Chapter 347: The Puzzle Of Seven Tiles

Air surrounding them was denser than the stone walls tightening on every side. Silence took the group after Stone’s fall, a void of wordless grief.

Even Ethan, once the very lively spark of their journey, now sat with sunken eyes and quiet.

His lips trembled as he clutched his knees, fighting to keep a tenuous grip on sanity.

After a while a Arthur moved forward in careful steps. His features were impassive, yet behind the impassive mask was a deep hurt.

He had known grief far too well. On Earth, death had taken his parents in a merciless stroke, inflicting wounds deeper than any blade could inflict.

He had thought himself safeguarded against grief, yet the recollection of Stone’s laughter still cut through his chest like broken glass.

The commanders followed close behind, each bearing their own wounds of sorrow, grim faces split by shock and muscles tight not from battle but from the effort of keeping themselves intact.

The death of their fallen brother weighed on all of them.

The bridge had claimed Stone’s life, but ahead of them lay a ruthless maze that offered no pity.

As they walked along the hallway, the air was still thick with dread.

Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor with grim resolve while flickering torches cast jagged shadows on their faces,each flicker tracing their grief more deeply into their features.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, they entered a huge circular chamber where the whole floor was blanketed in unknown glyphs on every one of the tiles.

Ethan raised his head at this sight; his voice was hoarse as he croaked, “What… in hell is this?”

The ground undulated dangerously under dim light. Each tile bore intricate symbols,snakes, suns, swords, eyes,deeply incised into its surface.

The archaeologists who had gotten this far clutched notes and brushes tightly while worried glances darted among them.

Arthur crept forward cautiously and knelt to examine one of the symbols more closely.

“Pressure plates,” he stated flatly. “Step on the wrong one and you trigger a trap.”

His words descended on the group like a cold water.

Ethan attempted to call up some bravado but failed miserably; instead, his voice cracked.

“Great! A confounded puzzle floor! Why can’t it be something simple for once like a locked door?”

Silence hung heavy in answer to his attempt at humor.

Arthur pulled out a folded map from his vest and studied it intently as he turned its pages slowly; sharp eyes catching every notation on its surface.

The map indicated this very room but gave no clear solution for traversing it safely. He traced lines that seemed to match the glyphs below.

“The symbols are sequential,” Arthur muttered thoughtfully. “But it’s damaged… there are pieces missing.”

They would need to experiment carefully if they were going to survive this place.

The archaeologists froze, their hearts pounding in unison with the suffocating silence of the room.

On Arthur’s command, they wiped the sweat from their brows and crouched low to the ground, brushes and picks poised to examine the ancient tiles.

One archaeologist indicated a tile exquisitely designed with a snake devouring its own tail. “This. this might be safe,” he stammered, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Arthur nodded brusquely. “Try it.”

With a held breath, the man stepped on the serpent tile….

Nothing.

A sigh of relief appeared to ripple through the stone walls in a wave of tension released.

“Mark it,” Arthur ordered, and chalk scraped against stone as the archaeologist moved around the tile.

They went on. Tiles were analyzed, debated, and tested one at a time. Arthur’s mind raced to link patterns as if working out a difficult puzzle while under immense pressure.

Every second was prolonged; every move was risky.

And then it did.

One archaeologist,a frantic and nervous one,stepped on a tile that had the pattern of an open eye on it.

Click!

The ceiling exploded in a shriek of rending sound as fire cascaded down like a dragon’s breath.

The man had no time even to scream. Fire consumed him in a flash; skin blackened, body incinerated in seconds.

His bag ignited, vomiting burning papers onto the floor like autumn leaves before the wind.

The party recoiled on instinct, shields raised high as smoke billowed and the stench of charred flesh seared their lungs.

Ethan’s face twisted in a horror as one of the commanders cursed beneath his teeth.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he got hold of himself.

“Be calm. Focus on it.” His voice cut through fear like a knife through butter.

They went on working beneath the thick fear that weighed upon their hearts.

But Arthur kept his focus razor-sharp; fear was just another issue to work around.

Minutes passed,each second an eternity,as another archaeologist cautiously tried a skull-covered tile.

Suddenly, hissing was heard! A spear came from the ceiling, impaling him through his back and spearing him right through his chest!

He bubbled blood in shock before being lurched upwards by some concealed mechanism,a grisly marionette hung dead above them.

His blood rained down on them like red paint splattering on white canvas.

The team froze in shock.

“Two down,” Ethan echoed emptily,a shadow of his former self. “Two… gone…”

Arthur tightened his fist around the map until his knuckles turned white.

He drew in a sharp breath then released it slowly, steeling himself for what lay ahead. “No more mistakes.”

They stepped ahead, each step a measured gamble of fear and tactics.

Sweat dripped from their necks, pooling on the cold stone ground beneath them.

Arthur’s mind was on the rhythm of the glyphs etched into the tiles, tracing faint patterns like a general ordering troops in battle.

He listened to each pulse resounding in his ears as he guided his friends through this lethal puzzle.

“Step there.”

“Two tiles to the left.”

“Wait! That one..no, skip it!”

They moved forward with agonizing caution, each step tense with anticipation.

Traps hissed ominously underfoot, but none of them sprang shut.

They continued on like tightrope walkers along a razor’s edge, aware that one misstep would be disastrous.

The spectral memories of Stone’s downfall, the fiery specter and the archaeologist speared by fate,dogged them like specters.

Each death etched deeper lines of sorrow into their souls.

Arthur pushed forward, his countenance a mask of stoicism while turmoil churned within him.

These were not just colleagues; they were lives under his responsibility.

And this merciless maze appeared determined to claim them all.

At last, the far wall loomed out of the darkness,the way out was ahead.

Arthur raised a hand for silence as he examined the last tiles.

His mind reeled with permutations and ifs; one wrong step would lead to another catastrophe.

He stooped, tracing lines on an invisible diagram, then stood up.

His voice cut through the tension with low authority: “Straight line. Serpent, sun, sword, serpent. Tread with care.”

They stepped after him single file,breath clenched in their chests.

No flames erupted. No spears jutted out. No deaths claimed their tally.

Finally reaching the last tile was a bitter victory.

Arthur stepped across last; his boots clomped onto solid stone with a crash, as if sealing a silent pact with fate.

The chamber door creaked open slowly, and a passageway stretched out beyond,a pathway out of horror and despair.

The group stumbled out into freedom; some collapsed against walls in sheer relief while others trembled uncontrollably.

Their eyes flickered back toward the death chamber as if haunted by its grim history.

Ethan sank to the ground beside him; pale and shaken, he whispered hoarsely, “We’re… we’re still alive.”

Arthur remained silent a moment longer than necessary as he gazed at the wine flask in his hand,the identical one Stone had forced into his hands before catastrophe descended.

Its weight was denser than iron now,a reminder of sacrifice and loss.

He grasped it more firmly as shadows danced across his face; grief was tangible in the air amidst the survivors.

Every one of the survivors bore their grief individually but were joined by an unspoken connection in their loss.

The archaeologists stood stiffly beside; paleness in their faces was a reflection of guilt and horror for comrades lost deep within their eyes.

The hallway stretched out in front of them like a dark promise, yet no one stirred.

For what felt like an eternity, they were frozen in place, their breathing shallow and hearts pounding, they have finally made it through.

The maze wasn’t finished with them yet, however.

No, it wouldn’t rest until it had claimed everything from them.

Finally, Arthur straightened up, putting his flask away in his vest.

His voice was low and serious as he said. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they trailed after him.

The tile room growled ominously as it closed behind them, burying the dead and their spectral recollections.

As they pressed on, the survivors carried not just their bodies but also the burden of their grief, a reminder that the labyrinth thrived on such pain.

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