/ea3y978ofxvjmi7lapbwnk8q46yf)
The rain came down hard and hot, turning the Guatemalan jungle into a steaming graveyard of mud and insects.
Indiana Jones hated jungles. He hated the way they breathed around you, the way vines twitched like nerves and the trees watched in silence.
The stone entrance emerged from the green like a broken tooth, jagged, ancient, and wrong.
Indy wiped rain from his eyes and checked his revolver. “Alright,” he muttered. “In and out.”
A lie, obviously.
The Temple of Ixbalanqué had been dismissed as myth, one of those blood-soaked Mayan legends academics politely ignored. But legends had a habit of killing the unprepared, and Indy had learned long ago that anything labeled symbolic usually meant lethal.
He stepped inside.
The air changed instantly. Cooler. Heavy. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums. His torch flared to life, revealing walls carved with figures wearing jagged crowns, their mouths open in eternal screams. Blood channels were etched into the floor, still stained dark after centuries.
Indy frowned. “That’s… comforting.”
The first trap sprang without warning.
A low click echoed beneath his boot.
“Ah...damn it.”
The floor dropped out.
Indy fell hard, slamming shoulder-first into stone as spikes exploded upward around him. He rolled, barely clearing a cluster that punched through where his spine had been a second earlier. He came up coughing, shoulder screaming, torch rolling away into darkness.
Then the walls started closing.
Stone grinding on stone, slow and inevitable.
Indy bolted, pain be damned, sprinting down a narrow corridor as blades snapped out from the walls. One caught his jacket, slicing fabric and flesh. Blood bloomed warm along his ribs. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
The corridor ended in a pit.
No time.
He leapt.
His fingers caught the edge by pure luck, nails tearing, muscles screaming as the crushing walls slammed together behind him, CRACK, sending stone dust and bone fragments into the air.
Indy hauled himself up, gasping.
“This,” he panted, “is why I teach.”
He stood in the Sanctum of the Blood Sun.
At its center sat a pedestal carved from obsidian. Resting atop it was the Crown of the Blood Sun, a jagged circlet of gold and obsidian spikes, embedded with a massive crimson gemstone that pulsed faintly, like a living heart.
Legends said the crown granted divine authority over sacrifice, command over life and death during solar eclipses.
Legends were usually understating things.
Indy stepped closer.
And then, slow clapping.
“Well done, Doctor Jones.”
The voice echoed smoothly through the chamber.
Indy froze. “Let me guess. You followed me.”
From the shadows emerged Colonel Ernst Krieger, SS black coat immaculate despite the jungle, flanked by armed mercenaries. His smile was thin and pleased.
“You Americans,” Krieger said. “So willing to die for history.”
Indy sighed. “You Nazis really need a hobby.”
Krieger gestured to the crown. “Do you know what it does, Jones?”
“Yeah,” Indy said. “Gets a lot of people killed.”
Krieger nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”
A mercenary lunged forward, slamming the butt of his rifle into Indy’s wounded ribs. Indy went down hard, air blasted from his lungs. Another kick to the face split his lip. Blood hit the floor.
Krieger crouched. “You see, Doctor… the crown does not grant power. It demands it.”
He nodded.
They dragged Indy to the pedestal.
The gemstone flared brighter as he struggled.
“No...no, wait...!” Indy yelled as they forced the crown onto his head.
The world screamed.
Visions exploded behind Indy’s eyes, jungles burning, cities drowned in blood, suns eclipsed by smoke and sacrifice. He felt something watching him from inside the stone, ancient and starving.
His knees buckled.
Krieger recoiled, startled. “Interesting. It reacts to lineage.”
Indy gasped, fighting the thing clawing at his thoughts. “You don’t… control it.”
The gemstone pulsed violently.
The temple shook.
Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Krieger shouted orders as the mercenaries panicked. The blood channels along the floor began to glow, filling with fresh crimson, drawn not from bodies, but from the air itself.
A low roar echoed from the depths of the temple.
Indy tore the crown from his head with a scream, slamming it onto the pedestal.
The entity howled.
The floor split open.
From the chasm rose skeletal guardians, ancient warriors fused with obsidian and bone, their eyes burning red. They moved fast.
Too fast.
One mercenary was impaled through the chest, lifted screaming before being ripped in half. Another had his spine snapped like a twig. Gunfire echoed uselessly as bullets sparked off stone and bone.
Indy crawled for cover as Krieger fired wildly, terror replacing arrogance.
“You were warned!” Indy shouted
over the chaos.
A guardian grabbed Krieger by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Krieger screamed as the obsidian fingers crushed inward, puncturing skin.
Indy locked eyes with him.
“Let it go,” Indy said.
The guardian slammed Krieger onto the altar.
The crown fused to his skull.
The gemstone flared,
and Krieger burned from the inside out, flesh peeling away in seconds, leaving only ash and bone.
The temple began to collapse.
Indy grabbed the crown with his whip, looping it and yanking it free as the pedestal cracked. He sprinted, leaping over falling debris, dodging collapsing columns.
A final jump,
He burst out into the rain as the temple imploded behind him, swallowed by jungle and fire.
Indy collapsed to his knees, soaked, bleeding, exhausted.
The crown lay half-buried in mud, cracked, the gemstone dull and lifeless.
Indy stared at it for a long moment.
Then he dug a deep hole.
Very deep.
He buried the crown, covered it with stone, and marked nothing.
As he walked away, thunder rolled overhead.
Indy adjusted his hat, wincing.
“Some things,” he muttered, “don’t belong in museums.”
The jungle swallowed the secret.
And the sun slowly bled back into the sky.
Indiana Jones hated jungles. He hated the way they breathed around you, the way vines twitched like nerves and the trees watched in silence.
The stone entrance emerged from the green like a broken tooth, jagged, ancient, and wrong.
Indy wiped rain from his eyes and checked his revolver. “Alright,” he muttered. “In and out.”
A lie, obviously.
The Temple of Ixbalanqué had been dismissed as myth, one of those blood-soaked Mayan legends academics politely ignored. But legends had a habit of killing the unprepared, and Indy had learned long ago that anything labeled symbolic usually meant lethal.
He stepped inside.
The air changed instantly. Cooler. Heavy. The kind of silence that presses against your eardrums. His torch flared to life, revealing walls carved with figures wearing jagged crowns, their mouths open in eternal screams. Blood channels were etched into the floor, still stained dark after centuries.
Indy frowned. “That’s… comforting.”
The first trap sprang without warning.
A low click echoed beneath his boot.
“Ah...damn it.”
The floor dropped out.
Indy fell hard, slamming shoulder-first into stone as spikes exploded upward around him. He rolled, barely clearing a cluster that punched through where his spine had been a second earlier. He came up coughing, shoulder screaming, torch rolling away into darkness.
Then the walls started closing.
Stone grinding on stone, slow and inevitable.
Indy bolted, pain be damned, sprinting down a narrow corridor as blades snapped out from the walls. One caught his jacket, slicing fabric and flesh. Blood bloomed warm along his ribs. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
The corridor ended in a pit.
No time.
He leapt.
His fingers caught the edge by pure luck, nails tearing, muscles screaming as the crushing walls slammed together behind him, CRACK, sending stone dust and bone fragments into the air.
Indy hauled himself up, gasping.
“This,” he panted, “is why I teach.”
He stood in the Sanctum of the Blood Sun.
At its center sat a pedestal carved from obsidian. Resting atop it was the Crown of the Blood Sun, a jagged circlet of gold and obsidian spikes, embedded with a massive crimson gemstone that pulsed faintly, like a living heart.
Legends said the crown granted divine authority over sacrifice, command over life and death during solar eclipses.
Legends were usually understating things.
Indy stepped closer.
And then, slow clapping.
“Well done, Doctor Jones.”
The voice echoed smoothly through the chamber.
Indy froze. “Let me guess. You followed me.”
From the shadows emerged Colonel Ernst Krieger, SS black coat immaculate despite the jungle, flanked by armed mercenaries. His smile was thin and pleased.
“You Americans,” Krieger said. “So willing to die for history.”
Indy sighed. “You Nazis really need a hobby.”
Krieger gestured to the crown. “Do you know what it does, Jones?”
“Yeah,” Indy said. “Gets a lot of people killed.”
Krieger nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”
A mercenary lunged forward, slamming the butt of his rifle into Indy’s wounded ribs. Indy went down hard, air blasted from his lungs. Another kick to the face split his lip. Blood hit the floor.
Krieger crouched. “You see, Doctor… the crown does not grant power. It demands it.”
He nodded.
They dragged Indy to the pedestal.
The gemstone flared brighter as he struggled.
“No...no, wait...!” Indy yelled as they forced the crown onto his head.
The world screamed.
Visions exploded behind Indy’s eyes, jungles burning, cities drowned in blood, suns eclipsed by smoke and sacrifice. He felt something watching him from inside the stone, ancient and starving.
His knees buckled.
Krieger recoiled, startled. “Interesting. It reacts to lineage.”
Indy gasped, fighting the thing clawing at his thoughts. “You don’t… control it.”
The gemstone pulsed violently.
The temple shook.
Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Krieger shouted orders as the mercenaries panicked. The blood channels along the floor began to glow, filling with fresh crimson, drawn not from bodies, but from the air itself.
A low roar echoed from the depths of the temple.
Indy tore the crown from his head with a scream, slamming it onto the pedestal.
The entity howled.
The floor split open.
From the chasm rose skeletal guardians, ancient warriors fused with obsidian and bone, their eyes burning red. They moved fast.
Too fast.
One mercenary was impaled through the chest, lifted screaming before being ripped in half. Another had his spine snapped like a twig. Gunfire echoed uselessly as bullets sparked off stone and bone.
Indy crawled for cover as Krieger fired wildly, terror replacing arrogance.
“You were warned!” Indy shouted
over the chaos.
A guardian grabbed Krieger by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Krieger screamed as the obsidian fingers crushed inward, puncturing skin.
Indy locked eyes with him.
“Let it go,” Indy said.
The guardian slammed Krieger onto the altar.
The crown fused to his skull.
The gemstone flared,
and Krieger burned from the inside out, flesh peeling away in seconds, leaving only ash and bone.
The temple began to collapse.
Indy grabbed the crown with his whip, looping it and yanking it free as the pedestal cracked. He sprinted, leaping over falling debris, dodging collapsing columns.
A final jump,
He burst out into the rain as the temple imploded behind him, swallowed by jungle and fire.
Indy collapsed to his knees, soaked, bleeding, exhausted.
The crown lay half-buried in mud, cracked, the gemstone dull and lifeless.
Indy stared at it for a long moment.
Then he dug a deep hole.
Very deep.
He buried the crown, covered it with stone, and marked nothing.
As he walked away, thunder rolled overhead.
Indy adjusted his hat, wincing.
“Some things,” he muttered, “don’t belong in museums.”
The jungle swallowed the secret.
And the sun slowly bled back into the sky.
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