Neon and S.A.B.R.E. stepped cautiously toward the far end of the cathedral, their footsteps muffled against the cold, cracked stone floor. Before entering, Neon raised his hand and willed the moisture clinging to their clothes, skin, and trolley to lift away. Like a gentle current, the dampness peeled off, spiraling outward as droplets scattered harmlessly outside the entrance.

Suddenly—CREAAK.

A wooden panel behind the altar groaned and slowly shifted open, the dry, splintering sound slicing through the heavy silence like a whisper from the past. Dust motes danced in the candlelight as a narrow, yawning passage was revealed, descending steeply into pitch-black darkness.

Neon froze, every muscle taut, eyes narrowing as he peered into the abyss.

"...Did you hear that?" he murmured, voice low and tense.

S.A.B.R.E.'s servos whirred anxiously. Suddenly, between its multi-lensed eyes, a flickering green hologram sprang to life—a small, pixelated projection of a worried little bot shaking its head exaggeratedly.

Hologram, text flickering.

"Unauthorized subterranean exploration is strongly discouraged. Additionally, my presence already fulfills the creepiness quota. Further creepiness is unnecessary."

Neon smirked, plucking the candle from the floor. The flame flickered nervously in the draft, its wavering glow casting twisted, dancing shadows that stretched and curled along the cracked stone.

"Suit yourself you coward." Neon said, stepping carefully into the passage alone.

The air grew cooler and heavier, thick with the scent of damp stone, aged parchment, and something faintly metallic—like blood long dried.

The walls closed in as he descended, rough stone cool and slick beneath his fingers. The candle's light flickered wildly, struggling against the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow sound itself.

At last, Neon reached the chamber below—a circular room untouched by time. The air thrummed softly with latent power, humming beneath the silence like a distant storm.

Runes etched deep into the cold stone walls glowed softly with ethereal blue and violet light, their edges sharp and pristine, as if freshly carved. The faint pulse of magic vibrated through the air, a heartbeat echoing from the ancient stones themselves.

A shiver ran down Neon's spine as something unseen seemed to awaken in the shadows—a presence old, powerful, and watching.

---

Neon stepped closer to the pedestal, the cold stone rough and cool beneath his fingertips. At its base, the same 24 sigils he'd seen on the altar were etched in a perfect circle—each one faintly glowing with a soft, otherworldly light, like ancient embers barely alive, waiting for something.

Sensing the shift in energy, his helmet let out a soft hiss as the segmented plating folded back, retracting into the suit with smooth precision. Cool air rushed against his skin, sharp and almost electric, carrying the scent of aged stone and lingering magic. The faint glow of the sigils reflected in his exposed eyes, flickering like distant stars across his irises.

He hesitated, breath catching in his throat, as the faint scent of ozone and old parchment filled the air, mingling with the damp, musty smell of the chamber. The silence pressed around him, thick and expectant.

His fingertips hovered over two symbols that stirred something deep inside—an echo, a resonance he couldn't quite place.

"This… one's... arcane. And this… is alchemy?" he whispered, voice trembling, barely audible over the steady thump of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Curiosity wrestled down caution. His fingers brushed the alchemy sigil, the stone unexpectedly warm beneath his skin.

Suddenly—a searing burst of white-hot light exploded from the pedestal. Every single one of the 24 sigils flared to life in unison, blazing with a radiant, almost blinding energy that flooded the chamber like a rising tide of magic.

Neon's entire body trembled violently, muscles tightening as an invisible force surged through him. His vision blurred, and a sharp metallic taste filled his mouth. The air around him crackled with electric tension, hairs standing on end.

Before he could react, the force lifted him inches off the floor, weightless and powerless, his limbs floating as if caught in a strong current. His eyes widened, shock and awe battling for dominance, pupils dilated to take in the overwhelming power coursing through him.

Then it hit—IT BURNS!

---

Not like a flame licking at his skin, but something deeper. Heat flared through his veins, searing through muscle and marrow, igniting every nerve with raw energy. His jaw clenched, breath hitching as he fought to hold it in.

His vision blurred. Not from the brightness, but from the sheer intensity—his eyes burned, seared from the inside, like staring too long into something vast and ancient. Every blink brought a riot of golden sparks flickering in the darkness behind his lids, dancing like embers refusing to die.

And then—amid the heat, the pain, the raw surge—something incredible. A scent, rich and intoxicating, filling his lungs with a warmth that defied reason. It wasn't smoke, wasn't char or sulfur, but something deeper. Like fresh earth after the first strike of lightning, like metal tempered in wild fire, something that hummed with power. It was overwhelming, and Neon—despite everything— HE WANTED MORE.

Through it all, beyond the chaos raging inside him, the world had slowed. The rhythmic patter of rain became deliberate, stretched, like each drop carried weight beyond its fall. The quiet drip-drip-drip echoed between his gasping breaths, grounding him, reminding him that—despite everything—he was still here.

He almost managed.

But the moment stretched—too long, too unbearable. A guttural, strangled cry tore from his throat, raw and uncontrolled, as the power surged through him. It wasn't just heat. It was alive. A force too immense to tame, too wild to control. And for a fleeting second, he wasn't sure if he was burning up—or burning away.

Then—without warning—he collapsed, limp and motionless, collapsing onto the cold stone floor with a hollow thud.

The blinding light faded swiftly, retreating back into the etched sigils, which now glowed faintly, casting a dim, ethereal shimmer across the chamber walls.

Silence returned, heavy and thick, broken only by Neon's shallow, ragged breaths as he lay still beneath the soft flicker of ancient magic.

Then—one last ember of power crackled through his fingers, a dying spark curling in the air before vanishing.

He barely felt it.

The stone beneath him was cold, but the absence of warmth inside him was colder.

He did not move.

He simply breathed—alive, yet changed.

And somewhere, in the distant hum of magic still thrumming in the chamber, the sigils pulsed once… as if watching.

Waiting.