The darkness was suffocating.

Hajaar clumsily stepped into another room, as pitch
black as the others he had entered, yet something
in this chamber seemed to gnaw at his mind.

He couldn’t stop trembling. Tears ran down his
eyes, and he used his last vestiges of will to stop
himself urinating. The dimming flame in his hand
shook as he tossed it from side to side, wary of
what might burst from the darkness.

Why the hell did he have to come to this place?
Why did he and his companions allow themselves
to come to this place, lured by the prospect of gold?

Now they were dead, and Hajaar knew he was next.

Something scratched the wall behind him. Hajaar
turned instantly, eyes wde with fear.

He heard chains rattle to the left. He spun so quickly
his torch burned out.

"GODS CURSE THIS PLACE!"

Hajaar’s cry of frustration and fear echoed inside the
ancient ziggurat as he threw the still warm wood to
the floor.

There was a faint moan that seemed to come from
every direction.

Hajaar dropped to the floor, holding himself and crying
insanely. He didn’t even notice his bladder finally break.

More rattles of chains sounded – but this time they were
closer.

With a terror and timidity never performed by man
before, Hajaar looked up, and knew It was there.

All he could see in the darkness was the glint of a
scythe end, and as the life drained from Hajaar the
faint whisper of a long forgotten language echoed through
the ziggurat.

The darkness was suffocating.