Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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The devils lair
The agents were slowly being consumed by the anguish brought on by the uncertainty. The dense, humid air, combined with the oppressive heat, created a stifling atmosphere. They knew if they were being kept alive, there had to be a reason, although they couldn't figure out what it was. Walking with sacks over their heads and hands tied, they were forced to follow the hunters' orders, who guided them by slamming their rifles against their backs, a constant threat looming over them.
Bernard couldn't stop thinking about his last moments with his family. Memories of his son playing in the park mixed with his wife's words, "Come back soon, honey, we'll miss you so much." Silent tears slid down his cheeks as he struggled with the terrifying thought that he might never see them again.
The path led down a steep flight of stairs. As they descended, the air grew thicker, and then the smell hit them... Subtle at first, then overwhelming. It was a chemical stench, mixed with something else—something even their combat training couldn't identify.
Liz was doing her best to stay calm. She remembered Steve, the pilot, telling her, "Calm in chaos is true strength." And her father's words of encouragement that he would always say to her and Rick before every mission. But the pressure in her chest mounted with every step.
The hunters kept beating them without mercy until finally, they were roughly thrown to the ground. Relief washed over them when the sacks were pulled from their heads and their hands untied, blood rushing back into their numb limbs.
As they looked around, they were met with horrifying stares. Creatures with rotting flesh and blood-red eyes that glowed in the dim light, like sentinels of something far worse. They were in a dungeon, barely lit by a faint green glow from fires scattered around. The foul stench of those fires mixed with the scent of blood and charred remains, creating an oppressive, almost surreal atmosphere.
Among the hunters were other creatures, similar in human shape but with decomposed faces and ragged clothing. Unlike the cruel, murderous looks they had seen before, these beings' expressions were deranged. They grinned wickedly, their laughter echoing through the air like ghostly, blood-chilling sounds. One of them, a fat woman, along with two men whose yellowed teeth gleamed through their grins, seemed trapped in a perpetual state of madness.
The delirious woman, draped in brown rags, slowly approached Bernard, carrying a sack that reeked of rotting flesh. She staggered as she walked, her steps unsteady. Her eyes rolled uncontrollably, like someone suffering from some advanced brain condition. Bernard's anxiety spiked as he saw her stick out her tongue—purple, as dark and foul as the shadow that surrounded them. He clung desperately to the memory of his wife and son, fighting to hold onto his sanity.
The repulsive woman grabbed his face roughly, her coarse skin scraping his cheeks as she began whispering unintelligible words in a rasping voice that sounded as though it came from beyond the grave.
