The Medallion and the Serpent

The night hung over the city like a thick, silent veil. Khaz pulled his hood over his head and glanced at the others around him. Everyone was ready.

"Last chance to back out," he said, his voice laced with irony.

No one responded.

A satisfied smile crossed his face. "Then let's move."

The Reliquary loomed imposingly against the dark sky. An old building, but reinforced with modern and arcane protections. Runes glowed on its facade, pulsing faintly like stone hearts. Armed guards patrolled the gates, but the main entrance was never an option.

The group moved through the shadows to the side of the building. Ezra led the way, his eyes scanning the magical inscriptions. He knelt before a small metal door adorned with shimmering symbols.

"Five minutes," he murmured, tracing a circle in the air with his fingers. A supernatural breeze blew, and the symbols began to fade.

Khaz stayed alert, his chest tight—not from fear, but from the uneasy feeling that something was wrong.

"Feeling that, big guy?" Nathanos's voice echoed in his mind.

"Don't start."

"Heh. Just saying... the air's changed. Someone else is here."

Khaz narrowed his eyes but didn't respond.

"Remember, Khaz, the safety of our body and the people under your command is the priority. If there's any chance of failure, retreat." Tian's voice resonated in his mind. He rarely intervened unless the situation was truly critical.

"I know. Don't worry, I've got this," Khaz assured. Tian was one of the few he respected inside his own head.

The passage opened without a sound, and the group slipped inside like shadows. The corridor was narrow, lit only by crystals embedded in the walls. The sound of their footsteps echoed uncomfortably.

They moved in silence until they reached a spiral staircase leading deep into the building. With each step downward, the air grew colder, heavy with something ancient.

At the bottom of the stairs, a large steel door awaited them.

Ezra let out a sigh. "Here's the real problem."

The runes this time were far more complex, etched in pure gold. A divine seal.

"Three minutes," he warned, pulling out a small vial of black ink. He began redrawing the patterns, nullifying each line with surgical precision.

The tension grew. Every second felt like an eternity.

Then... a click.

The door creaked open. The vault was before them.

The lights flickered on automatically, revealing shelves and racks filled with ancient relics. But in the center, on a pedestal of black marble, rested the Medallion.

It was golden, pulsing faintly as if alive. The arcane inscriptions danced across its surface.

Salen stepped forward, hesitant. "This is it?"

Khaz nodded and moved closer. But as he reached out to take it…

A loud boom shook the room.

The gates behind them slammed shut on their own, and a metallic hum filled the air.

Footsteps echoed through the vault.

From within the shadows, a figure emerged. But it wasn't a guard.

It was a tall man, around fifty years old, wearing a sleek black armor with the symbol of a red cross on his chest. His face, weathered by time, bore a sharp, penetrating gaze, as if he could see straight into their souls. On his right arm, a black serpent tattoo coiled from his wrist to his shoulder, the skin seeming to move subtly under the dim light.

The aura around him was heavy, laden with an unsettling mystery. He exuded the kind of presence that made even the proudest hesitate.

A sharp voice cut through the air. "How convenient. The children did all the dirty work for me."

Khaz narrowed his eyes.

"And who might you be?" His voice remained steady, but he chose his words carefully.

The man let out a low, warm laugh, but it was laced with malice. "Oh, my... it seems the youth of today have no respect for their elders. But that's fine." He raised his hand, tracing a circle in the air with his fingers, as if assessing the situation. "I am Varian. High Commander of the Apostles of the End. Or, as some prefer to call me..."

His eyes gleamed with lethal coldness.

"The Wrath of Apophis."

At the sound of that name, Khaz's eyes widened momentarily.

"Now this just got serious," Nathanos's voice came in a graver tone than usual. Even he recognized the danger.

Khaz took a deep breath, refocusing on Varian.

"Let me guess. You want the medallion and expect us to walk away empty-handed, tails between our legs?" His voice carried the arrogance of a leader, but his posture was more cautious.

Varian smiled almost gently. "Exactly. You've got talent, no doubt about it. Getting this far without tripping a single alarm? Impressive. But... there are things you don't yet understand. So, how about letting the elders handle this?"

Silence.

Khaz felt the weight of his companions' eyes on him, waiting for a decision.

"So, children..." Varian tilted his head slightly, the shadow of a smile forming on his lips. "What's it going to be? Hand over the medallion..."

His eyes gleamed, cold and calculating.

"Or try to stop me?"

The raid on the Reliquary was about to turn into a fight for survival.