Chapter 16: Escape

Escaping the Hall of Seasons

Kurtis Trent

Under the Louvre

23:45

Kurtis found himself standing on the precipice of a dimly lit chamber, a palpable sense of unease weighing heavily upon his heart. Before him, Lara, their comrade and friend, was absorbed in a meticulous examination of the coffin that cradled the remains of a fallen brother. The chamber's sparse illumination cast long, mournful shadows upon the walls, deepening the already somber atmosphere that hung in the air.

As he watched Lara, Kurtis felt a profound yearning to descend into the chamber and offer his assistance. He felt a profound connection to her, empathizing with the pain etched across her face and her unwavering determination. But something within him gnawed at his consciousness, a nagging sense that all was not as it should be.

Kurtis's unwavering gaze remained locked onto Lara. She was bathed in the flickering candlelight that encircled the coffin, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate carvings on the wooden surface. Her touch was tender, as though she sought to unravel the stories that lay concealed within the wood. Kurtis could almost feel the rough texture of the coffin beneath her fingertips and hear the soft creaking of the wood as it yielded to her gentle touch. The room was saturated with the scent of aged timber and candle wax, creating an atmosphere of profound reverence and sorrow.

In that moment, time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as Kurtis bore witness to a cataclysmic event that would alter the course of their lives. A blinding burst of otherworldly light erupted from the shadows, striking Lara with an overwhelming force that sent her sprawling backward. She crumpled to the ground several feet away from the coffin, her body framed by an eerie, ethereal glow emanating from the arcane energy that had struck her. A spectral silhouette materialized, bearing the vague semblance of a man but shrouded in an aura that was distinctly from another realm. It moved with an unsettling grace, hovering just out of reach, like a phantom from a long-forgotten dimension.

A wave of bone-chilling coldness radiated from the silhouette, enveloping the room in an icy embrace. Kurtis could almost sense the temperature plummeting, his own skin prickling as goosebumps formed along his arms. It was as if he could see his breath misting in the frigid air, a sensation so vivid it was as though he were experiencing it firsthand.

"Brother Obscura!" The words reverberated through the chamber, spoken with a commanding authority by the enigmatic apparition that had manifested before them. Its voice carried a haunting timbre, its syllables imbued with an ancient power and the weight of centuries of existence. It addressed Kurtis directly, its gaze penetrating the ethereal veil that separated them.

Kurtis was taken aback, his presence acknowledged by this mysterious figure in a way he had never anticipated. His mind raced, attempting to make sense of the situation and the being before him. "She is not an enemy, brother," he replied, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.

"I shall be the judge of that, Heisstrum," came the figure's retort, a proclamation that held the gravity of both judgment and authority.

As this eerie exchange unfolded, a tempest of emotions surged within Kurtis. Confusion warred with determination, empathy grappled with his sense of duty to protect Lara. He struggled to hold back the tide of emotions, clinging to his steadfast resolve like an anchor in the midst of a raging storm.

Brother Obscura, now recognized by Kurtis, moved with purpose, darting toward Lara with uncanny swiftness. Instinctively, Lara evaded his grasp by the narrowest of margins, her body colliding with a marble pillar in her haste. Kurtis could almost hear the resounding thud of impact, feel the vibrations coursing through the chamber's polished marble floor, and see the pain etched across Lara's face as she fought to regain her balance. Every detail of the chamber, from the intricately carved pillars to the pristine marble floor, painted a vivid tableau in Kurtis's mind.

Brother Obscura withdrew, his form swirling like wisps of smoke as he maintained a cautious distance from Lara. She lay prone on the ground, her body trembling not only from the impact but from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The floor bore the scars of an earlier eruption of energy, marked by a smoldering trench and scorch marks that were almost tangible to Kurtis.

Desperation surged within Kurtis as he sought a way to intervene. His vision honed in on a glimmer amidst the chaos—a plaque adorning a statue at the chamber's center, now bathed in a radiant blue halo. It seemed to pulsate with a unique energy, drawing Lara's gaze as though beckoning her toward some unseen purpose.

"The painting," Kurtis whispered under his breath, his realization a quiet revelation amid the tumult of emotions and actions.

A chilling voice pierced the turmoil. "Your father would be disappointed." Brother Obscura's words dripped with a mixture of scorn and triumph, his attention now squarely fixed on Lara.

As time hung suspended in uncertainty, Kurtis grappled with the weight of his choices. Brother Obscura's intentions remained shrouded in ambiguity, yet his aggression was unmistakable. The urgency of the situation compelled Kurtis to act without hesitation. With his heart racing and a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions and motivations propelling him forward, he lunged to position himself between Lara and the looming threat.

Brother Obscura descended upon Lara with a sinister grace, his arms outstretched as if to ensnare her in his malevolent grasp. In a swift and fearless reaction, Lara drew her gun from its holster, and the deafening blast reverberated through the chamber. The shot struck Brother Obscura squarely in the chest, arresting his menacing advance and freezing him in a spectral tableau. The room seemed to hold its breath, the charged energy crackling in the air like a coiled spring on the brink of release.

In that suspended moment, Kurtis moved with a protective and assertive instinct, placing himself directly in the line of fire. It was a physical manifestation of his unwavering determination to shield Lara from any harm that might befall her. As time resumed its inexorable flow, he found himself confronting Brother Obscura's motionless form, a sentinel of resolve against the supernatural.

With a lightning-quick decisiveness, Lara seized the opportunity. Her hands closed around the painting that had captivated her attention earlier. The instant her fingers made contact, a powerful surge of energy rippled through the room. The air seemed to hum with vitality, and Kurtis felt the vibrations resonating through his very core, a sensation both exhilarating and unsettling. It was as if the entire world had been electrified, poised on the precipice of transformation. Lara's movements became a blur of determination as she surged toward her goal.

Amidst the ensuing chaos, the echoes of Lara's footsteps reverberated through the chamber as she fled, clutching the painting tightly to her chest. Brother Obscura's anguished scream cut through the charged atmosphere, a wail of fury and frustration that seemed to scrape against the very walls of the chamber. Kurtis watched her escape with a complex blend of concern for her safety and hope for what her actions might portend. The moment held the weight of destiny, a turning point in their quest.

"You better be right about her," Brother Obscura's voice bore a hint of skepticism, his attention now focused squarely on Kurtis.

Kurtis met the spectral gaze of his counterpart, his determination unwavering. "She may just be the key to finally destroying the Cabal for good."

A contemplative silence lingered in the air, an unspoken exchange of thoughts and emotions transcending the boundary between the living and the dead. Brother Obscura moved toward the coffin that housed his earthly remains, his posture pensive. "How certain are you?"

Kurtis's response was immediate, rooted in the unshakable conviction that had guided him thus far. "She hungers for justice, and her actions have proven that she will stop at nothing to achieve it."

The gravity of their shared mission hung palpably in the air, an understanding that transcended the boundaries of existence. Brother Obscura's spectral form wavered, gradually fading like mist dissipating in the wind. "Then, Brother Heisstrum, you must ensure it."

With those final words, Brother Obscura dissolved into the ethereal realm, leaving Kurtis to confront the reality of the material world once more. He felt the inexorable pull, the magnetic force drawing him back into his physical body, a reminder of his mortal ties.

As his senses slowly reawakened, the transition was disorienting. The taste of the air was earthy and stagnant, a stark contrast to the ethereal energies he had just encountered. The sensation of weight settled upon him, grounding him in his corporeal form. Kurtis blinked, his surroundings gradually coming into focus, the connection to the chamber of shadows and light slipping away like a fading dream.

Determination burned fiercely within him, a fire stoked by the extraordinary events that had unfolded. He understood what lay before him, the path fraught with challenges and revelations, yet he was resolute in his determination to face them head-on.

"I must retrieve that painting from her," Kurtis whispered to himself, his voice a declaration of intent. The road ahead might be treacherous, but he was prepared to confront whatever trials awaited him.

The echoes of their encounter resonated within him, a tapestry of emotions and sensory impressions weaving together to form a vivid mosaic of experiences. As he stepped forward, resolute and unwavering, he carried these memories with him, a testament to the extraordinary journey that lay ahead.


Lara Croft

Escaping the Hall of Seasons

00:00

Lara's heart pounded relentlessly in her chest, the echoes of her victory over Brother Obscura's vengeful spirit still reverberating through her being. Her breath came in ragged gasps, a testament to the intense struggle she had just endured. The path she had chosen was not merely perilous; it was suffused with an otherworldly aura, a constant reminder of the formidable forces arrayed against her. Having narrowly eluded the clutches of the undead guardians, their skeletal forms clattering menacingly as she slipped through their grasp, she bore the weight of survival and the precious painting clenched securely in her grasp. The emotions that surged within her were a volatile mixture of relief and unwavering determination. However, just when she had dared to believe that the worst was behind her, a new threat emerged— the tomb itself had begun to flood, transforming her hard-fought victory into a frantic race against an implacable adversary: time itself.

"Ugh, really?" Lara's voice, laced with frustration, cut through the air like a blade. Her exasperation was palpable as she slogged through the rapidly rising water that now enveloped her lower limbs. Each splashing step resonated with the relentless rhythm of her mission, the chill of the water penetrating her boots, sharpening her senses to a fine point.

The once solemn corridor had morphed into a grotesque caricature of itself, the torches' feeble flames flickering anxiously amidst the encroaching deluge. The air grew heavy with the pungent scent of dampness and decay, and the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath, as if the very stone walls were poised on the brink of revelation. Shadows danced nervously on the slick walls, casting eerie shapes that moved in unsettling cadence with the rapid beating of Lara's heart.

Time pressed on, and Lara could afford no further delay. Her nimble fingers deftly slid the ancient painting into the protective cocoon of her backpack, a brief moment of relief washing over her as she safeguarded her hard-won treasure. She had done it just in the nick of time, and a surge of determination propelled her actions forward. Yet, her respite was but a fleeting illusion. A guttural roar reverberated through the chamber, announcing the arrival of a torrent of ink-black water that surged forth from a distant doorway, hurtling toward her with malevolent intent. Its icy grip seized her, lifting her slight form from the ground as if she were nothing more than a plaything.

Fear clashed with determination within Lara as the unrelenting current tossed her about, her body feeling like a leaf caught in the throes of a raging river. The world around her dissolved into a maelstrom of chaotic sensations—the roar of water in her ears, the disorienting whirl of twists and turns, the bone-deep chill that penetrated her very core. She fought relentlessly to regain control, her arms flailing in a desperate bid to stay afloat.

Bubbles played like ethereal specters in her vision, and the fractured light above her seemed to fade in and out, like a distant memory. Amidst the turmoil, her survival instincts roared to life. Clinging to the tatters of her consciousness, she tucked her arms protectively around her head, reducing the world around her to a dissonant symphony of sound and sensation.

A sudden, searing burst of light penetrated the darkness, slashing through her closed eyelids. Blinking through the chaos, she found herself bathed in the familiar, soothing glow of the bridge lanterns. It was a moment that held both relief and disorientation—she had been transported back to the entrance chasm, her body guided by the gentle sway of the lanterns that cast fractured beams of light across her drenched form. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest as she kicked her way upwards, the effort compounded by the ache in her lungs that begged for precious air. Silvery bubbles played around her, their delicate dance a mesmerizing contrast to the tempest that still raged within her.

Those final moments beneath the unforgiving surface felt like an eternity, each passing second stretched to its utmost limit as she fought for her very existence. The pressure in her ears intensified, her vision blurred, and her body's limits were pushed to the brink. Yet, against all odds, her hand finally broke through the water's surface, and her head emerged into the cold, inky darkness. Gasping for air, her breath came in desperate, ragged bursts, her chest heaving as she fought to regain mastery over her racing heart. Triumph and relief coursed through her in equal measure, mingling with the sour taste of bile that threatened to rise in her throat.

Despite the crushing exhaustion that threatened to drag her under, a soft, almost delirious laughter bubbled forth from Lara's lips. It was a laughter that danced on the fine, wavering line between victory and madness, born from the sheer exhilaration of surviving against insurmountable odds. For a time, she surrendered to the gentle embrace of the water, allowing her body to float weightlessly on the surface as if cradled by the very forces that had sought to submerge her.

"Perhaps," she mused aloud, her voice a breathy whisper that melded seamlessly with the tranquil sound of water gently lapping against the cavern's walls, "one day, the brave souls of the Louvre's archaeologists will venture into these depths, armed with their diving gear and curiosity." Her words held a tinge of amusement, a shared secret between her and the as-yet-unknown future explorers. "Little will they know that the true treasure, the ultimate prize, has already been claimed." In her mind's eye, she envisioned their perplexed expressions as they uncovered the remains of the once-fierce guardians, now reduced to nothing more than relics of their former selves.

Yet, even as her thoughts wandered in this fanciful direction, doubts nipped at the edges of her consciousness. A troubling question lingered: had her removal of the ancient painting inadvertently severed the threads that anchored the guardians to their eternal duty? Were the waters now erasing the very essence that had animated their loyal, skeletal forms?

As if in response to her ponderings, the inky water began to stabilize, its relentless rise halting near the upper reaches of the cavern. Lara's fingers tightened around the slick, mossy stone, her resolve solidifying as she hauled herself upright. Water cascaded from her clothes, pooling at her feet as if reluctantly retreating before her indomitable spirit. Her sharp eyes darted around the now-familiar surroundings, ultimately locking onto the sturdy oak beams that had thwarted her descent earlier. With unwavering determination etched onto her features, she embarked on a swift climb, each upward movement a testament to her unparalleled endurance and resilience.

Before long, she stood once more at the precipice of the dig site, her eyes peering out through the cogwheel entrance like those of a vigilant owl emerging from its hidden roost at the onset of twilight. The world beyond unfurled before her, a muted tableau painted with the faint light of the lanterns, casting long shadows that cloaked the scene in an air of mystery.

Lara knew her journey was far from over, with challenges and revelations yet to be unveiled. But in this moment, as the water's surface shimmered in the distance, she stood as a living testament to the unwavering spirit of exploration and the indomitable will to conquer the most formidable odds—a modern-day adventurer in a world that held ancient secrets and untold dangers.

Overhead, electric lights blazed into existence with an almost malicious intensity, briefly searing her eyes. The tomb's air, now heavy with the lingering presence of water, enveloped her like a clammy embrace. Casting a cautious glance at her waterproof watch, its steady ticking serving as a reassuring metronome, she noted that the first light of dawn was beginning to breach the horizon. Five hours had surreptitiously slipped away since she had ventured into this forsaken place. The guards she had incapacitated were nowhere to be seen, their bodies presumably removed from the scene. However, the eerie silence and the conspicuous absence of alarms put her on edge. She allowed her awareness to seep deeper into her surroundings, every muscle coiled in readiness, her movements deliberate, almost predatory.

In the midst of the tomb's electric hum and the encroaching daylight, it felt as if the very world held its breath—deserted, still, and laden with an unspoken tension that prickled at Lara's senses.

The ancient painting, nestled securely within the confines of her backpack, seemed to sigh with an almost palpable weight of significance. Time stretched out before Lara like an endless ocean, its minutes blending into an eternity as she stood there, her senses finely tuned to every creak, every whisper of potential danger that hung in the air like a lurking specter. With the utmost caution, she began to inch open the creaky basement doors, their groaning hinges protesting each delicate movement. In a single, fluid motion, her nimble fingers danced over the mechanisms of her weapons, each meticulously loaded with either shock rounds or tranquilizer darts.

Danger lingered like an invisible wraith, a malevolent presence that seemed to weave through the very atmosphere, and Lara had no intention of staking her life on mere intuition.

As she ascended the stairs to the basement's apex, her heart sank with a heavy realization. The thin beam of light that cut through the encompassing shadows was an undeniable sign of another's presence. He moved like a sentinel of the darkness, a figure roving methodically with a rifle-mounted torch that sliced through the obscurity. Oblivious to Lara's existence, he scoured the area with vigilance. Swiftly and with practiced stealth, she pressed herself against the cool stone wall, her body melding seamlessly into the ancient structure's embrace before the penetrating gaze of the intruder could chance upon her.

The man's attire spoke of military precision, the kind that was only born from the elite ranks of outfitters catering to the art of warfare. Infra-red goggles were perched atop his forehead, webbing belts adorned his form, and a respirator clung tenaciously to his face. Yet, there were no identifying badges, no insignias to mark his affiliation. Even the most official SWAT teams typically flaunted their names and emblems stitched onto their uniforms.

A bitter exhale of breath escaped Lara's lips, filled with a sense of frustration and apprehension.

"Why, out of all the circumstances," she whispered, her voice tinged with ironic resignation, "did it have to be mercenaries?"

Throughout her career as an archaeologist, she had encountered her fair share of men who cared solely for their own self-preservation, trading their loyalty for currency without a second thought. Whether they hailed from amateur or professional ranks, she had found them lurking in the shadows, either as bodyguards or hired guns in the employ of rival competitors. Her reputation had a peculiar knack for attracting not only curious minds but also the watchful eyes of those determined to guard them.

"Why this pervasive paranoia?" she wondered aloud, her voice a low murmur of contemplation. "I'm just a regular girl once you scratch the surface."

But mercenaries had no place within the hallowed halls of the Louvre, just as a raging Cape buffalo had no business in a children's playground. Certain boundaries, she believed, should never be crossed.

In a lightning-quick move, she seized the opportune moment when the mercenary's back was turned, readying himself for any potential threat. His reflexes, honed through years of rigorous training, allowed him to pivot, his weapon poised for action. But Lara was determined not to grant him the opportunity he sought. With an almost feral snarl of determination, she struck, her fingers jabbing with pinpoint precision. His Kevlar vest provided no defense against her deadly strike to the throat, and he crumpled in response, gasping for breath as his windpipe was crushed.

In one swift and fluid motion, she dragged his limp form into a shadowy nook, her relentless pressure snuffing out any involuntary spasms or struggles he might have mustered in vain.

Any moral misgivings Lara might have had about the use of lethal force were quickly silenced by a closer inspection of her attacker's armament. Particularly, it was the compact semi-automatic rifle slung from his shoulder that raised the stakes. He wasn't a mere run-of-the-mill thug; he was a trained soldier, a fact that failed to bring her any solace in this perilous situation.

With grim determination, Lara sequestered her aches, weariness, and any lingering concerns about her actions, locking them away in a mental vault for later contemplation. There was a far more immediate threat demanding her attention.

Only then did the faint scent of gas reach her, a ghostly harbinger of impending doom. At first, it was almost imperceptible, a whisper so faint that it threatened to snatch her consciousness away. Without a moment's hesitation, she unclipped the mercenary's respirator, clamping it firmly to her own face. Through its fogged visor, the room transformed into a nightmarish realm of viridescent dread, the gas spreading like a malevolent fog. It reminded her of pond scum or diseased tissue, a grotesque bloom that heralded potential catastrophe.

Time seemed to unravel before her eyes.

Lara moved with stealthy grace back into the gallery, a wraith weaving through the shadows, carefully avoiding the watchful eyes of two more sentinels concealed among the pillars and obscurity. She felt like a specter herself, ethereal yet propelled by a determination that transcended the confines of her flesh. The security personnel from the Louvre lay strewn about, their limbs contorted in unnatural angles, and she couldn't ascertain their fates; an unsettling shroud of uncertainty hung heavily over the scene. Her security pass, a silent prayer answered, functioned as she had hoped. She slipped seamlessly into the 'X-Ray and Spectral Imaging' office, encountering a silver moonlight that bathed the room in the eerie shadows of specters. Her respirator valiantly fought against the pungent odor of acetone, her eyes stinging and watery.

With practiced stealth, she navigated past timeless oil paintings, stripped of their ornate frames, and the orderly arrangement of restoration tools. Beyond the tempered, radiation-proof glass sliding door lay an adjoining chamber. The X-ray machine, compact like a photocopier, awaited her presence. Designed primarily for scrutinizing works of art rather than medical diagnostics, its controls appeared invitingly simple. Her four years of radiography training resurfaced momentarily.

With a final, cautious glance over her shoulder, she entrusted her precious artifact to the scanner, her fingers dancing over the buttons with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

The images began to coalesce on the screen, pixels assembling into a dance of revelation. Her trembling hands scarcely allowed her to pry her gaze away.

"This apparatus...I've encountered it before," she whispered, her words a blend of disbelief and revelation. "In Werner's notebook and Carvier's haven."

Fingers flipped through the pages of her deceased friend's journal, a laborious search culminating in triumph. There it was, an irrefutable testament to their discovery. Disbelief mingled with awe as she held the journal against the screen, her eyes tracing the juxtaposition of Werner's sketches and the digital image.

"The device, it cannot discern the composition, save for its metallic essence. Moreover, the painting harbors dual layers, a veil concealing the original image. Brother Obscura indeed did paint over the initial artwork, just as Carvier's notes implied."

A gulp caught in her throat as the deceptive simplicity of the device beckoned her to untangle its mysteries. The implications sprawled before her, an unwieldy web of knowledge too vast for her overwhelmed mind to fully grasp in one fell swoop. The myths, the quests that had claimed her friend's life—all of it unfurled before her like a tapestry of destiny. She cradled a fragment of the Sanglyph in her hands, the realization electrifying.

"The mercenaries...they're pursuing this very artifact. The paintings, the Sanglyph—those are their quarry. Werner must have suspected it, perhaps too frightened to venture into this abyss himself."

Four more inscriptions, four more paintings, four more shards of the Sanglyph.

"Vasiley forwarded all but one engraving to Von Croy. They're the keys to unveil the other paintings. Keys those mercenaries would kill to possess."

The conclusion was inescapable.

"I need to locate them before they do. I must return to Werner's abode and unearth those secrets."

"Now."