When Peter stepped through the threshold of blackness and into the temple, it felt like he was walking through a waterfall. If the waterfall dumped darkness, anxiety, and the feeling of being watched instead of water. For reasons he could not begin to understand, Peter felt like, when he stepped into the ancient temple, the building itself was taking his measure.
After a few blind steps, Peter’s eyes began to adjust to this new place. It was a large entryway, perhaps two-hundred meters by two-hundred meters, and looked to be an indoor continuation of the path that had led him and Greg to the temple. In his mind’s eye, Peter could imagine the opulent entryway hosting a vampiric party.
Stone pillars with carvings of the not-Batman god that Peter had forgotten the name of kept the upper floors from crumbling down. Massive tapestries adorned the walls on either side, many depicting the not-Batman god emptying humans of their blood in a variety of different ways (including holding a decapitated man upside down by his toes, blood draining from his neck and into the open maw of not-Batman god) while others displayed images of humans happily giving up their lives for their dark deity. Despite their age, the color and detail work of the tapestries remained vibrant and unblemished.
“Who would have guessed that Kuzco the Fabulous would have been such a diva?” Peter asked, throwing his arms out to gesture at the entirety of the temple’s interior. “I mean… maybe I’m not one to talk, but can an ego even get bigger than this?”
Greg frowned at Peter like he’d just made an orphan joke at the orphanage. “Shut the hell up, Peter.”
Confused and a little hurt, Peter looked at his friend questioningly.
“Did you not feel that? When we walked in?” Greg asked, gesturing all around him. “We’re not alone. Mind what you say in here.”
Nervously, Peter scanned the room for signs of movement. He didn’t see any. At all. Still, he had felt it. Whatever ‘it’ was. When they entered the temple, the feeling of being watched was stronger than Peter had ever felt it. It was almost as if some unseen observer was breathing down his neck.
“Vampire?” Peter asked. “Or?”
Greg shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s more likely that this building has developed a consciousness of its own over the years. That, or its guardian is still here.”
“Can buildings even…” Peter began to reply, but he was cut off.
“Peter,” Greg whispered angrily. His next few words were spoken very slowly, as if he were speaking to a daft child. “Shut the hell up. Let’s just have a silent look around, alright?”
Still upset that talking seemed to be admissible if Greg was the one doing it, Peter noticed the look of mild alarm on the big man’s grizzly features. Since he’d met the big fella, Peter had yet to see him look anything but confident. Angry, and confident. Taking him slightly more seriously after seeing Greg’s apprehension, Peter nodded his ascent.
Not wanting to be too far from his big meaty protector, Peter had to force himself not to cling to Greg’s arm as he followed the monster slayer along the path. On the far side of the temple’s entry chamber, a tall doorway opened up into a staircase that wound upward and out of sight.
Peter pointed up with his pointer finger, the silent question: do we go up the stairs?
Greg nodded.
Right on Greg’s heels, Peter began climbing. The stairs went on longer than they should have, were their destination only a single floor up - even with the first floor’s high ceiling. On and on they climbed, at least the equivalent of five normal flights of stairs. Finally, an opening appeared on the left, though the stairs continued upward past it.
Greg held one hand up, gesturing for Peter to halt, before entering this new area. Peter waited for a second, and then followed Greg. It only took an instant of observation for the too-long staircase to make sense.
This room, though the word ‘room’ hardly did it justice, held a likeness to the colosseum of Rome. There was tiered seating along the perimeter, complete with an opulent viewing box reserved for the premier guests on each side. The ground level, where Peter assumed horrific violence had played out for the sake of entertainment long ago, was oval-shaped and surrounded by 10 foot high stone walls that sloped inward slightly.
Peter squinted, leaning over the railing of the viewing box the staircase led them to in order to get a better look at the arena below. Though it was as still and quiet as a tomb now, long scars across the sand, blood stains, and a handful of bones scattered throughout served as proof that, long ago, it had been… less peaceful. When he turned to check on Greg, Peter found the big man glaring at him.
Peter signed the question, “What?”
Greg’s head tilted slightly and one brow rose. Apparently Greg had not taken the time to learn sign language over his centuries of life, which Peter simply could not understand.
“I told you to wait on the stairs,” Greg whispered. He did the same hand signal he’d done before. “That means wait. Literally everyone knows that.”
“I did wait,” Peter whispered back defensively.
Greg rolled his eyes dramatically. A little too dramatically for the situation, if you were to ask Peter Mayhew.
“Let’s keep going up,” Greg suggested. “Not much to see here. Not anymore.”
Peter silently agreed, nodding once and then following Greg out of the colosseum and back to the staircase. They continued upward until they reached the staircase’s end. At the very top, what Peter guessed was over 10 flights of typical stairs, they approached a sealed door. It looked like many of the other doors they’d encountered so far in Kuzco’s domain, a solid slab of seemingly-impenetrable rock.
Greg pulled Kuzco’s signet ring from his pocket and pressed its crown against the stone door. Like the door at the first residence they entered, this one blurred, and then simply vanished. The room beyond, Peter held little doubt, once served as the living quarters of Kuzco the Fabulous himself.
The bed that took up the center of the room was circular and easily large enough to accommodate upwards of ten people sprawled comfortably, or up to perhaps 30 if they got all tangled up. The bed was made, its silky red blanket tucked neatly in around the perimeter and pillows in a myriad of shapes and sizes covered one end. On the far side of the room, near what looked to be a closet packed to bursting with flamboyant outfits largely featuring the color red, Peter noticed a series of mirrors arrayed in a semi-circle.
“Kuzco the Fabulous indeed,” he commented quietly to himself, eliciting a hiss to be quiet from Greg. “Sure, it’s fine when you whisper. I utter a single syllable and…”
“Peter,” Greg whispered threateningly.
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“And that…” Peter finished sourly, turning away from the big man.
A beautiful armoire to the right of the bed caught Peter’s eye, and he stepped closer to have a look. It was taller than he was and just as wide. The wood, a redwood, was dark, lacquered, and polished to a gleam. There were three drawers beneath the main cabinet area, and Peter started with those. Working his way from the bottom up, he curiously opened the first drawer.
Inside, Peter found a series of instruments he could only guess were used for torture of some kind. Or, he hesitantly reasoned, sexual stimulation. He frowned, feeling icky just from the thought, and closed that drawer before opening the next. What he found within almost elicited a squeal of excitement that would have certainly elicited another rebuke from Greg had it escaped his lips.
Lying side by side in the drawer were three ancient tomes. Their covers were composed of leather, stretched, bound, and polished. They looked to be a set, if Peter’s best guess was anything to go by.
On the left was a white tome featuring a pre-aztec stylized design of a large bird. In the middle, a blood red tome with a similar design featuring a bat. On the right, a black tome featuring a simple, white circle. Whatever they were, Peter wanted to study them further.
He considered putting them into his ugly jacket of holding, but paused just short of doing so. Like Greg had warned, they were not alone in this place. Despite not having heard or seen any indication to prove that theory, apart from the constant and invasive feeling of being watched. What if looting Kuzco’s personal items triggered a negative response from the temple itself? Or worse, caused its dormant guardian to stir.
Still, the books in the drawer were likely to be some of the oldest in existence. On top of that, they appeared to be the personal property of an incredibly powerful ancient vampire. Even without knowing anything about the actual contents, Peter wanted to take these tomes home with him for further study. Badly. Frowning in bemused contemplation, he turned to find Greg.
The big man was putting something around the size of a baseball into his travelbag at the very moment that Peter’s eyes landed on him. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his new books. Smiling excitedly, he picked them up one at a time and placed them into the breast pocket of his jacket, which conveniently expanded to accommodate them. His ability triggered on each as he picked it up with his right hand, and Peter took in the information greedily.
The Nature of Life - by Kuzco the Fabulous
Durability: 9,999/9,999
Quality: Ancient - Relic
Fun Fact(s):
1. This book contains Kuzco’s speculation regarding the nature of life itself.
The Nature of the Undeath - by Kuzco the Fabulous
Durability: 9,999/9,999
Quality: Ancient - Relic
Fun Fact(s):
1. This book contains Kuzco’s understanding of all things undeath.
The Nature of Death and The Great Beyond - by Kuzco the Fabulous
Durability: 9,999/9,999
Quality: Ancient - Relic
Fun Fact(s):
1. This book, unique in all of the cosmos, details not only Kuzco’s speculation regarding death and the afterlife, but also the methodology and empirical data from the many experiments ultimately leading to his ascension - or perhaps his final death. Due to the fact that confirmation of Kuzco’s ascension or demise is impossible, the world will never know.
Peter was interested in learning Kuzco’s thoughts regarding the listed subjects, but that was a matter for another time. He closed the now-empty drawer and opened the next. Unfortunately, this one was empty. Peter shrugged, and then pulled the handle of the cabinet-like double-doors that took up the majority of the armoire. He frowned upon realizing it was locked.
Not dissuaded, Peter began more closely inspecting the cabinet doors. There was nowhere for a key, so he began the process of elimination with Kuzco’s signet ring. He pressed the ring’s crimson crown against the lacquered wood, and nothing happened. A smile stretched across Peter Mayhew’s face as he recognized what it was standing between himself and his curiosity concerning what lay behind the cabinet’s doors.
A puzzle.
There was some way to open the cabinet, Peter was sure. He just had to find it. Using the knuckle of his pointer finger, Peter began systematically tapping on the lacquered wood. He turned his head to the side, keeping his ear close as he probed for irregularities. He found what he was looking for on the far right side of the dresser when the sound from his tapping was more of a click than a clunk.
He leaned around the corner of the armoire, standing on his tiptoes and using his phone’s flashlight function to have a look. Sure enough, a square shaped bit of wood no larger than the flat of his thumb where he’d heard the click was a barely perceptible shade lighter than the wood surrounding it. Further probing revealed that the irregular area was only about the size of a fingertip.
On a whim, Peter pulled Kuzco’s signet ring from his pocket and placed the crown against the irregular surface. With a click, the cabinet doors unlocked and then opened slowly. Peter’s mouth fell open upon seeing what lay within.
There were two items displayed on stands that looked to be custom made specifically for this purpose. On the left, a helmet. On the right, an obsidian figurine.
The helmet, to Peter’s knee-shaking excitement, was the very same one depicted everywhere throughout Kuzco’s domain - the pointed ear, black facemask of the not-Batman god. His not-entirely-impressive willpower allowed Peter to resist putting on the mask for a not-entirely-impressive three whole seconds. And then he plucked it from its stand, pulled it over his head, and turned to Greg.
“Greg,” he said with his best, overly-dramatic and gravely Batman voice. The big man was crouched over a chest in the corner of the room. He turned over one shoulder, took one look at Peter, and then just closed his eyes and scrunched up his lips in frustration. Nonplused, Peter continued his Batman impersonation. “Is it just me, or did this guy take the bat god thing a little too far?”
Greg ignored him completely. Frowning, Peter placed the palm of his right hand against the textured surface of the helmet.
Crown of the Sanguine King
Durability: 1/1
Quality: Ancient - Relic
Fun Fact(s):
1. Donning this helmet does not make you Batman, Peter Mayhew.
2. It does, however, grant a boost to physical strength, agility, and speed at the cost of 1 liter of blood per hour worn.
“Crap,” Peter said with his mock Batman voice. The blood cost wouldn’t be a problem for someone like Kuzco, who could just drink more out of a spout protruding from the wall or a (willing or unwilling) sacrifice. For Peter, it would result in his death in under two hours. He took it off, looked down at it admonishingly, and then stowed it away in his jacket of holding.
Peter inspected the figurine next. With closer observation, Peter realized that it closely resembled the designs carved into the El Tajin pyramids above. A jaguar. Curious, he picked it up with his right hand. As information regarding the trinket was provided by his ability, a low growl began to shake the entire room.
Enslavement Figurine of Omacatl
Durability: N/A (indestructible)
Quality: Ancient - Relic
Fun Fact(s):
1. This figurine was created before the Pantheon of Old Gods left Earth.
2. Its purpose is to bind the minor god, Omacatl, to eternal enslavement.
3. The owner of this figurine commands complete control over the minor god, Omacatl.
4. At this time, Enslavement Figurine of Omacatl does not have an established owner. Because of this, Omacatl may act with free will.
5. To claim ownership, a considerable blood sacrifice from the prospective owner must be trickled into the figurine’s mouth.
This guy and gods dang blood sacrifices…
“Peter!” Greg shouted with the tone of a mother who suspected shenanigans from her child in the next room over. The growl grew guttural and the room’s rumble rose to a teeth-chattering vibration. “What did you do?”