Devil's Attic

Prologue - Hellmouth

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James van der Holts was a prospector with an unbreakable spirit, venturing deeper into Colorado's uncharted wilderness than anyone else dared. In 1883, whispers of a hidden valley where gold ran like rivers reached his ears - a siren song he couldn't resist.

But the further he rode into the untamed expanse, the more the land seemed to test his resolve. Ragged cliffs loomed in the distance, while the dry grass hissed in the wind like a warning. The sun blazed overhead, relentless and unforgiving. As hours stretched into eternity, James felt the wilderness gnawing at him - his throat burned with thirst, and his horse Sky's labored steps betrayed its growing fatigue.

Just as despair began to creep in, a towering mesa appeared on the horizon, rising like a fortress against the endless sky. Its sheer size was mesmerizing, a monolith that seemed to defy nature itself. James urged his horse forward, hope rekindling with every step closer to the structure.

He followed a narrow path that snaked into the mesa's heart, revealing a hidden valley oasis. A small stream meandered through the landscape, its gentle flow a soothing counterpoint to the rough terrain he'd left behind. Towering cliffs embraced the valley, casting long shadows that offered respite from the relentless sun. As his eyes swept the rugged panorama, something extraordinary caught his attention: Perched on a distant ledge, a cluster of dwellings clung to the mesa's face, defying gravity and human expectations.

Intrigued, he spurred his weary horse forward, his spirit rekindled by this remarkable sight. However, as he drew nearer, the houses seemed to vanish, replaced by a series of small, mysterious openings in the rock face. These cracks hinted at hidden passages leading to the elusive ledge above. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, James tied his horse to a tree by the stream.

The ascent was brutal, demanding every ounce of James' strength and climbing prowess. Handholds were scarce, and the sandstone was unforgiving against his boots. But as he hauled himself onto the upper tier, a sight of exceptional beauty unfolded before him.

The valley stretched out below, green and gold, framed by the towering cliffs. The dwellings on this level were more modest than he'd imagined, yet their very existence was a testament to human tenacity. Exploring each dwelling, James marveled at the detailed stonework, wondering what ancient civilization had lived there.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the cliffs in amber and crimson, James knew he needed shelter for the night. He descended to the lower tier and discovered a narrow slit in one of the ancient dwellings, leading into a small, shadowy cave.

Inside, his lantern revealed faded cave paintings across the walls. The images depicted a chilling scene: a monstrous reptilian creature locked in battle with human figures. James chuckled nervously, dismissing it as primitive art born of superstition. Yet, fear prickled at the back of his mind, and he decided to sleep outside near his trusted horse, Sky.

Night fell swiftly, and with it came an unsettling stillness. As James lay beneath the stars, a gnawing sense of being watched crept over him. He tried to shake it off as tiredness playing tricks on his mind, but the feeling refused to fade.

Just as sleep began to claim him, a faint rustling echoed from above. His instincts flared. Gripping his gun tightly, he scanned the darkness, straining to catch any sign of movement in the oppressive silence.

Out of nowhere, something struck him. A blur of motion he couldn't see, only feel. Panic surged through James as he fired his gun blindly into the darkness, the deafening cracks echoing off the cliffs. Whatever it was - it moved too fast, too fluidly, for him to get a clear shot. He bolted toward Sky, abandoning his camp and everything he owned. Survival was all that mattered now.