Date: February 12, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The Mirror Centurion's first strike was not like the attack of a living being. It was a flash of geometry, devoid of weight but possessed of absolute sharpness. The guardian didn't run; it simply "collapsed" at one point and emerged at another, right in the center of the group's formation.
Ulf, standing closest, reacted instantly. A hardened Warrior, he put all his strength into a defensive sword swing, trying to throw the enemy back. His inner power concentrated in his arms, strengthening his bones and muscles to the limit. But the Centurion didn't even bother to block.
The transparent ice-blade traced a vertical line in the air. Ulf's steel pauldron, forged by the finest smiths of "Lonely Peak," parted like wet paper. There was no clang, but a wet, squelching sound, followed by a blood-curdling cry.
Ulf's right arm, along with his sword and a piece of his armor, crashed onto the mirrored floor. The guardian had severed it with a single motion, ignoring both the density of his defense and the knight's skill. Ulf collapsed to his knees, clutching the stump of his shoulder to his chest, and thick blood gushed from the wound onto the flawless slabs, instantly absorbed into the hall's surface.
"Ulf!" Mark rushed forward in horror, but Elwin intercepted him.
"Stop!" Elwin roared, feeling his own energy within his Vessel dart about in realization of his powerlessness.
The Centurion slowly turned its faceless mirrored face towards the others. Its crystalline plates spun faster, emitting a sound like broken glass laughing. To this Pillar-rank creature, the Order's knights were no more than fragile toys.
Brand, a veteran of dozens of battles, understood: if they didn't do something now, this hall would become their common grave. "Back, children!" he shouted, activating his Spirit of "Stone Heart." His body turned grey and heavy for a moment, and his Warrior power flared with bright flame, trying to somewhat balance the guardian's pressure.
Brand launched a suicidal attack, swinging his sword wide, aiming to shatter the Centurion's central disc. But the Pillar was unattainable. The guardian made a fleeting movement with its wrist, and the transparent blade, lengthening for a fraction of a second, entered the veteran's chest precisely in the center.
The blade passed through the steel cuirass and Brand's body, exiting between his shoulder blades. The old man froze, his eyes widened, and a clot of blood burst from his mouth. The Centurion freed its weapon with a casual jerk, allowing the veteran to crash to the floor.
Elwin felt the world around him begin to shatter. His Spirit of "Tenacious Memory" screamed one thing: they had no chance. Every reflection in this hall showed their death. But it was in this flash of agony that his mind latched onto that very detail he had noticed upon entering—a narrow gap in the base of one of the distant columns, a technical shaft hidden by the play of light.
"Mark! Grab Ulf!" Elwin commanded, rushing to the fallen Brand. "To the far column! Move!"
Mark, his face pale with terror, scooped up the unconscious Ulf. Elwin slung the wheezing Brand's arm over his shoulder. Every movement under the Centurion's gaze felt like an eternity. The young man felt the guardian's energy envelop them in a cold cocoon, paralyzing their will.
The Centurion slowly raised its sword for the final blow, but at that moment, Elwin, using the remnants of his Vessel's strength, hurled a small bag of incendiary mixture onto the mirrored floor beneath the guardian's feet. A flash of fire and smoke momentarily disoriented the creature, accustomed to clean light and reflections.
Those seconds were enough. They practically tumbled into the narrow crevice in the wall. The space behind them was too narrow for the three-meter giant. The Centurion struck the stone with its sword, sending up showers of sparks, but couldn't penetrate the shaft.
They crawled through the dark, dusty tunnel for a few more minutes until they reached a small chamber hidden behind the pyramid's main masonry. As soon as they were safe, Mark collapsed to the floor, choking on sobs.
Elwin lowered Brand to the ground. The veteran was alive, but his breathing was ragged—the wound was terrible. Ulf lay nearby, white as chalk; his Warrior regeneration desperately tried to stop the bleeding from his severed arm, but there was almost no strength left in his body.
Elwin himself leaned against the wall, feeling his energy fade. He looked at his crippled comrades. This was not a victory. This was a rout. The Temple of True Equilibrium had shown them their true place in the hierarchy of power. And now they could only wait, hoping that their Warriors could survive in the shadow of the Pillars still roaming these halls.