Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 31: Stone Statues
"Should we test it while holding two of the medallions?" Billy asked, spinning his revolver lazily around his finger.
The group exchanged glances.
George exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I already pushed my curiosity far enough. I know when to stop before we end up in real danger. If we find more medallions, then we test it."
Billy clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Man, you're no fun at all."
With the experiment concluded, they turned their attention back to the two pathways ahead of them. One led up a staircase, the other down into darkness. The air was thick with something unspoken, the weight of something pressing against them in every direction.
Lapulapu broke the silence. "We should split up."
George frowned immediately. "That's a terrible idea."
"We cover more ground this way," Lapulapu said, his shield and sword in hand. "If this place is as massive as it seems, we'll be wasting time moving as one unit."
George sighed. "You're thinking like a warrior. That's fine in a battlefield where you can see your enemy. This is different. We don't know what's in this place. Could be more traps, more creatures. And if we split up, we might not be able to help each other. Besides in wars our greatest weapon is communication."
Lapulapu was unshaken. "Which is why we divide strategically. The two of us who hold the medallions could sense each other—Fu Hao and I—should not be in the same group. If these medallions hold mysterious powers, then keeping them apart reduces risk."
The logic was sound, but George still didn't like it.
Musashi grinned, resting a hand on his sword. "Sounds fun. Besides, we're not completely helpless. If anything happens, we fight our way out."
"Or we run," Billy added. "You know, just throwin' that option out there."
Jeanne sighed, gripping her spear. "I don't like it either, but Lapulapu has a point. We can't keep hesitating at every turn in every path."
George glanced at Fu Hao, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. She simply shrugged. "I'm fine with either choice. But if I'm going down, I want Billy with me."
Billy gave a cocky grin. "Aw, you do like me."
"I just need someone to throw at the enemy if things go bad," Fu Hao shot back.
Billy laughed. "Alright, then how we splittin' up?"
After a brief discussion, the teams were decided.
Team One (Heading Downstairs): Musashi, Billy, and Lapulapu.
Team Two (Heading Upstairs): Fu Hao, George, and Jeanne.
George still wasn't thrilled, but he trusted Lapulapu to make sound decisions. He glanced at the other group briefly. "If anything happens, we regroup. Don't try to push through alone."
Musashi smirked. "No promises."
Lapulapu nodded.
Billy shows a cheeky grin. "We got this Mr. First Prez."
With that, they parted ways.
…
The stone steps were uneven, worn down by time. As Fu Hao, Jeanne, and George ascended, the air grew thinner, dust swirling in the faint torchlight. Faded murals stretched along the walls, depicting the same civilization they had seen earlier—worshipping the golden light, then drowning beneath an unstoppable flood.
Fu Hao ran her fingers along one of the images. "They really thought this thing was divine, didn't they?"
George studied it for a moment. "If it had power, maybe they weren't wrong."
Jeanne muttered under her breath, "Or maybe they just didn't understand what they were dealing with."
The hallway widened into a vast chamber. At its center stood an altar, cracked and eroded. Resting on it was something unexpected—a suit of armor, pristine despite the ruin surrounding it. The metal gleamed, untouched by time, and strange symbols glowed faintly along its surface.
Fu Hao's breath hitched. "That's… not normal."
George took a cautious step forward. "Stay alert. This might not be abandoned."
Jeanne narrowed her eyes, gripping her weapon.
Something felt wrong.
…
The stairs leading downward stretched further than expected, twisting deep beneath the earth. The air grew damp, the scent of moss and stagnant water thick in their lungs. Their torches flickered as if struggling against an unseen force.
Billy whistled. "Well, ain't this cozy."
Lapulapu ignored him, his focus on the carvings along the walls. Unlike the murals above, these were crude, jagged. They showed figures kneeling, but not in worship—in fear. Their hands were raised, backs bent, heads bowed toward something towering above them.
Musashi frowned. "That's different from what we saw before."
Lapulapu nodded. "This isn't devotion. This is submission."
Billy smirked. "I'm startin' to think this golden light wasn't exactly a holy blessing."
They pushed forward, the tunnel widening into a circular chamber. In four of the "corners lay a humanoid monster of a statue. At its center lay a stone pedestal, and atop it—another "golden medallion."
Billy grinned. "Ohh~ Jackpot!"
Lapulapu held out an arm. "Hey! Wait!."
Too late.
Billy had already stepped forward, his fingers brushing against the "golden medallion". The moment he did, the chamber shook. The walls groaned, dust falling from the ceiling. From the "corners", the statue's figures began to move
Hollow eyes now glowing red. Twisted bodies. Creatures that had once been men but were now something else entirely. In Billy's hand the "golden medallion" began to turn to dust flowing down like a waterfall.
Billy's revolver was in his hand in an instant. "Aw, hell!"
Musashi cracked his knuckles. "We're not dying down here."
Lapulapu ready. "Stay alert."
The first creature lunged, and the fight began.
…
Previously, where the group had just stood near the mural, four figures framed by the dim, flickering light.
The tallest among them had an air of effortless confidence. He wore a worn pirate hat, tilted just enough to cast a shadow over his sharp eyes. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and his long, wavy hair cascaded past his shoulders—deep blue at the roots, fading into a ghostly white at the tips. A fine suit clung to his broad frame, while not wearing something inside, exposing just enough of his chest to reveal a golden cross necklace resting against his skin.
Both of his arms, rolled up to the elbow, in his left bore an intricate tattoo—waves crashing into flames, a chaotic dance of sea and fire. On the back of his hand, another cross was inked into his skin, smaller but just as striking. Draped over his shoulders was a regal red coat, lined with gold, its fabric heavy with stories untold.
But the most unusual thing about him was the weapon he carried—a massive silver cross, gilded with ornate golden patterns. It rested easily against his right shoulder, but there was nothing ornamental about it. The base of the cross extended into a long, gunmetal barrel. It wasn't just a symbol. It was a firearm. And in his hands, it was likely a judgment waiting to be delivered.
The second tallest in the group was a well-built woman with an imposing presence. Her icy blue eyes carried a sharp intensity, and her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, keeping it out of her face. She wore a modernized take on traditional Japanese attire—an ornate yet practical short jacket, fitted for movement, with vambraces strapped securely to both forearms.
Also both arms were clad in a long fingerless glove, though in her right hand the index, middle finger, and thumb were covered, offering both protection and precision. Slung across her back was a naginata, its long pole secured by a sturdy strap at both ends, allowing for swift movement while keeping it within reach. She stood with the quiet confidence of a seasoned warrior—steady, unshaken, always ready.
The others were the same people George had encountered before the giant onyx serpent appeared.
One of them stood slightly apart—a man of average height, cloaked in an unsettling stillness. A hood covered most of his face, casting it in deep shadow. Beneath it, he wore a high-collared jacket that reached up to his chin, hiding everything but the faint outline of his jaw.
His arms were wrapped in vambraces, worn and battle-scarred, while his cargo pants—loose but practical—were bound in bandages just below the knees. His footsteps made no sound, his movements eerily fluid, like a shadow given form.
In his grip, a single weapon rested—a sickle, its curved blade gleaming even in the dim light. He didn't fidget, didn't adjust his stance. He simply stood, still and unreadable, exuding an aura of quiet lethality.
The other figure is the shorter one of the group with bronze skin, her face partially concealed beneath the hood of her robe. What little could be seen revealed intricate tattoos—two triangle shapes on each cheek resembling a cat's whiskers, with a single vertical mark running down the center of her forehead to the tip of her nose.
Her robe was adorned with indigenous patterns, woven with deep reds, blacks, and golds, its fabric draping loosely around her frame. Unlike her companion, she wore no shoes. Her bare feet pressed silently against the cold stone floor, her legs wrapped in weathered leather strappings that hinted at both protection and ritual.
In her hands, she held a bow unlike any other—its shape intricate, almost unnatural, with curves and angles that defied traditional design.
There was something primal about her presence—calm but untamed, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
The tall woman crossed her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on the shortest member of the group. "Are you sure they went in there?" Her voice was low, measured.
The hooded man barely moved as he responded, his tone as quiet as ever. "Yes. We even heard what they were talking about."
"We can worry about that later," the man with the goatee muttered, rolling his shoulders.
The bronze-skinned woman glanced between them. "What should we do? Wait for the other two, or follow them now?"
The man with the goatee stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing.
"I don't like wasting time. If we wait too long, we might lose them."
The tall woman exhaled, glancing at the darkened passage ahead. "If they're not here in five minutes, we follow the others. We'll leave a message behind so they can catch up."
Everyone nodded in agreement.
…
Meanwhile, in a circular chamber deep within the temple…
Lapulapu stood with his feet planted firmly, his bronze skin covered in dust, his tattoos barely visible beneath the grime. He gripped two of the stone statues, holding them back with sheer strength, using a precise thrusting technique to keep them at bay.
Musashi, on the other side of the chamber, fought with a different approach—his wooden swords slicing in rapid, precise arcs, chipping away at the monstrous stone figures.
Billy, caught between them, was in the worst spot. He had his guns drawn but was struggling to find an opening. "You two ain't gonna leave me hanging here, right?" he called out, shifting his stance as the statues advanced.
The stone creatures were monstrous in form, with clawed hands and bat-like heads. Their hollow eyes glowed a deep, menacing red, and despite their stone bodies, they moved with unnatural speed.