The Forgotten God

Chapter 4

Mr Montford's entire body froze in terror at the condemning words and his Adam's apple bobbed as he choked on his own.
His bewildered eyes took in the figure, roving over the curious mask, powerful muscles, and claw-tipped fingers. This was the exact image of the statue, somehow live and full-size in front of them.

A spark of determination flickered across ochre eyes as they were commanded to kneel, and for a brief moment he met the terrifyingly-cold gaze of the creature. His heart skipped a beat at the pure malice he saw there, freezing him on the spot.

Isaac unconsciously stepped closer to Ash whose pale face had became a waxen death mask, stealthily resting his hand on his upper arm in an effort to give some reassurance as another wave of natural fury rocked the sky.

The deafening crack of thunder that vibrated through the building seemed to snap Mr Montford out of his fear-induced daze, and a gasp left him as he felt his heart started beating again. He shook his head as his mind apparently worked in overdrive assessing the situation.

"Isaac, Asher," he whispered, barely moving his lips "run."

Both heard him but Isaac's body refused to obey, incapable of tearing free of that awesome fear, binding him with its dark chains.
Ash pulled against him lightly, his flight gears not seized like those of his co-worker. He bit down on his lip, drawing blood to the surface as he realised in frustration he couldn't escape alone.

When neither didn't moved, Mr Montford span around, wrapping a hand around Isaac's wrist and pulling him out of the office.

Isaac stumbled, almost yanked from his feet, following blinding as he craned his head to look back. The foggy haze was dense in his mind but muffled words, old images, moved closer to the surface, vanishing just before he could view them.

There was something so familiar about the being. His rich voice resonated within him as though he had heard it before. Instilling both fear and, at least for him, comfort. Those hard eyes were not as steely as they pertained to be, behind the ice was surely a soul.

He vaguely felt Ash grip his other arm, his legs beginning to slow as his heart and muddled memory urged him to cease his running. He allowed himself to be carried along, too bemused by the events and his own reactions to put up any real resistance.

Mr Montford's mind was also racing, working out what to do next. The museum was nearing closing time, though there were still likely visitors milling about and staff closing things down.

The corridor seemed endless, stretching into eternity, sometimes it seemed they weren't moving at all, simply running in spot as peril reached ever closer.

He swerved to the right, bringing them further into the warehouse portion and away from the main museum area. The lights were flickering as if they were also afraid, casting an eerie hue over everything.

Old exhibits lay hidden in boxes and mannequins, devoid of the elaborate accessories, loomed sullenly in place. It wasn't a place that emanated safety or comfort but the door was heavy and it was far better than running into an innocent tourist.

Reaching the end of an artefact-lined aisle, he skidded to a stop and swung around panting, settling them with a half-terrified, half-truculent gaze.

"Go and pull the fire alarm and leave, that will get people out, I'll try and keep that-that thing occupied."

"But-"

Isaac began to stammer, trying to object but his glare silenced him, as did something else; a warmth pressing against his breast. He looked down, moving his shirt collar aside to see a dull red light pulsed there. The amulet was glowing.

He had little time to muse over it as Ash hurried moved to pull the hefty lever to sound the alarms, the ring instantly screaming out and piercing the eardrums.