comparison.

  Proof. Flicker wanted proof. Seeing those husks… that was proof enough that something terrible had happened here. But what was the threat? Just this malfunctioning guardian? Or something worse lurking in that pulsing blue tunnel?

  Waiting for the construct to make a move, trapped behind the cold stone, my eyes fell on the carvings covering the side of the sarcophagus I used for cover. I’d noticed them before, but hadn’t paid close attention. Now, tracing the lines with my fingertips in the dim, pulsing light, I realized they were… strange.

  They weren’t in the style of the current kingdom, nor the older dynasties whose ruins sometimes dotted the landscape. These carvings depicted tall, disturbingly thin figures with elongated limbs and large, pupil-less eyes. They weren’t human. Not elf, not dwarf, nothing familiar. These figures were shown interacting with complex geometric shapes – cubes, spheres, intricate lattices – connected by lines that looked like energy conduits or circuits. Some figures held glowing orbs or rods, similar to the one the construct wielded. And the geometric patterns… they were identical to the scorch marks on the walls, the patterns on the scarab shells, and the angular design philosophy of the construct itself.

  A cold realization washed over me. This place… this entire crypt complex… it wasn’t built by the people whose descendants now lived in Stonehaven and the surrounding lands. It was older. Much older. Built by this forgotten, alien race. A civilization that apparently dealt with this strange energy, that built these constructs.

  Were the constructs guardians, meant to protect something within? Were they wardens, meant to contain something? Or were they, and the energy they wielded, the source of the danger themselves? The construct didn’t feel like a living monster, driven by instinct or malice. It felt like ancient machinery. Damaged, malfunctioning, but following some long-forgotten protocol. A protocol that involved draining the life out of anything organic that disturbed its slumber.

  Who were these Builders? What happened to them? And what, exactly, were they guarding, or containing, down here in the dark? The questions piled up, unsettling and dangerous.

  The low hum of the construct remained constant, a predatory baseline beneath the silence. It hadn’t moved from its position, but I could feel its attention, its sensors likely sweeping the chamber methodically. Staying put behind this sarcophagus wasn’t a long-term solution. Eventually, it would pinpoint my location, or simply saturate the area with its draining field. Retreating the way I came, back up the main passage, meant crossing the open floor, directly exposed to its weapon. A suicidal move.

  That left the third option. The open passage. The source of the blue light, the intense energy, and the raw terror radiating from The Hunger. Logically, it made a twisted kind of sense. The construct seemed tied to that passage, perhaps drawing power from whatever lay within. If I could find the source, maybe disable it… that might shut down the construct. Eliminate the primary threat. It was the tactically sounder option, focusing on the root cause rather than the symptom.

  Instinctively, however, every fiber of my being – amplified by The Hunger’s unprecedented fear – screamed against it. Going towards the source of that dread felt like walking willingly into the maw of something infinitely worse than the damaged machine currently pinning me down.

  But staying here was death. Running back was likely death. Investigating the unknown, terrifying passage… that was a chance. A slim, terrifying chance, but better than none. Besides, the contract required determining the threat. Hiding behind a coffin wouldn’t achieve that.

  Decision made. Adrenaline surged, overriding the lingering fear. I crouched lower, muscles tensed, waiting for my moment. The construct began a slow, ponderous turn, its red sensors sweeping towards the corner where the other guards lay desiccated. Its back was momentarily angled away from my position.

  Now.

  Exploding from behind the sarcophagus, I didn’t run towards the main crypt exit. I sprinted across the cold flagstone floor, directly towards the gaping, blue-lit passage in the far wall. My boots slapped against the ancient stone, the sound echoing unnervingly in the large chamber. The construct reacted instantly, the screech of protesting metal loud as it began to pivot back towards me, its red eyes locking onto my fleeing form.

  Faster. Faster. The passage entrance loomed, pulsing with cold light and palpable energy.

  I dove headfirst into the opening, hitting the floor of the passage beyond and rolling, just as I heard the distinctive hiss of the air behind me shimmering – the construct’s draining beam sweeping across the stone where I had been only a heartbeat before.

  Behind me, with a deep, grinding groan, the heavy stone door I’d just entered began to automatically slide shut, sealing me inside.

  Darkness swallowed the chamber behind me as the stone door sealed with a final, heavy thud. I was inside the passage. Alone. Plunged into the pulsing blue light.

  The light emanated from further down the narrow corridor, which sloped downwards even more steeply than the main crypt passage. The air here was thick, almost difficult to breathe, saturated with the sharp ozone tang. The humming was louder, vibrating through the very rock beneath me, a deep, resonant frequency that made my teeth ache. The static charge was intense, making my hair stand on end, my clothes crackle, and tiny blue sparks jump between my fingertips and the stone walls when I brushed against them.

  The walls of the passage weren’t rough-hewn stone. They were smooth, almost polished, made of the same dark, light-absorbing material as the construct, etched with the same intricate, geometric patterns, which glowed faintly with the blue light. This wasn’t a natural tunnel; it was part of the Builders’ construction.

  Pushing myself to my feet, sword still gripped tightly in my hand, I cautiously moved forward. Ten paces ahead, the narrow passage opened into another chamber, smaller than the main one, bathed in the same pulsing blue radiance.

  And fixed to the far wall of this chamber, illuminated starkly by the light, was another figure. Another corpse.

  But this wasn’t one of the missing guards. This figure was ancient. Clad in the tattered, rotted remnants of clothing made from some rich, unfamiliar fabric – finery that matched the style depicted in the sarcophagus carvings. One of the Builders. Or at least, someone from their era. Like the guards, it was desiccated, a skeletal figure frozen in time. But its posture wasn’t one of fear. It was seated, almost regally, on a simple stone dais, its skeletal hand clutching a large, crystalline orb, now cracked and dark. It faced the passage entrance, as if waiting. Or guarding.

  As I took another hesitant step forward, a sound filled the narrow passage. Not the hum, not the static crackle. A whisper. Faint. Dry. Raspy, like autumn leaves skittering across stone. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing off the smooth walls, swirling around me in the pulsing blue light.

  “It wakes…” the whisper breathed, ancient and tired. “…it feeds…”

  A pause, filled only by the hum and the frantic beating of my own heart.

  “…forever…”