In the ruined temple that the Duchess and the others entered, the air was unnervingly still, the surrounding trees of the gnarled forest swaying gently as if whispering secrets to each other. Behind one of the trees, a figure cloaked in black crouched on a jagged rock, his form blending seamlessly with the dim light and thick fog. His eyes glowed faintly like embers, locked on the temple door.
As the White Rabbit, who was last to enter scurried inside, the stranger's muscles suddenly coiled like a drawn bowstring, ready to spring into motion. He could feel the blood thrumming through his veins, the silent rage of his kind fueling his anticipation.
But before he could make his move, he felt it—a presence creeping closer, brushing against his senses like a cold wind. Instinctively, he tensed and turned, his already visible claws further elongating.
A lilting, sing-song voice broke the silence. "Ah, I didn't expect to see the hunter in here," it teased, carrying a tone of mocking surprise.
From the shadows emerged another figure, his outline tall and lanky, dressed in a patchwork of garish colors that clashed violently against the muted tones of the forest. His face was obscured by a grotesque mask, frozen in a perpetual grin. Bells hung from his crooked hat, jingling softly as he walked closer.
The hunter's eyes narrowed, a growl rising low in his throat. "This is none of your business, jester," he spat, his voice a rough snarl.
The Jester tilted his head, the mocking grin of his mask amplifying the mirth in his voice. "Ooh, is that the group that killed the Shadow Wolf?" He craned his neck as if peering toward the temple's entrance. "I see, I see. Came here to exact vengeance, have you?"
The Jester let out a high, unsettling laugh, the sound echoing unnaturally in the stillness. He clapped his hands together theatrically. "Oh, but alas! The Swordsman said to observe, dear hunter, not meddle. Orders from our lord, after all."
The hunter's hands clenched into fists, his claws scraping against his palm. The embers in his eyes flared, and his voice dripped with venom. "I don't take orders from you, Jester."
The Jester's laughter stilled, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ah, but you do take orders from him, don't you? Or are you ready to defy our lord?"
The hunter roared, the sound shaking the branches above as he lunged forward, stopping just short of the Jester, his claws inches from the other's throat. The Jester didn't flinch, his mask's grin seemingly widening as he tilted his head.
"Temper, temper," the Jester chided, his bells jingling faintly as he wagged a finger. "Now, now, dear hunter, don't go doing something that'll make him angry. You know how he gets when his toys don't behave."
The hunter glared, his breath heaving, but he withdrew his claws with a hiss. "Get out of here," he snarled. "And stay out of my way."
The Jester stepped back, his movements deliberate and exaggerated. "As you wish. But do try not to spoil the fun for the rest of us, hmm?" He tipped his hat mockingly before melting into the shadows, his laughter trailing behind him like a ghost.
The hunter watched him go, his rage simmering dangerously beneath the surface. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to the temple. His claws twitched at his sides, his mind torn between loyalty to his lord's orders and his thirst for vengeance.
—
Inside the ruined temple, the Duchess stood still in the center of a cavernous chamber. The air around her was heavy with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay, and the dim light filtering through cracks in the walls all cast shifting shadows that danced along the carved surfaces. Somewhere in the distance, dripping water could be heard, cutting through the eerie silence that ruled the ruins.
It didn't take long for her to hear the sound of hesitant footsteps. Her head tilted, and a slow, knowing grin spread across her face, unseen by the figures behind her.
"So," she murmured, "you lot decided to follow after all."
"Don't get us wrong, Duchess!," the Mad Hatter was the first one to speak. "We're here for Alice not you."
The Duchess didn't turn nor respond, her grin widening as she heard the Mad Hatter's retort.
The White Rabbit, though the last to enter, hopped ahead of the others to stand near the Mad Hatter. "Now, now, Hatter," he said gently, his tone firm but calm. "Let's not forget—it was us who approached the Duchess for her help."
"But is she actually helping us?," the Mad Hatter shot back, adjusting his hat with a twitchy hand. "She just stands there all cryptic-like, and next thing you know, we're chasing shadows in forgotten temples."
The Gryphon let out a low growl, stepping forward. "Enough," he said, his gruff voice silencing the argument. "Save your energy for what's ahead. If we're to help Alice, we'll need focus—not squabble."
The March Hare clutched the Dormouse tighter, his eyes darting nervously around the chamber. "I just hope this isn't another trap," he muttered. "This place doesn't exactly scream 'safe haven,' you know."
The Duchess finally turned, her gaze sweeping over the group with amusement. "My, my," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "So much faith in me. It's touching, really." She paused, letting her words hang in the air before adding, "But I do appreciate your honesty, Hatter. It's refreshing."
The White Rabbit sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let's just... keep moving. We've wasted enough time already."
"Wise words, Rabbit," the Duchess purred, her grin returning as she gestured toward the ancient door ahead. "Shall we, then? Or would you all prefer to stand here debating my motives a little longer?"
The Gryphon moved past her without a word, his talons scraping against the stone floor. The others hesitated for a moment before following.
As the group approached the ominous door, the Duchess trailed behind, her eyes gleaming with a strange satisfaction. "Now that part's easy," she murmured under her breath, "but let's see how far you guys can handle."
Though hesitant, the Mad Hatter quickly approached the ancient door, his hand lightly brushing against it. To his surprise, it easily swung open, giving way to a series of stairs spiraling downwards into what seemed like a bottomless pit. The air was stale, thick with dust and the scent of age. The cobblestone stairs seemed to stretch endlessly, disappearing into a haze of blackness that hung in the air.
"Something doesn't feel right," the White Rabbit muttered under his breath, while pausing at the threshold. He then glanced at the others with anxious eyes. "Are we sure about this?"
The Duchess came beside him with a wide smile before speaking. "Of course, Rabbit," she said, her voice smooth and laced with an eerie calmness. "We've made this far haven't we? Are you saying we should back out now?"
The March Hare responded next, pulling his huge mallet from out of his jacket, or at least wherever that mallet actually hid itself. "Oh, splendid! What's the worst that could happen?" He smirked but his shaking hands gripped tightly on the handle of his mallet, betraying his nervousness. Yet still, he continued his pretentious courage. "I'd say it's time for a little fun."
"Right," the Gryphon agreed, in a serious tone. "We'll see what this place really has to offer. But be ready for anything."
With that, the group pressed on deeper into the temple's heart. They moved carefully through the seemingly endless stairs, each step echoing ominously through the air. Torches magically lit up as they ventured through the wide circling passage yet, they could feel the weight of the temple pressing down on them, the air thickening with every breath.
The stone walls were covered in cryptic runes, worn down by centuries of neglect. They were very faint, visible only through the dim light of the flickering torches.
As they continued their descent, the air grew colder, the oppressive silence surrounding them amplifying each breath they took. Every shadow seemed to shift, twisting into forms that almost seemed alive, watching their every move.
The White Rabbit glanced nervously at the Duchess. "These markings… they're not just decorations, are they?" he asked, his voice shaky. "This place... it's alive, somehow. I can feel it."
The Duchess gave a soft chuckle, her gaze lingering on the runes with an unsettling fascination. "Alive? Perhaps. Or perhaps they're long forgotten relics of power, waiting for the right hands to awaken them."
"The right hands to awaken them?," the Mad Hatter echoed, eying the Duchess with suspicion. "So would that hand happen to be yours?"
The Duchess chuckled softly, her smile widening as she tilted her head. "Oh, dear Hatter, you wound me," she said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. "I'm here to assist you find the shattered keys, am I not?"
She waved her hand dismissively, as though the accusation was nothing more than an amusing trifle. "And no, my dear. I'm not interested in stirring the forces of the unknown." She let the words hang in the air, teasing the group with the implication that there was something more beneath her words.
The Mad Hatter raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press further. Instead, he gave an exaggerated sigh and swept his hat from his head in an overly dramatic gesture. "Well, as long as you're not planning to do anything untoward, Duchess. We've already been through enough for one day."
The Gryphon, still observing their surroundings with caution, snorted under his breath. "I don't trust any of this. We're deep into unknown territory, and now we're getting these markings."
The Duchess gave him a playful, almost flirtatious glance. "Always the pragmatic one, Gryphon. But let's not forget: sometimes the journey itself is just as important as the destination."
She turned her attention back to the cryptic runes on the walls as they continued their march. "Though, I admit, I'm curious as to who—or what—might have had the audacity to carve these runes here and leave this temple unattended. But alas, it's not for me to decide."
The White Rabbit shifted uneasily but remained silent. His mind was racing with the implications of what lay ahead. His instincts screamed that something was off, but his focus remained on the task at hand.
"Let's just get this over with," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
What seemed like ages of descent through the spiral stairs finally brought the group to the bottom. They emerged into a vast, dimly lit chamber, its walls cracked and weathered, etched with more of those cryptic runes. The ceiling was lost in shadow, a massive, oppressive dome above them, as though the very weight of the place was pressing down.
The Duchess stepped forward, her heels echoing sharply in the silence, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. "Ah, the heart of the temple," she said softly, as though to herself. "I must admit, I wasn't sure we'd make it this far."
The Mad Hatter, still holding his hat with one hand, squinted into the darkness. "A little quiet for my taste. It's... unnerving."
The Gryphon spread his wings slightly, his sharp talons clicking against the stone floor. "I don't like it. This place reeks of danger."
The White Rabbit moved cautiously forward.. "We've come this far. No more time to turn back."
The Duchess's footsteps slowed as she approached the center of the room, where a large stone pedestal stood, covered in intricate carvings. Atop the pedestal lay a single object: an ornate, shimmering piece of metal, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light.
The Duchess's grin returned, but this time there was something darker in her eyes. "Well, well. Here it is," she whispered, almost reverently. "One of the shattered pieces of the key."
"Well, what's stopping us from taking it?" the Mad Hatter impatiently asked, his voice tight with tension.
The Duchess raised a hand, silencing him with a flick of her fingers. Her gaze remained fixed on the shimmering metal, her expression one of quiet contemplation. "Patience, Hatter. You don't just take what lies in front of you without considering the consequences."
The Mad Hatter huffed, clearly restless, but he stayed silent. The others remained still, watching the Duchess as she circled the pedestal with deliberate steps, her heels clicking sharply on the stone floor. Her fingers brushed the air around the piece, a calculated movement that suggested she was feeling the weight of the room itself.
"Hmmm. No guardian, no magical traps, no puzzle to solve," the Duchess murmured, her voice taking on a quieter more serious tone. "Surely something this powerful must have not been left here without any protection of its own unless…" She trailed off, her lips curling into a smirk. "Since you're so eager to get it Hatter. Would you do the honor of collecting the piece from its pedestal?"
The Mad Hatter froze, his hand hovering just above the pedestal as the Duchess's words rang in his ears. His lips parted, but no immediate reply came, the weight of the Duchess's suggestion sinking in. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he glanced at the shimmering piece on the pedestal, then back at the Duchess. There was an uncomfortable tension in the air, a sense of inevitability he couldn't shake.
"Really?" he asked with forced bravado, but his voice quivered slightly. "You want me to—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a voice echoed through the chamber, cutting him off.
"Now you're all trapped in here. The perfect place to bury you all!"
The group whipped around, their eyes widening as a shadowed figure stepped from the darkness behind them. The air grew heavier, more suffocating, as a towering muscular figure revealed itself. His right eye glowed with an unsettling, unnatural light—pale and intense—but his left eye remained shut, a jagged scar running across it. Three horizontal claw marks, deep and raw, crisscrossed the scar, each mark darkened by years of exposure to the elements.
His skin was tanned and weathered, as if the very years had stripped away his humanity, leaving behind only a relentless predator. His face, partially concealed by a hood, was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that seemed chiseled from stone. Beneath his hood, strands of dark hair fell messily, further obscuring his face, but his presence, his aura, made it clear that this man was a creature shaped for war, not just by necessity, but by design.
The stranger's cloak, made of some dark, almost liquid material, seemed to absorb the light around him, rendering him nearly invisible in the dimly lit chamber. The fabric fluttered softly as he moved, more like a shadow drifting through the air than a living being. His steps made no sound, and the air around him seemed to grow colder, as though his very being was linked to the darkness of the temple itself.
"Foolish creatures. Do you truly believe you can just kill one of us without consequence?," he sneered.
The Duchess's smirk never faltered, though her eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance. "Ah I knew this piece has its guardian," she said coolly, barely hiding her disdain. "So, here to protect this piece of shattered key?"
The hunter laughed, the sound chilling and low, almost as if it came from somewhere deep within the temple itself. "You misunderstand. I'm not here for that piece of trash. I'm here for blood!"