He ran through the hall, his feet slipping on slimy mold. It stank, it was hot, and it carried the terrible weight of infernal magic bending the very fabric of reality. Within this tomb, he faced his test. The locals had told him there was a creature down here, stealing their children when the full moon came. They said the saw lumbering shapes moving in the night, that an unknown force had disturbed the graves in the cemetery.
He round the corner and slowed, gently shaking his scepter, as if testing its weight. He held a torch behind his shield, casting light on the tunnel. It was so hot down here he had to cast off his plate at the entrance and travel in his leather armor only. A slow, lumbering zombie rounded the corner ahead, dragging its battered left foot behind its functional right, its crackled, rotted, dried skin flaking off revealing gray, dead muscles beneath. It drew closer, reflexively snapping its teeth. He stood and let it come, steeling himself and focusing on his faith.
As it drew nearer it weakened and slowed, and he felled with a blow to his scepter, knocking it's head off by snapping its brittle neck. He focused on his faith, gripping it as if it were a piece of driftwood in a vast sea, because he knew it- and it alone- could protect him here.
He passed the still quivering but harmless zombie pressed against the wall, and headed down the corridor. There were tracks and scrapes and scuffs in the mold of the floor, many feet, some of them small, had passed this way.
He passed a side corridor slowly, carefully following the tracks and hoping not to draw attention, and all of a sudden a crushing, powerful force clamped around his neck, pulling him back and strangling him simultaneously. He flailed blindly at it with the scepter, swinging it madly over his head. He felt it connect to something strong, but it didn't help, the thing pulled him back into its lair. He felt a wave of revulsion as a rotting voice whispered into his ear, "Exhotep� Exhotep� EXHOTEP!"
He had forgotten his faith.
He focused his mind, letting his body relax, focusing on his faith. He felt the peace and calm that his teachers had granted him when he took his buckler and short sword from the priests, and he heard the creature scream when it was burned by the awesome wrath of the holy fires of the Creator in all his glory.
It recoiled backwards, its skin and the linen wrapping it charred and cracking. He spun and faced it, holding his scepter like a mace. It was an ancient and tattered mummy, still strong. It pushed off against the wall and came to meet him with astonishing speed. Never releasing his faith, he struck it with his shield and smashed it with his scepter at once, knocking it back as it ignited again, this time from the torch behind his shield, and fell against the wall, then fell silent.
Silence.
He followed the tracks again.
He followed the corridor as it curved and snaked, ignoring the side passages, but eyeing them warily nonetheless, until he found it- a door, carved with infernal marking, made by the beast that plagued this village. He steeled himself, summoning his faith, and forcing the fiery fury of his Creator to protect him as he kicked in the door. It went in easily, almost lightly.
The mummies rushed him immediately. Standing in the door, he struck them with his scepter as the came, knocking them away. They charged into the fires that consumed their linens leaving dried corpses- perfect kindling. They ignited, but came at him anyway. He battered them as they came, their very bones made brittle by the heat only they felt, and he heard laughter in the distance.
They came until they fell, fell in great dusty heaps, and then there were no more. He kicked them aside, in flurries of dust, crossing the room quickly. He could hear the children murmuring and sobbing in the darkness. Then he saw� it.
It was a thing of great power, he knew that immediately. It was taller than any man and had the head of a wolf, and long blades for its arms, and it chanted, chanted terrible infernal incantations as it lumbered forward in an oddly shifting walk. He took a step backward�
�and his faith wavered.
It paced him as he moved backwards for a moment, and then, as if making a decision, came at him, striking him in the chest with the flats of its blades. He was propelled backwards, dropping his shield and his torch and his scepter, and he hit the wall with a resounding thud.
He pushed himself up, and blinked twice before he realized he could not see. He pulled the bastard sword out of its sheath on his back and gently swung it back and forth to test the air before him, awaiting the thing that must come. As if thrown by a switch, the room lit up as torches exploded in fury, their flames rising high and casting blinding light for a brief second, then relaxing to normal tones.
The thing laughed at him as it came, lumbering, its laugh like bones breaking. He could smell the blood of the children it had consumed to feed itself, and he lunged at it, raising his sword like a lance. He charged across the room, focusing himself on going as fast as he could, and speared the sword all the way through the creature to the hilt.
It only laughed at him.
It slammed a blade through his side, and he felt a burning, raging agony that started to become different, distant, and he knew he was dying. He felt it twist the blade in him, rending flesh and cutting sinews, and he felt his lung collapse inwards. He sucked air, wheezing for breath, hoping against hope that the creature was felled, that this was its last act�
�but it only laughed at him.
He remembered the oath he had taken, and he remembered his life. He remembered his sister, who died in the fires when Baal sacked his home, he remembered how he dedicated himself to entering the very maw of hell as the hero who felled Diablo had done before, to challenge the very Prime Evils themselves, but it was not to be. He remembered finally a long, ancient procedure that he had been taught in secret by his mentor, who learned from his mentor, who learned from his mentor. "Only use this, boy," the teacher said, "in time of greatest need, when you are ready to sacrifice your life for another's." He used it without any qualms as the blade in him twisted and writhed as another joined it, as the fearsome thing began to tear him apart.
He found his faith and strengthened it, felt the pain leave him. He grew groggy as he continued, focusing his faith and calling on the names of the ancient and revered angels from the High Heavens, reciting them in his mind. Finally he remembered the great heroes of the Zakarum just as his heart was ceasing to beat, and he called on his mentor's soul in the Heavens to bring him aid�
�and the creature exploded with a final ominous shriek of "EXHOTEP!" as they both collapsed to the ground, and he saw the Light return to the room as his brain died, and he saw the children watch the undead fall inert, and he knew that he had passed the final test, and then he saw and felt no more.
