Moses' heart thundered in his chest as the spirit's grip tightened around him, her cold hands like iron chains pulling him deeper into the river. The water seemed endless, a chasm of blackness that stretched forever, and for a moment, the crushing pressure of the current made him believe there was no way out.
The spirit—her form now that of a woman, her face pale and ghostly—loomed over him, her eyes glowing with a malevolent light. Her presence filled the space around him, making it feel like the entire river was collapsing in on him.
"You think you're special?" she sneered in his mind, her voice a rasp that echoed through the water. "You think the gates will save you? You will drown like all the others."
Moses gritted his teeth, resisting the pull of the dark waters, but the weight of the spirit's power was nearly too much. Her voice whispered through his mind, digging into his thoughts like a blade.
You're nothing but a test. A mere sacrifice to the river.
But then... the threads. The threads around his waist, still alive with energy, thrummed like a heartbeat, reminding him of his purpose, of the weight of those who had come before him. The faces of those who had sacrificed everything to reach this point.
They weren't gone yet. They were with him. He wasn't alone.
The spirit laughed, sensing his struggle, and pressed harder against him, her form shifting like a current, trying to drag him further down. "You'll never survive this. None of you do. I've watched them all fail."
Moses' chest burned, his lungs fighting for air, but he wouldn't give in. With a sharp gasp, he reached out, pulling on the threads tied around his waist, feeling their energy surge. The power of the gates—the power of the balance between life and death—flowed through him.
The spirit lunged again, her body becoming a serpent, mouth gaping wide to devour him, but Moses was ready. With a swift movement, he yanked on the threads, weaving them through the water in a tight, intricate loop. The threads wrapped around the spirit, binding her, forcing her to pause as her form contorted in shock.
"You think you can trap me?" she hissed telepathically, struggling against the threads, but the power of the gate was too strong. The spirit's form flickered, caught in the weave of the threads like a fly in a web. She snarled in frustration, her body thrashing violently, but the more she fought, the more the threads tightened.
"You're not the only one who can trap," Moses projected his voice into her mind, steady and firm. "I am the gate. You're not my test—I'm yours."
The spirit's struggle slowed as the threads wrapped tighter, locking her in place. The river around them began to calm, the oppressive weight lifting slightly, but the spirit's anger was far from gone. She gritted her teeth, her face contorted with fury.
"But you can't escape what I am. The darkness will consume you, just like it will consume me."
Moses stood tall, his breath shallow but determined. "Not if I can stop it."
For a long moment, the spirit remained silent, her body frozen within the threads. Then, slowly, she spoke again, this time with a quiet tremor in her voice. "You don't understand. I am bound to this river. Bound to test those who pass through. If I don't do what I was made to do... the darkness will claim me. It's why I drown them. It's the only way to survive."
Moses' gaze softened, understanding starting to settle in. "You're afraid of the darkness, too."
"I am the darkness' servant," she whispered. "If I don't fulfill the test, if I let one of you escape... it will swallow me whole. You don't know what it's like to feel it closing in... waiting for you to fail."
Moses took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you don't have to be its servant anymore. You've been trapped in this role, but you're not alone. I can help you. If we face the darkness together, we might be able to free both of us."
Her eyes flickered, something akin to hope flashing behind the fear. "You... you would help me?"
Moses nodded, his voice unwavering. "We can trap the darkness, together. But first, I need you to release me. Help me reach the gate."
The spirit's form shuddered, her eyes searching his face as if looking for some sign of deceit. But there was none.
"I... I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I've been doing this for so long. If I let you go, it will come for me. I can't..."
"You're not alone," Moses repeated, his voice gentle but firm. "You can break free, but you have to trust me."
The river stilled, the current slowing as the spirit's gaze softened for the first time.
"I will trust you, Gate," she said quietly, her form beginning to dissolve into the water. "But remember this... if you fail, we both fall."
As Moses swam toward the surface, the spirit's form faded behind him, her presence still lingering in the deep. His limbs burned with exhaustion, but there was something else now, something pulling him forward. He felt the weight of the threads around his waist, still alive with the energy of the gates, guiding him.
"You need to see this," the spirit had whispered to him before she vanished. "To understand what you're up against."
The water above parted, and Moses broke the surface with a gasp, the air filling his lungs, but the world around him had changed. Gone was the oppressive blackness of the river. Instead, he found himself in a wide, open space—barren and dry under the scorching sun. The wind carried the scent of dust and incense, the sound of drums echoing in the distance.
He was no longer underwater.
As he staggered to his feet, he saw structures in the distance—great, towering walls, adorned with hieroglyphs and strange symbols he didn't recognize. And there, in the heart of it all, was a grand pyramid, the centerpiece of the land.
Moses stood in the midst of ancient Egypt, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. Was this a vision? A dream?
Before he could gather his thoughts, a figure appeared beside him—the spirit, now taking the form of an ethereal, glowing woman. Her appearance was less serpent-like and more human now, but her presence still carried an otherworldly weight.
"Look," she said, her voice quiet but powerful, reverberating through his mind. "This is where it all began. You must understand what happened before you can move forward."
Moses nodded, still trying to make sense of the situation, and turned his gaze to the center of the city. A large, circular courtyard had been cleared, with a group of people gathered around—a mix of high priests and priestesses, their robes ornate and shimmering under the sun. Magical creatures of different kinds stood among them, some humanoid, some monstrous, all exuding power and ancient wisdom. They formed a circle around a raised altar, and Moses felt a surge of energy in the air, something old, something deep.
The air grew heavier, charged with an unseen force as the ritual began.
At the center of the gathering, a priest raised a ceremonial staff adorned with crystals and ancient runes. He spoke in a tongue Moses didn't understand, but the words hummed through the air, resonating in his bones. A low, haunting chant rose from the crowd, their voices vibrating in sync.
The ritual began.
Moses watched in awe as a glowing sigil appeared above the altar, a swirling pattern of symbols that twisted and writhed in the air like a living entity. The high priest gestured with his staff, and the sigil expanded, filling the sky, the air buzzing with an electric charge.
A large stone box sat on the altar, its surface covered in intricate carvings, each one telling a story Moses couldn't quite follow. But as the ritual progressed, he felt the power of it—the binding magic being woven, each chant and gesture drawing the darkness closer.
The spirit beside him spoke again, her voice filled with both reverence and sorrow. "This was the first Pandora Box. An artifact crafted by the greatest of our kind to contain the darkness. They hoped it would be enough."
Moses could feel the energy in the air, the power of the ritual surging through him. The darkness was real—he could almost taste it, a heavy, oppressive force lurking at the edges of the ritual, waiting to be contained. But as the box began to glow with an eerie light, something went wrong.
The sigil above the altar flickered, and a strange, guttural voice echoed from the box. It was a language Moses had never heard before—ancient, alien, full of malice. The darkness spoke.
And then, the earth trembled.
Moses watched in shock as Taira was brought forward. She was of darker skin, her features delicate but fierce, as though she had known pain. She was shackled, but there was an undeniable power in her presence. She was placed before the box, and Moses could feel her connection to it, as if she had been chosen by fate itself.
"Tiara," the spirit whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. "She was a slave girl, from the Niger River. The only one who could understand the language of the darkness."
Tiara, stepped forward, her eyes closed as if listening to something only she could hear. She raised her hand, and the chanting stopped. All eyes were on her as she spoke in the same alien language, her voice calm but unwavering.
The darkness responded.
Moses felt a chill ripple through the air. The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift, and he saw the high priests and priestesses exchange nervous glances. The darkness in the box began to pulse, its glow growing stronger. Tiara's connection to it was undeniable, but so was the danger. The darkness was persuasive—Moses could feel it in the air, a pull he couldn't resist.
Tiara hesitated for a long moment, her gaze distant. Then, in a voice barely audible, she spoke, "I release you."
The moment the words left her lips, the earth shook with a violent tremor. The box shattered, its pieces falling away as the darkness spilled forth like a tidal wave, consuming everything in its path. The screams of the priests and magical creatures filled the air, but it was too late. The darkness was free, and it spread like wildfire, devouring the land, killing those who had dared to control it.
The gods themselves feared it, and the people begged for help. But it was Tiara, the girl who had unwittingly unleashed the darkness, who now carried the burden.
"We couldn't stop it," the spirit whispered, "But we knew what had to be done. A new box was needed—a living vessel to hold the darkness, someone who could speak its language."
Moses watched in horror as Tiara was brought forward once more, her face marked with both pain and understanding. The high priests began a new ritual, one even darker than the first. Tiara was sacrificed, her soul entwined with the darkness, and the ritual bound her to the new Pandora Box.
"We made her the box," the spirit said softly. "We had no choice. But we made sure that anyone connected to the living and the dead—the Gates—would become the next Pandora Box. It was their kind that allowed the darkness to escape. It is their kind who will contain it, forever."