The last Guardian

unes. Each grain of sand seemed to shimmer in the intense heat, creating an almost surreal landscape. Amidst this

at could swallow a man whole, its endless dunes and scorching heat a constant reminder of nature's indomitable power. Yet, Marcus was d

ercing blue eyes, though weary, remained vigilant. Each step he took was purposeful, his boots sinking slightly into the hot sand. Th

knew were buried beneath the sands. The wind whispered secrets through the air, carrying with it an omen of an impending storm. His instincts, honed through years

vilization's ingenuity. Its walls, covered in faded hieroglyphs, seemed to tell stories of gods and heroes long forgotten. Marcus approached cautiou

with the scent of history, a mix of dust and ancient stone. Marcus's flashlight flickered across the walls, revealing intricate carv

d into a vast room, the air cooler and even more still. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, upon which rested an ornate c

n, their leader a towering figure with a scar running down his face. Marcus recognized him immediately: Viktor Dragunov, a mercen

e echoing through the chamber. "Yo

tor," he replied coolly, his hand tightening around the hilt

? Call it what you will, Steele. This treasure

ent. Marcus knew he had to act quickly. Without warning, he lunged towards the chest, his hand brushing against i

ing his every move. He disarmed one of Viktor's men with a swift, practiced motion, using the rifle to return

ed as he fought, searching for a way to turn the tide. His eyes fell on a lever protruding from the wal

he plummeted into the darkness below, his men scattering in disarray. With Viktor temporarily out of the picture, Marcu

began to subside, Marcus stepped out of the temple, the map clutched tightly in his hand. The journey ahead would be