He was running as if the demon had possessed his body, he was running as fast as a man who had something to lose and was seeing it slipping out of his fingers as fast as the fall of thunder.

His feet ached with every step he took on the stoned ground along the grass, even with his boots, it was like he was forcing a very deep cut that was already all over his foot, but like all the training he'd done.

But like every tragedy he'd been through, he'd ignored it and moved on with greater fervor with the anger formed by such suffering.

He couldn't believe his foolishness, it was obvious that the mission was being absurdly simple, nothing had gone wrong on the patrol and there had been no discrepancies in the enemy lines.

The communes again deceived him and again tried to kill him, and again failed.

But that still didn't explain, what the hell had interfered with the helicopter before that new weapon exploded? How did she manage to literally fry the aircraft's equipment and controls?

So many questions that only led to even more questions, and as he looked around his surroundings as he continued his sprint towards the crash site he only found himself more confused.

It wasn't just an ordinary forest, there were types of trees he had never seen in his life, some gave off a light he never knew was possible.

What had the Soviets done??

Even so he didn't stop, the path he walked was long and very confusing, the more he went into the woods/forest/jungle he noticed how much the solar luminosity was decreasing, and his path became more and more uncertain he continued.

So the end, the path ended, but it wasn't what was left of the helicopter that he found, but a hole, a hole with a pile of rocks forming what could resemble a slide.

He needed to get down, but he wasn't going to slide through that pile of rocks to get down there, as tempting as it was.

Slowly he descended, light steps so as not to slip on that pile of stones, giving his best not to take a false step.

Stones rolled down making huge bangs and echoing.

It was really worrying for Thorni, the helicopter must have rolled or crawled for many meters and on top of that it fell into what looked like a cave!

He had seen many helicopter crashes before, but the highest ones are always the ugliest, and the fewest members survive.

It made him grit his teeth as he took one last leap to the ground, his boots connecting with the gravel and small puddles of water at the bottom.

Setting his rifle aside, he drew his pistol and a flashlight, twining between his arms, the one with the flashlight on top of the pistol in a favorable position, he started to enter the cave.

He tried to turn on his flashlight, which would blink and fail a little.

Thorni let out a long breath and slapped the flashlight, finally making it work.

Obviously nothing can go right in a situation like this, Murphy really couldn't be more correct, motherfucker.

Now checking his surroundings he could see more and more of what the cave looked like, by pointing the light, he saw how this part of the cave wasn't... well...... A cave......

They were ruins, from what looked like an ancient civilization, the hole opening directly into an inner chamber, one of which the Finn soldier couldn't decipher anything written on the walls or what civilization it was.

He was a soldier and not a Historian.

But something made him more and more suspicious the further he entered these ruins.

They didn't have ancient gods or some kind of ancient history.

It demonstrated MODERN soldiers, their equipment, their weapons, and flags, the American flag.

It took him a few moments to compose himself, rubbing his shirt over his eyes and slapping the side of his head, that wasn't possible, he could only be dreaming.

But he had felt his boots crashing into the ground, his air rushing in and out of his lungs, his sweat pouring down his forehead and his tension.

This is all real, and his soldiers are stranded here, possibly injured or worse.

From what he can see, a lot of time must have passed, but he hadn't lost any weight from lack of food or death from lack of water, you can't survive more than 8 to 21 days without food and water. People on their deathbed who are using very little energy may live only a few days or a few weeks without food and water.

So he should at least have been out for a few days at least, three to be exact.

It's a rule any soldier or survivalist must follow, the rule of three, You can survive three minutes without breathable air (unconsciousness) generally with protection, or in icy water. You can survive three hours in a harsh environment (extreme heat or cold). You can survive three days without drinkable water and at last you can survive three weeks without food.

His soldiers knew this, and he hoped they had followed all the training he had given them to get out of this situation, and even without him, they were trained to be able to coordinate with each other and manage to overcome any challenge.

But being realistic? After that Russian weapon, Thorni didn't know what to expect anymore, but he should be ready for anything, he was trained to take everything.

Going deeper into the cave, he followed the dusty and ancient corridor, shit, it looked like he was entering an Egyptian pyramid, it was just like the illustrations that showed them.

Those blocks made by something he had no idea what they were, and writings on the walls that seemed to tell a journey.

About what? He didn't know, but from what he could decipher with the drawings, it shows a group of soldiers, fighting monstrous beasts, crossing different terrains and making contact with.... Animals....?

Yes.... Animals walking on two legs, and wearing clothes....

This is a joke, it must be, this must have all been designed to make fun of him! A bad joke by his comrades.

Slowly he tapped and rubbed his hand over the scriptures and drawings, making dust and dirt fly, it made him cough a little.

But there it was, as he continued to rub with a vigor that made him feel his fingers burn beneath the cotton in his gloves, it still held intact.

The Painting was carved, how was this possible?

Putting his fisted hand to his mouth to contain another wave of coughing, he looked up the path ahead, putting on his gas mask in an attempt to at least contain the coughing of whatever powders were in these ruins, he walked the corridors more and more.

He could hear something, 

in a flash of movement he went into a stance as he aimed his pistol farther down the hall, the light didn't reach the end of the hall but he could see a small patch of light at the end.

Voices.

He could hear muffled distant voices, but voices nonetheless.

People.

But he couldn't run like an optimistic idiot thinking that salvation is just ahead, it could be anyone in the distance.

He couldn't decipher which language they were, yet he wouldn't let his guard down.

Marching slowly so as not to make too much noise and turning off his flashlight, he would put it on his belt as he drew his knife, still keeping his pistol in his other hand pointed forward.

He got closer and closer to the light and the voice he heard got louder and louder, he could hear it echo through the walls.

But she didn't talk, she sounded like she was singing.... No, it was more like a choir.

He had arrived at the end, and what he saw could only be described as something surreal.

It was a gigantic room, very much like the interior of a cathedral, along with paintings so it looked religious on the ceiling along with rows and rows of rugs.... Well worn and musty, but rugs nonetheless.

And everyone was surrounding a statue, it was as worn as the rugs, the only thing that remained standing was the body, the feet and one of the hands, which held a pistol, and most surprising of all, it had an outfit military, equipment similar if not identical to his.

What the fuck was this all about?

Nheeeeck

He widened his eyes, a noise, a door opening along with a footstep, many footsteps.

Not having time to think about the scene in front of him, he quickly ran to his right, seeing one of the few pillars still standing, he quickly ducked behind and drew his m4, pulling out his magazine and checking his ammo.

He nodded a little to himself as he saw full, the footsteps were already very close, echoing through the room, must have been at least 16 people with the number of footsteps he could hear.

But they were muffled by all the choir they sang, it could be very pretty and their voices soothing, but it wasn't time to enjoy the sounds, he could do that when he was safe and sound with his platoon.

He had to get out of there, but how? There were no windows in these ruins and even if they did they would obviously go out onto a stone wall, it would be better if it was called a tomb.

He could try to fight his way out, he still had several clips of his rifle and pistol along with his combat knife, he could fight a bunch of crazy cultists.

But are they really cultists...? They may just be monks and they may be reasoned with...

Or he could just make a run for it, when the time is right, run past them and not look back.... It's very risky but it can work...

He ran a hand through his mask in stress, he wasn't trained for this religious bullshit.