The Devil’s Fortune

In the flickering light of the torch, the old gold shimmered with a mesmerizing allure, a testament to the treasures of a bygone era. At long last, the avaricious seekers had found their prize, their hearts consumed by an insatiable hunger for wealth.

“We shall be rich beyond measure,” declared Sir Hampton with a triumphant laugh, his fingers greedily digging into the mounds of golden coins.

His men exchanged glances of unbridled excitement, their hands eagerly filling their pockets with the gleaming metal. “Never again shall we toil,” one man exclaimed with glee.

“Nor our children,” another added, his voice brimming with anticipation.

The crew’s laughter echoed through the ancient chamber, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. But their revelry was short-lived, as one man’s curious gaze fell upon a peculiar sight.

“What manner of thing is that?” he questioned, pointing to a golden statue that stood apart from the rest of the treasure.

Sir Hampton’s eyes followed the man’s outstretched finger, and he waded through the sea of coins, his feet sinking and slipping with each step. As he drew closer, he beheld a large, golden figure of a creature unlike any he had ever encountered. It stood upright, like a man, but possessed four arms, spread outward in an X-formation. Most intriguing of all was its face, adorned with six eyes, each a precious gem of varying color, set above a human nose and cherubic mouth.

“A deity of theirs, I presume,” Sir Hampton muttered, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Not like any god I’ve seen,” remarked one of his men, his voice tinged with unease.

Sir Hampton shook his head, dispelling the sense of foreboding that had begun to creep upon him. “No matter. Begin loading the treasure. Time is of the essence.”

As he turned to oversee the operation, a glint of gold caught his eye. At his feet lay a golden chalice, which he stooped to examine. Turning it over in his hands, a smile played upon his lips. “Perhaps I shall savor a draught of wine from this later.” But his mirth was short-lived, as he felt a strange sensation upon his hand. Setting the chalice down, he saw that his hand was coated in liquefied gold.

A sudden cry of alarm rang out from across the tomb. “What devilry is this?!”

“What is it?” Sir Hampton demanded, his heart pounding in his chest.

“The gold… it’s… melting.”

Sir Hampton’s gaze darted to the chalice at his feet, now nothing more than a golden puddle. His eyes widened in horror as he surveyed the rest of the treasure, the once-solid mounds of coins rapidly dissolving into a rising pool of liquid gold.

“Abandon the treasure and flee!” Sir Hampton commanded, his voice laced with urgency.

The men raced toward the tomb’s entrance, their feet sloshing through the ever-deepening pool, leaping from one melting mound to the next in a desperate bid for survival. The viscous liquid rose swiftly, engulfing them up to their waists, then their chests, until they found themselves swimming in a sea of gold.

“The door has sealed itself!” one man cried out in despair.

The liquid gold was thick and unyielding, like treading through the densest of paints. Keeping their heads above the surface was a Herculean task, and the thought of being submerged filled them with dread.

Sir Hampton cast his gaze upward, seeking any means of escape, but the ceiling was a solid expanse of stone. “I fear this place is cursed,” he whispered, his voice heavy with resignation.

Without warning, one of the men, struggling to stay afloat, was dragged beneath the surface, his cries for help silenced by the golden depths. Panic consumed the others as they thrashed and screamed, their efforts to swim to safety proving futile.

Sir Hampton drew his dagger from his waist, holding it aloft above the surface. The blade, along with his arms and all below his neck, was encased in a layer of gold.

One by one, his men succumbed to the inexorable pull of the liquid metal, vanishing beneath the surface until only Sir Hampton remained, his heart hammering in his chest.

The pool rose steadily, inching ever closer to the ceiling. With a final, resolute breath, Sir Hampton surrendered himself to the golden embrace.

For Sir Hampton and his men, there would be no escape, no celebration, no riches to be claimed.

The chamber, now filled to the brim, began to solidify. For a moment, it remained a solid block of gold, then, in an instant, it shattered into a trove of golden artifacts, each one bearing the remnants of the men who had entered the tomb, never to leave. In the end, they had become the very treasure they sought, their greed proving to be their undoing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​