Inside the colossal, half-buried temple, the darkness was profound, absolute, pressing in on them like a physical weight. Their portable lights, usually cutting through gloom with ease, seemed to struggle, their beams swallowed by the oppressive shadows. Only the dim, internal glow of their weapons offered any true illumination, casting an eerie light on their strained faces. The air, thick with the scent of ancient dust and a metallic, almost sulfuric tang, vibrated with that malevolent pulse Deva had sensed. Strange, intricate symbols adorned the crumbling obsidian walls, unlike any ancient runes they had studied at the Institution. They seemed to writhe and shift at the edges of their vision, whispering of forgotten terrors.
Deva, attuned to the subtle vibrations, felt a deep, malevolent hum emanating from beneath their very feet, a rhythm that was discordant with the natural pulse of Prithvi. "It's… not just chaos," Deva whispered, his voice strained, an uncomfortable chill spreading through him/her despite the desert heat. "It's organized. Directed. Someone is… orchestrating this." The intuitive fear he felt surpassed the intellectual understanding; this was a purposeful evil.
As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the eerie silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on ancient, desiccated stone, they found horrifying evidence of this deliberate destruction. This wasn't random decay or the work of mindless chaotic beasts. Statues of unknown, ancient deities were shattered with impossible force, their limbs torn, their heads missing. Intricate, powerful wards, designed to repel malevolent energies, were not simply broken, but systematically bypassed, their magical circuits cleanly severed. The destruction was precise, almost surgical, leaving behind a chilling sense of calculated malice.
Then, in a vast, circular central chamber, its vaulted ceiling long collapsed to the sand, they found it – a pedestal, long empty, its surface scorched and scarred, pulsating faintly with a residual dark energy signature. On the pedestal's scorched stone, etched deep as if burned into the very bedrock, was a symbol they had never seen, yet felt instinctively malevolent: two interlocking, jagged swords, swirling in a vortex of shadow. The sight of it sent a shiver down Nitin's spine, a flicker of recognition for the raw power it represented, a dark mirror to his own elemental blade.
As Nitin, compelled by an instinct to confirm, reached out a hand, his fingers hovering inches from the symbol, a chilling whisper echoed through the chamber. It wasn't from any discernible source, not from a mouth or a hidden vent, but directly in their minds, piercing their thoughts like an ice shard: "You seek knowledge, little ones? You will find only despair." The air in the chamber grew colder, an unnatural chill that seemed to sap the warmth from their bones. Spectral, fleeting images of a dual-wielding figure, cloaked in shadow, flickered at the edges of their vision, impossibly fast, too quick to properly glimpse, too real to dismiss.
Nitin instinctively recoiled, his elemental sword snapping from its sheath, its blue light momentarily pushing back the encroaching shadows. He swung, but there was nothing to strike. Shakti's daggers spun defensively, a kaleidoscope of light and phantom motion, ready for an attack that never materialized. Deva's spear glowed, straining against an unseen, oppressive pressure that bore down on them, threatening to crush their very wills. The presence, though fleeting, was overwhelming, far more potent than the blighted monster in Solara. It was intelligent, ancient, and undeniably malevolent. It tasted of pure hatred and cold, calculated power.
They retreated, shaken, the whisper still echoing in their minds. The experience was profoundly unsettling. This wasn't a random monster; this was a mind, a consciousness, a force that knew they were coming, knew what they sought. Back at the Institution, they presented the haunting symbol to Gurudev and Guru Brahman. Their faces, usually composed, showed a flicker of grim recognition, their eyes darkening with an ancient sorrow. "This symbol… it is ancient. Tied to a forgotten legend," Guru Brahman murmured, his voice hushed as he traced the twin swords. "An agent, perhaps, of the deepest darkness, now stirring." Gurudev's knuckles were white as he gripped his staff. "This is no mere test, Guardians. This is Kaband's." The name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. The heroes felt a chilling realization, stark and undeniable: this enemy was far beyond anything they had imagined. This was their chilling first indirect evidence of Kaband's pervasive and malevolent presence. Their mission had shifted from battling chaos to confronting its orchestrator's harbinger.