The Extra Wants Control

The world lurched and blurred around Eldran. The poison Tyler had concocted was a relentless beast, coursing through his veins, stealing his strength, and muddling his thinking. He'd managed to snag a hostage – that pesky dragon – but keeping a grip on the struggling boy was proving more difficult with each passing second.

Carson, the boisterous dragon, did not like this at all. His bellows of protest echoed through the chamber, alternating with frustrated curses and desperate pleas. Eldran, his vision swimming, could only tighten his grip on the knife pressed against the dragon's throat, an attempt to maintain control.

He'd envisioned a grand escape, a bargaining chip to secure his freedom. Now, all he wanted was to reach a safe distance before the poison claimed him. A surge of anger, fueled by his weakening state, flared within him. Carson's resistance was infuriating.

With a snarl, Eldran lunged forward, the knife connecting with Carson's shoulder in a shallow stab. A surprised yelp escaped the dragon, followed by a shove that sent Eldran reeling back. The world tilted precariously, and with a cry of his own, Eldran stumbled backwards. His foot caught on a barely discernible groove hidden in the dusty floor.

Before he could react, the ground beneath him gave way. He plummeted into a yawning darkness, the weight of his armor accelerating his descent. His scream, choked off by the sudden rush of air, was swallowed by the depths.

Carson, dazed and momentarily stunned, looked around in disbelief. The pressure against his throat was gone. He took a deep, shuddering breath, air filling his lungs. He gingerly touched the wound on his shoulder, wincing at the sharp sting, but relief washed over him. He was alive.

Looking down the dark hole where Eldran had disappeared, Carson felt a pang of morbid curiosity, quickly replaced by a surge of self-preservation," serves you right you bastard. Hope you die a dog's death." He said as he spat on the hole.

This tomb was a treacherous place, filled with hidden dangers. He had to get back to the others.

With a powerful beat of his wings, he launched himself into the air, the echo of his frantic roar fading into the labyrinthine depths of the tomb. His escape had been a stroke of unexpected luck, but he needed to get back to the others and maybe get some treatment.

**********

The flickering torchlight cast Lara's shadow long and menacing against the damp stone wall. Sweat beaded on her brow, trickling down her temples, a stark contrast to the cool air seeping from the ancient engravings that adorned the passage.

Ever since discovering the faded photograph, a tangible link to her past and presumed enemies – the Twin Daggers association – Lara had been consumed by a singular purpose: find the assassin.

The tomb, a treacherous labyrinth of trials and traps, had become a frustrating detour. Yet, with each puzzle solved, each monstrous guardian felled, a sliver of hope remained. The inscription on the crumbling wall before her offered a cryptic clue: "Those who seek knowledge must face the flames of truth."

Lara, a seasoned tomb raider with an insatiable thirst for ancient secrets, couldn't resist the challenge. Besides, who knew what knowledge this "truth" held?

Ignoring the dull throb of fatigue in her muscles, she set about deciphering the riddle. Her gloved fingers traced the intricate symbols, years of experience honing her keen mind for such tasks. A faint whirring sound filled the chamber as a hidden panel in the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passage bathed in an eerie red glow.

This was it. The trial of flames.

Lara took a deep breath, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The flickering light glinted off the bow string on her hand.

Stepping into the passage, the heat intensified with each step. The red glow emanated from an inferno raging within a cavernous chamber at the passage's end. The air crackled with heat, shimmering like a mirage.

But amidst the flames, a figure materialized. Cloaked in a shadowy silhouette, its features obscured by the flickering light, it held a menacingly familiar glint of a blade.

A monster.

She shot the monsters and moved on with the challenges, solving puzzles, riddles.

*********

The clang of steel echoed through the chamber, punctuating the desperate dance between Keith and Elrohir. Sparks flew as Keith parried a flurry of Elrohir's wind-manipulated daggers. But their duel was rudely interrupted by the lumbering arrival of a new figure.

A young bearkin, his fur matted with blood, stumbled into the chamber, leaving a trail of crimson on the dusty floor. Pete, who had been sprawled on his makeshift cushion throne, shot up with a startled yelp.

"Shit, Keith!" he bellowed, his voice laced with a newfound urgency. "I think we found the boy!"

Keith, mid-dodge from a particularly vicious swipe of Elrohir's daggers, barely spared him a glance. "Kinda busy here," he growled, the strain of the fight evident in his voice.

But before they could strategize further, a new threat emerged. With a sharp whistle, Elrohir summoned his avian companion. The bird, a majestic creature with feathers that shimmered with an eerie light, landed on Elrohir's outstretched arm. It puffed up its chest, a menacing glow emanating from its core. It then flew up to the middle of the room.

Dread flooded Keith's veins. Recognition flickered in his eyes – he knew that glow. It was a self destructing pseudo seven-star beast, capable of generating a devastating explosion.

"Take cover!" Keith roared, a primal instinct overriding his fighting instincts. "Protect the kid!"

Pete scrambled, knocking over his pile of cushions in his haste to find shelter. The air crackled with an ominous energy as the bird swelled further, its final glow blindingly bright. Just as the realization dawned on Keith that Elrohir was willing to sacrifice his own familiar to escape, a thunderous boom shook the chamber.

The self-destruction of the bird caused a deafening explosion, showering the room in debris and dust. A wave of pressure slammed into them, sending Keith flying backwards and Pete tumbling into a heap on the ground. By the time the dust settled, the chamber was plunged into a thick haze, Elrohir nowhere to be seen. The explosion was felt by almost everyone on the tomb.

Keith coughed, spitting dust from his mouth. His vision blurred as he struggled to his feet, a primal fear gnawing at him. Elrohir was gone. His anger at the elf's escape was quickly replaced by a surge of concern. With a growl, he turned towards the bearkin, who lay whimpering amidst the debris.

"Hey, kid," Pete called out, his voice hoarse. "You alright?"

Silence. Dust hung heavy in the air, obscuring the figure. Keith's apprehension grew, his initial annoyance at the interruption replaced by a sliver of dread. He knelt beside the bearkin, his gloved hand cautiously reaching out.

This unexpected detour in their fight had come at a cost. Now, they had an injured boy on their hands, and a cunning enemy who had managed to slip away.

********

A collective gasp echoed through the collapsing labyrinth as visions on the hovering screens flickered and died. Auregon, the ancient entity who had orchestrated these trials, faded into nothingness, his shimmering form dissolving like mist.

The air, previously heavy with the tension of competition and violence, seemed to exhale a sigh of relief. Despite the chaos that had unfolded – the fallen bandits, the near-fatal clashes – foolishness.

In that moment, Auregon's words echoed in the silence: "This era's disappointing... blinded by arrogance, ignorance, some unfounded hate against each other." He had witnessed it all – the displays of weakness, arrogance, and even bloodshed. But he had also seen glimmers of hope.

Moira and Azrael, forced together by circumstance, had begun to forge an unlikely bond. Their initial distrust had melted away in the crucible of shared struggle, replaced by a grudging respect and a flicker of something more.

A ghost of a smile played on Auregon's translucent lips, invisible to all but himself. "Still, all is not lost," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. "I can see a hope forming among the young ones."

The once vast labyrinth began to shrink, compressing the remaining chambers until they converged into a single, echoing hall. Tired bodies stumbled towards each other, wary greetings exchanged. The trials were over, for now.

"Looks like even in this era, no peace, no true understanding, racism is still there" Auregon sighed, his voice fading with his form. "Old friend, looks like we died for nothing." But even as his essence dissipated, a final declaration resonated through the chamber:

"Let's end this... shall we. They are not quite worthy of the true trials. Be prepared, children. The next trial will be grander. I won't have to take over an insignificant tomb formation.

There will be serious challenges, I won't be limited like this again. Next time, I'll send you to the graves of the heroes!"

Then, with a final, echoing whisper, Auregon was gone. Silence descended once more. And the tomb began to shrink as Auregon's influence faded and it was reverting to the intended tomb size, the one before Auregon interfered.