Grand Olympia - Chapter 27: Temple

Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 27: Temple

The air inside the temple clung to their skin—damp, cold, and heavy. Each breath tasted stale, like the air had been trapped there for centuries. The faint scent of mildew lingered, but beneath it was something sharper, something foul.

The kind of smell that clings to places long forgotten. Footsteps echoed off the stone walls, too loud in the suffocating silence. Every scuff of a foot felt like a shout in a silence library, keeping their nerves stretched tight.

Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, twisting and shifting as their torches flickered. The carvings that lined the stone corridors were worn and faded, yet their shapes seemed to stare back at them — distorted faces with hollow eyes.

The deeper they moved, the colder the air became. It seeped into their bones, making their muscles stiffen and their breath come slower. No one spoke, but the silence wasn't calm — it was heavy, like something unseen was listening.

The distant drip of water, sounded like a footstep. The group moved carefully, each step slower than the last, each corner feeling like it might reveal something waiting in the dark. 

No one dared to voice it, but they all felt the same thing — as if the temple itself was breathing with them, watching their every move.

Lapulapu, Fu Hao, and Musashi led the way, their eyes scanning every shadow. Lapulapu's grip never left his Kampilan's hilt, his gaze calm yet watchful.

Musashi walked in silence, his wooden blades resting lightly in his hands. He didn't speak, but his sharp glances into dark corners betrayed his unease.

Fu Hao, restless as ever, kept shifting her grip on her small jade axe, her fingers clenching and unclenching. She muttered under her breath — something about how the place "reeked like a tomb."

Behind them, George, Jeanne, and Billy kept to the rear, moving slower than the others. George's fingers kept twitching toward his rifle, while Jeanne's spear shifted in her hand every time a shadow moved.

Billy, uncharacteristically quiet, kept glancing back the way they came. The air seemed to press down on them, thicker with every step.

Each of them knew what they were feeling — this wasn't just nerves. The temple wanted them to feel this way.

It was Fu Hao who broke the silence first.

"This place feels… ominous," she muttered, her grip tightening on her axe.

Her eyes darted from one faded carving to the next, barely visible beneath the grime and moss. She clenched her teeth. 

"I swear if I see something crawling on the wall, I'm chopping it in half."

"You're acting like a child," Musashi scoffed from the front, rolling his shoulders. "Relax."

"Relax? Did you just say relax!" Fu Hao shot him a glare. 

"This place reeks of wraiths. Don't tell me you don't feel it."

Jeanne, walking near the back, spoke softly, "We'll be fine. The Lord protects those with faith."

"Yeah?" Fu Hao snorted. "Well, if a ghost shows up, you better pray hard, because I can't punch a spirit!"

"You're scared of ghosts?" Billy's grin spread wide like a wolf spotting prey. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. 

"You know… they say old temples like this are crawling with 'em. The angry kind. The ones that whisper in your ear when you're not looking…"

"Shut up, Sh*thead!" Fu Hao snapped, her voice louder than she intended. She swung her axe in his direction — not to hit him, just to make a point.

Billy ducked, laughing. "Relax," he mimicked. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Jeanne stepped in, her voice calm but firm. "Peace, Miss Fu Hao. There's no reason to fear what cannot touch you. Ghosts are nothing before the strength of His light."

"Great," Fu Hao grumbled. "But unless your God knows kung fu, I'm still swinging if I see something."

Billy stifled another chuckle. "Yeah? What if the ghost dodges?"

Fu Hao turned sharply, her axe halfway up again. "You think I won't try?"

For a moment, the tension broke — just enough for a few tired chuckles to ripple through the group. Even Fu Hao's scowl softened.

"Just keep walking," Musashi muttered, though there was a small grin on his face.

The hallway stretched on, cold and narrow. The air was heavy, stale — the kind of air that clung to your throat and made you forget what fresh air felt like.

Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, a reminder of just how deep they had wandered into this forgotten place.

The flickering light of their torches barely reached the walls, but what little they could see was enough to keep everyone on edge.

At the far end of the hallway, a mural sprawled across the wall — faded yet still striking in its detail. The paint was cracked and peeling, but the story it told remained clear.

The mural showed a great civilization — men and women standing in rows, their heads bowed in worship. At the heart of their gathering stood a magnificent temple, carved from stone and rising high above the city. 

Rays of golden light burst from the temple's center, painted in bold strokes to make it shine even now, centuries later. The people knelt before the light, arms outstretched, faces full of awe and devotion.

But the mural shifted further down. That same golden light had begun to darken, twisting into jagged shapes. Thick clouds swirled above the city, and waves rose from the earth, swallowing buildings and drowning the worshippers. 

The same people who had once bowed in reverence were now painted thrashing in the water — arms flailing, faces twisted in terror. The golden glow had vanished, replaced by a deep black void.

"Great," Billy muttered, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"Some real cheerful stuff they put on display."

Fu Hao scoffed. "Looks like whoever they worshiped didn't care much for their believers. What do you think, Miss Saint, you're the expert on this, what you make of this.

"Probably that's not what it's showing," Jeanne said quietly. 

Her gaze lingered on the drowning figures.

 "It looks like whoever is worshiping has gone mad and drowned their city."

"Mad or not," Musashi grunted, "doesn't change the fact that this place is f*ck."

George stepped closer, his curiosity pulling him in like a rope around his chest. He studied the mural's faded details — the frightened faces, the swirling water, the dark void swallowing the temple. His fingers twitched at his side.

"George…" Jeanne's voice carried a hint of warning.

Ignoring her, George reached out and traced his fingers along the mural's surface. The stone felt colder than ice, rough beneath his fingertips.

"Don't touch that," Musashi barked, already moving toward him.

But George barely heard. His fingers drifted toward the painted golden light — the heart of the mural's warning.

Click.

A faint sound, like a stone grinding against metal.

Before George could react, a mechanism above them snapped open — and an arrow shot from the ceiling, hissing through the air like a serpent's tongue.

"Move!"

Musashi with superhuman instinct lunged, grabbing George by his long hair and yanking him backward just as the arrow shot past, missing him by a breath. The shaft buried itself in the stone floor, splintering on impact.

George stumbled back. His hand shot to his head, wincing as he rubbed the scalp where Musashi's grip had nearly torn the hair from his skull.

"Damn it…" George muttered between breaths. "Did you have to grab my hair?"

"Next time," Musashi growled, "I'll let the arrow deal with you."

Billy chuckled. "Well, if the traps don't get us, it sounds like Musashi's patience will."

"I told you not to touch anything," Jeanne scolded.

George gave a half-hearted grin. "I was just curious…"

"Curiosity gets you killed," Fu Hao muttered, staring up at the open trap. "I don't like this place."

Lapulapu, silent until now, turned his eyes toward the hallway ahead — where the mural ended, and a staircase led downward into deeper darkness. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than the others.

"Let's keep moving," he said flatly. "Stay sharp."

The group stood at the fork in the hallway, the weight of indecision pressing down on them. At the far end, the narrow stone passage split in two — one path curling upward, the other spiraling down into darkness. The air felt colder here, stale and heavy. No one spoke.

Then, almost in unison, they silently cast their votes.

Musashi, George, and Jeanne raised their hands and pointed toward the staircase leading up. Meanwhile, Fu Hao, Billy, and Lapulapu pointed to the path descending below. Six fingers stretched in opposite directions — dead even.

For a moment, no one said a word. The realization settled in — their first true split in judgment as a group. Until now, instinct or circumstance had pushed them forward. This, though — this was different.

The silence thickened. The temple walls seemed to close in, the air turning colder. The mural behind them, with its scenes of drowning figures and darkened light, lingered in the back of everyone's mind.

"I say we flip a coin," Billy muttered. His voice wasn't joking this time.

"No," Lapulapu said firmly. "We need better reason than luck."

Another pause. No one could argue that — but no one could decide either. The temple watched from the shadows, silent and waiting.