The air in the labyrinth had grown thick, heavy with the weight of lives lost and promises broken. Zeek had finally laid a friend to rest, safe guarded from the labyrinth's ever corrupting influence; he took no solace in yet another body atop the mountain of corpses he'd sacrificed in these putrid halls. The rogue's confession had shattered the fragile wall between himself and the party he'd formed for this last endeavor. He walked at the front, the map in his hands, silent as death's kiss.
The void Verris had left was a palpable thing, a veil of silence and despair fell over the group as they made their way further, dispatching small groups of undead and sauntering death blossoms when they could not be avoided. Kerris's gaze was openly hostile, yet something lingered on her, forcing her fingers to tremble with each step in the silent halls: fear.
Heka bound herself to Amon, his ashen black garbs trailing her smoke as he held a ball of flame to light their path. Kemet's scholars had once told tales of places like this; grim and near-endless labyrinths powered by the death and hopelessness; Amon, ever the student, recalled the myths as he continued to walk through the tortured walls.
Old blood and ichor mingled on nearly every stone surface; the smell of mold and copper were enough to smother the senses. Kerris fought back the nausea as she continued to recall her last escape from this very place; the horrors she's seen and heard filled her mind and lurked in every shadow as the soundless corridors filled her ears with the sound of her own pounding heart. The group was, effectively, blind. The map had lost its host, now having fallen silent in the face of this ever-shifting maze; scents filled the walkways, and, as a scout and huntswoman, it fell to her to seek out the same monster that had killed her friends and granted her safe passage.
"There, that archway on the left." Kerris was the navigator when Zeek's gut faltered. Her sense of smell was as precise as ever, her focus undaunted as vengeance led her to onward despite the terror trembling in her bones. Wisps of smoke appeared beside her as she continued toward their end goal.
"Anger is a luxury we cannot afford. It will only feed the corruption in this place," the Shu-Ra whispered to her beloved.
"As ever, my queen, you are not mistaken."
"Yes my Queen, you are right," she corrected. Smoke surged forward, stretching through the many corridors ahead. The smoky tendrils followed the winding, shifting paths as Heka stretched her essence as deep into the labyrinth as she could; Amon's clothes began to whiten as she spread herself thin. One branch of smoke stopped, meeting a barrier; Heka extended her senses to see what had happened. She had found pure despair. She saw grotesque faces, skin rotting from the muscles as a band of undead knights and adventurers sauntered toward her gaze. Standing in the center of the cavern, arranged in a silent, menacing formation, were five figures. They were clad in masterfully crafted armor, etched with runes that glowed with the same sickly green light as the crystals. Among the silhouettes there were three enchanted weapons—a great sword that seemed to drink the light from the room, a pair of wicked-looking axes, a staff topped with a screaming, skull-like gem. They stood with both discipline and readiness that spoke of immense skill. The barrier had come from an undead mage in the group, their staff humming with a deep purple light. Heka withdrew her tendrils to protect Amon, only slightly retracting the one facing the threat blocking their path.
"A group of ill-fated adventurers block our path," she announced.
"How many are there?" Amon looked weary as his queen returned to his robes with her report.
"Any number of undead, but there were five of them in the center that seemed to hold sway over the space."
"Can you tell us any more about them," Zeek queried.
Heka relayed what few details she could about the daunting undead amongst the rabble.
Zeek froze, his breath catching in his throat. A look of horrified recognition dawned on his face. He knew this armor. He knew these weapons.
"The Vindicators," he whispered, the name a ghost on his lips.
"You know them as well?" Amon looked tired. "Your friends fell in numbers, I see."
"They were the best," Zeek said, his voice trembling. "Better than any party I'd ever led. We'd planned on clearing this labyrinth and bringing back artifacts from its depths. Lillianna was the priestess in our group, while Nyx was our caster. We made it deeper than anyone ever had, to the very edge of the Black Garden… but the labyrinth—we…" he shuddered, "We never truly stood a chance."
"They stand in a cavernous area that seems to block a massive entryway," Heka noted.
"Then the end is nigh," Zeek's gaze hardened, "We're almost there. They guard the entrance to the Black Garden, Lilliana's throne room."
"Let us make our way to them," Amon mused, "Our strength will not last forever." He had a point. With every battle, every bruise, the strength of each individual waned. To add to their loss in strength, the loss of Verris was detrimental to their current endeavor; his hand drifted to Regalia, a weighty reminder of the emptiness he'd left in their entourage.
With little delay, the four remaining adventurers moved on. With some critical healing mist, Heka was able to restore some health and stamina as they crept through the maze, following the smoky trail she'd left for them. The walls still dripped with ichor and twitched under the light of Amon's flames. The deeper they went—the closer they got to the Black Garden, the louder the humming became around them. It started as a whisper within the walls, barely audible over their footfalls; now it was immediate and clearly audible, an unintelligible stream of chants.