Blood of the first age Chapter 20

 

Chapter 20  The Buried Temples

The war between Vahsravia and Baalania changed the world. Storms swallowed oceans. Entire kingdoms burned into ash. The dead outnumbered the living across western Elyria. Yet beneath all the bloodshed something older watched patiently beneath the sands.Something ancient enough to remember the world before mankind. Before vampires. Before kingdoms.Before the moon itself turned pale.And Sultan Baalaniah Mehmeth intended to find it.

The desert began opening on its own.

Weeks after the massacre beneath Kharos Keep, violent earthquakes spread across the western dunes of Baalania. Entire villages vanished overnight as massive sinkholes swallowed caravans, temples, and military outposts into the earth below.At first the priests declared it divine punishment.

Then the bodies emerged. Not fresh corpses. Ancient ones.Thousands of them. Perfectly preserved beneath black sand despite being older than recorded history. Some were human.

Others were not. One ruined excavation site near the Valley of Qarith uncovered gigantic skeletons fused directly into black stone walls: creatures with elongated limbs,horned skulls, ribcages large enough to house entire men inside them.

Their bones were carved with symbols no scholar could understand. The workers who discovered them went mad within days. Most clawed out their own eyes. And deep within the Ember Palace

Mehmeth smiled.

The Sultan stood alone inside his private observatory while ash storms spiraled endlessly beyond massive bronze windows overlooking the burning capital of Baalania.

Ancient scrolls covered the chamber walls: forbidden histories, celestial maps. records erased from official scripture centuries ago. At the center of the room sat a black stone tablet recovered from beneath the Red Dunes. The symbols carved upon it shifted when unobserved.

Prince Azrakar entered quietly.

“You summoned me.”

Mehmeth remained facing the storm outside.

“Do you know why this war matters?”

Azrakar crossed the chamber slowly.

“To destroy our enemies.”

“No.”

The answer came softly.

“To prepare humanity.”

The prince frowned slightly.

“For what?”

Silence.

Then Mehmeth finally turned.

And for the first time in years

his son saw fear in the Sultan’s eyes.

“For what sleeps beneath us.”

Far beneath the deserts of Baalania

something ancient stirred. The excavation began three days later. Thousands of slaves, prisoners, and condemned soldiers were sent into the newly opened sinkholes beneath the western dunes under heavy guard by inferno priests and elite Baalanian warbands.

Most never returned. The tunnels themselves killed people. Workers disappeared around corners. Voices whispered from empty chambers. Entire groups wandered into darkness only to be found days later standing motionless against walls with dried blood pouring from their noses and mouths. 

One survivor repeated the same sentence endlessly until his throat collapsed:

“The gods underground are dreaming.”

Even the desert seemed wrong there.

No wind.

No insects.

No animal life.

Only silence.

Oppressive and endless.

At the deepest point beneath the dunes they found the temple. It was colossal.

Far larger than any city in Baalania.

Ancient black pyramids stretched endlessly beneath the earth connected by enormous bridges and spiral towers disappearing into darkness below. Strange silver fire burned within massive braziers despite having no fuel source while gigantic statues lined the buried streets depicting impossible beings with too many wings and eyeless faces.

None of the architecture resembled human civilization. The proportions felt unnatural. Doors stood too tall. Hallways too narrow. Staircases spiraled at impossible angles that made soldiers physically sick attempting to climb them. The deeper they traveled the more reality itself seemed incorrect.

High Priest Za’Rakh descended beside Mehmeth into the buried city while sacred fire lanterns illuminated endless black stone corridors around them.

Even the fanatical priest looked disturbed.

“This place predates Baalania.”

Mehmeth touched one ancient wall carefully.

“No.”

His voice echoed strangely.

“It predates history.”

Then they found the murals.

Entire walls beneath the buried temples depicted ancient wars beneath black stars: towering winged entities descending from the heavens, oceans boiling beneath crimson moons, giant skeletal machines marching across dead continents and humanity kneeling before enormous shadow gods.

And among the carvings appeared a familiar symbol. 

The moon sigil of ancient Vahsravia.

Za’Rakh stared in confusion.

“The vampires existed then?”

Mehmeth studied the murals silently.

“No.”

The Sultan’s voice lowered.

“Something became them.”

Further inside the buried temples the whispers began. At first they sounded distant. Almost comforting. Voices speaking softly beneath the stone.

But the deeper the expedition descended the louder the whispers became. And each man heard something different. Promises. Threats. Memories.

One soldier suddenly began sobbing uncontrollably after hearing his dead mother singing somewhere within the darkness. Another stabbed himself repeatedly because he claimed insects were crawling beneath his skin.

Inferno priests started forgetting prayers midway through chanting. Even sacred fire lanterns dimmed unnaturally. Then the first explorers vanished.

A squad guarding the eastern tunnel simply disappeared between one patrol rotation and the next. No blood. No signs of struggle. Only their armor remained stacked neatly beside the corridor entrance. As though something removed the men from inside their bodies.

Azrakar eventually spoke what everyone feared.

“We should destroy this place.”

Za’Rakh immediately objected.

“The gods led us here!”

But Mehmeth remained silent.

Watching the darkness ahead.

Listening. Because he could hear it too now. Something calling his name from far below the buried city. Not in words. In hunger.

The deeper chambers beneath the temples no longer resembled architecture at all.

The stone became organic.

Walls pulsed slowly like flesh beneath layers of black crystal while gigantic roots or veins stretched endlessly through caverns large enough to swallow entire fortresses.

Ancient bones covered the floors. Not human bones. Massive ones. Some still wore rusted armor larger than siege towers. Then they found the throne room. An enormous circular chamber opened beneath the buried city containing a black abyss descending endlessly into darkness below.

And surrounding the abyss sat gigantic stone thrones. Twelve of them. Each occupied by ancient corpses wearing crowns of obsidian and gold. Not skeletons. Preserved rulers.

Their skin remained stretched tightly across inhuman faces while empty eye sockets leaked thick black liquid down ancient robes untouched by time. The entire chamber smelled like old blood.

Even Mehmeth stopped walking. For the first time in decades the Sultan looked uncertain. Then all twelve corpses opened their eyes simultaneously. The torches extinguished instantly. Darkness swallowed the throne room whole. And from the abyss beneath the buried temples something enormous moved.