The cold air grew heavier as Alastor, Selene, and Aurora ventured deeper into the ancient tombs, each step taking them closer to the heart of the Pyramid’s origins. Silence pressed down on them, broken only by the shuffle of their boots against the dusty stone floor. The hieroglyphs lining the walls seemed to watch them, shifting and flickering, as if the dead were whispering warnings from the past.

Aurora’s neural interface pinged softly, drawing her attention to a large chamber up ahead. "This is it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The resting place of the founders."

The chamber was enormous, a temple of bones and ancient magic, with towering pillars carved in the shapes of falcons and jackals. At its center lay massive stone sarcophagi, sealed with thick layers of gold and obsidian. Symbols of Anubis and Osiris adorned the walls—gods of death, rebirth, and judgment. The hieroglyphs surrounding the sarcophagi glowed faintly with an eerie green light, pulsing like the fading heartbeat of something not entirely dead.

Alastor stepped cautiously toward the nearest sarcophagus, his pulse quickening. This was it. The original resting place of the Pyramid’s founders—the priests who had unlocked the secrets of the loop and built a system that had enslaved souls across centuries.

"These were the first," Selene murmured, her gaze flickering between the towering tombs. "The ones who started it all."

"They should have stayed buried," Alastor muttered, his hand brushing the scarab beneath his sleeve. Every fiber of his being screamed that something was wrong, as if the tomb wasn’t just a resting place—but a trap.

Aurora moved carefully to a wall covered in intricate glyphs, her interface glowing as it worked to decode them. "It’s a curse," she whispered, her expression tightening. "They bound their own souls to these tombs... to guard their secrets for eternity. They thought that if anyone found a way to end the loop, they could stop them—even from beyond death."

The realization hit Alastor like a punch to the gut. These priests hadn’t just built the loop—they had sacrificed themselves to become its guardians. They were trapped between life and death, their souls cursed to wander forever within the tombs, ensuring no one could ever sever the loop’s power. They had made themselves eternal—but at a cost.

Before Alastor could respond, the ground trembled. A low, rumbling noise echoed through the chamber, like the shifting of ancient stone.

And then... the sarcophagi stirred.

A grinding sound filled the air as the stone lids began to slide open, sending clouds of dust into the stale air. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the green light from the glyphs brightened, casting long shadows that danced along the walls.

Alastor, Selene, and Aurora backed away as the first of the priests emerged.

The figure that crawled from the tomb was a twisted, mummified husk, its body wrapped in frayed linen stained with the passage of centuries. Its hollow eyes burned with an unnatural, green fire, the hatred in them so intense it seemed to radiate from its desiccated form. More priests stirred within their tombs, their movements slow and deliberate, as if they were waking from a dreamless slumber only to find themselves still cursed—still bound to the loop they had created.

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Aurora gasped, her neural interface flickering with interference. "They’re not just ghosts. They’re... something else. Trapped between life and death."

The first priest dragged itself from its sarcophagus, its brittle bones cracking with every step, yet it moved with purpose—as if it remembered every moment of its cursed existence and carried a grudge centuries old.

More of the priests emerged, their movements eerily synchronized, as if driven by a singular will. The curse bound them as one, their hatred for anyone who dared trespass upon their secrets simmering beneath their ragged forms.

Alastor could feel the energy of the loop humming within them—these priests weren’t just guardians of the Pyramid’s secrets; they were part of the loop itself. Their presence reinforced the cycle, feeding the loop’s power with every second they remained trapped in this liminal space. They were the heart of the curse.

Selene drew her blade, her expression grim. "They don’t look like they want to chat."

"No," Alastor agreed, his scarab buzzing with warning beneath his skin. "They’re here to make sure we don’t leave."

Aurora took a step back, her interface struggling to stabilize against the ancient interference. "We need to figure out how to break their connection to the loop—fast. If they’re still part of the system, killing them might just reset us again."

Alastor’s jaw tightened. The curse was more than just a defense mechanism. These priests were guardians of the cycle—ensuring no one, not even those within the loop, could escape. If they wanted to end the loop, they had to sever the priests' hold over it.

The first priest raised its hand, a withered claw etched with glowing glyphs, and spoke in a voice that sounded like the shifting of tombstones: "Defilers. You seek the end of what cannot end."

The voice seemed to vibrate through Alastor’s bones, chilling him to the core. These weren’t just spirits—they were remnants of the men who had first conquered death. And they weren’t going to let go of their power easily.

Another priest stepped forward, its eyes burning brighter with hatred. "We are eternal. We guard what cannot be undone. You cannot escape the loop."

Selene tightened her grip on her blade, her knuckles white. "I’ve had enough of this loop."

The mummified priests began to advance, their movements slow but relentless, like predators who knew their prey had nowhere to run. The air grew thick with their ancient hatred, pressing in from all sides, as if the very walls of the tomb sought to consume them.

Alastor squared his shoulders, the scarab burning hotter now, flooding his veins with dark energy. This was the Pyramid’s true defense—a curse bound in flesh and spirit, guardians who had transcended death but never found peace. If they wanted to break the loop, they had to face these priests—and survive.

"We need to find their anchor," Aurora whispered urgently, her eyes darting between the glowing glyphs on the walls. "There has to be something tying them to this place. If we sever it—"

She didn’t get the chance to finish. The first priest lunged, its claws slashing through the air, aiming for Alastor’s throat.

Alastor twisted away, his reflexes sharp from lifetimes of combat. This wasn’t just another fight—this was a battle for freedom. He raised his hand, the scarab’s energy crackling through his veins, and met the priest’s glowing gaze with unflinching determination.

"You made yourselves eternal," he growled, his voice low and steady. "But that ends now."

The priests hissed, their burning eyes narrowing with rage. The war against the Pyramid had brought them here—and now, the war against eternity itself would begin.