The Ruined Temple – Entering the Unknown

A Meeting in the Dark

The temple's entrance loomed ahead, an ancient structure half-buried in the earth, its blackened stone worn by time. Faint carvings lined the doorway—depictions of figures bowing before an unknown force, their faces eroded beyond recognition. The air was thick, damp, and humming with something unnatural.

Tomas whistled. "Well, that's not ominous at all."

Leila glanced at the walls. "Anyone else feel like this place shouldn't have been found?"

Arlan's fingers twitched. His artifact hummed against his chest—not with power, but with recognition.

Something inside this temple knew what he carried.

Another Party – A Deadly Warning

As the group approached the entrance, they weren't alone.

A team of five adventurers stood nearby, discussing something in hushed tones. They looked strong—better equipped than Arlan's group. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a greataxe, noticed them first.

"More hunters, huh?" He scoffed. "Came to loot the place?"

Beren crossed his arms. "Same as you."

The man smirked. "No shame in that." His gaze swept across them. "Name's Garron. My team and I were about to head in, but this place is… strange."

Mira raised an eyebrow. "Strange how?"

Garron frowned. "No monsters outside. No sign of traps. Just a wide-open ruin, waiting to be explored. It's too easy."

Tomas exhaled. "That's never a good sign."

Garron nodded. "We're going in first. If we don't come out…" He gave them a grim smirk. "You'll know why."

With that, his group stepped into the darkness.

The screams started minutes later.

Leila had barely taken a step forward when the first guttural shriek echoed from the depths. The sound of steel clashing, then snapping.

Then silence.

Arlan's blood ran cold.

Tomas gripped his sword. "That… was quick."

Beren pulled his axe from his back. "That was a massacre."

A wet sound—dripping.

A severed arm slid across the stone floor, stopping near their feet.

The group froze.

Mira covered her mouth, eyes wide.

Tomas exhaled shakily. "Oh… shit."

From the shadows beyond the entrance, they emerged.

Humanoid—but not human.

Frog-like creatures, their bodies slick and muscular, covered in blackened warts and piercing yellow eyes. Their arms were longer than they should be, ending in jagged claws. Their mouths—too wide, too full of fangs.

And they watched.

They didn't attack.

They only stared.

As if waiting for something.

Arlan forced himself to breathe. "They let us see what happened on purpose."

Leila's grip on her bow tightened. "Why?"

Tomas swallowed. "Because we're next."

A moment of stillness.

Then—

The creatures lunged.

A Brutal Battle

The creatures moved fast.

Leila barely managed to loose an arrow before one darted sideways, avoiding the shot.

Tomas raised his shield—CLANG! The first blow nearly knocked him off his feet. "Strong bastards!" he grunted.

Beren roared, swinging Stonebreaker in a vicious arc—cleaving one of the creatures in half. Black ichor sprayed across the walls, sizzling against the stone.

Mira shouted, "[Inferno Surge!]"

Flames erupted, searing the flesh off two of the creatures—but the others kept coming, undeterred.

Arlan raised his wand—[Shadow Bolt!]

The dark energy struck one of the frogmen square in the chest. The creature screeched, its flesh withering away instantly. It collapsed, twitching.

Arlan's eyes widened. The Withering Wand really amplified his magic.

Tomas knocked another creature back with [Shield Bash] "Damn things just keep coming!"

Shade lunged through a frogman, his spectral form draining its strength. Bones, in his wolf form, clamped onto one's throat, shaking viciously.

The battle was chaotic, brutal.

But they were winning.

One by one, the frogmen fell.

And when the last one gurgled its last breath, silence filled the chamber once more.

Beren wiped his axe clean. "We're not done yet."

Tomas exhaled. "Let's find out what the hell is deeper inside."

The Encounter with Bartholomew

The battle had left them winded, bruised, and covered in blood that wasn't theirs.

But the deeper they went, the stranger the temple became.

As they moved through its halls, the architecture shifted. The walls were lined with symbols Arlan couldn't read, but they felt wrong. His artifact pulsed harder, a silent warning—or perhaps a beacon.

Then, in the deepest chamber—they found him.

A man stood alone.

He was tall, draped in dark robes lined with silver threads. His face was pale, gaunt, and sharp, his presence suffocating despite his motionless stance. Ancient scrolls and crumbling texts were spread before him, floating mid-air in a circle of blackened energy.

His eyes flicked to them.

Disinterested.

Like they were nothing.

Bartholomew the Hollow.

A man unlike any Arlan had ever seen.

His presence was overwhelming. He hadn't moved, yet Arlan felt as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into a void that threatened to swallow him whole.

Then, suddenly—

The world shifted.

Darkness swallowed everything.

A shadowy wall erupted around Arlan and Bartholomew, sealing them in a separate space. The others—gone.

It was just them now.

Bartholomew regarded him with mild curiosity.

"Interesting," he murmured.

Arlan's breath hitched.

Bartholomew took a slow step forward, his presence crushing against Arlan's mind.

"How long," he asked, "have you been carrying that?"

Arlan forced himself not to take a step back.

"Carrying what?" He feigned ignorance.

Bartholomew smiled faintly. It was not a kind smile.

"Lying is a waste of time." His eyes flickered toward Arlan's chest. "That artifact. The one that hums when I draw near."

Arlan's heart pounded. "You know what it is?"

Bartholomew hummed. "Of course I do. I've seen its kind before."

The air around them grew colder.

"You don't understand the danger of what you carry," Bartholomew said. "And you're certainly not ready to wield it."

Arlan clenched his fists. "I—"

Bartholomew flicked his wrist.

Arlan's artifact ripped itself from his chest, floating midair.

"Hey—!"

Bartholomew studied it with mild intrigue.

"A prison," he mused. "And yet… something inside is still alive."

Arlan couldn't breathe.

Bartholomew glanced back at him. "You're lucky you haven't been devoured yet."

Arlan swallowed hard. "Give it back!"

Bartholomew tilted his head. "No."

Silence.

Bartholomew took a step forward.

"You think you can keep hiding, boy?" he asked. "Keep pretending you're just another adventurer?"

Arlan didn't answer.

Bartholomew's smirk returned.

"You're weak." His voice was cold. "Too afraid to take what's yours. Too afraid to stop pretending."

His fingers curled.

The artifact vanished into his robes.

Arlan's stomach twisted.

"Stop hiding, young necromancer," Bartholomew said. "When your powers grow, I will find you."

His form began to dissolve, shadows curling around him.

Arlan's body felt heavy.

Then—

Everything snapped back.

The shadows vanished.

The chamber returned.

His party stood frozen, confused—as if no time had passed.

Mira blinked. "Arlan?"

Arlan exhaled shakily.

"…I'm fine."

Mira frowned but didn't push.

Tomas huffed. "Let's just get out of here before more frog monsters show up."

Arlan nodded, but inside—

He was far from fine.

His artifact was gone.

And Bartholomew's words haunted him.