1945 - April 20th - 4:45 PM

The relentless air raids hammering Japanese positions near Rangoon echoed through the jungle.

Birds burst skyward with every blast, and even miles away at the ruins of Myochaung, the earth still shuddered.

Deep inside the excavation site, forced laborers swung their pickaxes under the watch of a handful of soldiers.

Behind them stood Professor von Bütow.

His eyes burned at the crumbling earthen wall, fingers clenched around his note-covered map.

“At last… at last we found it…” he muttered.

Beside him swayed Dr. Weber, pale and trembling with exhaustion.

Finally, the wall gave way.

Dust billowed, stone slabs crashed down, and laborers squeezed through the opening, lamps raised.

Their glow revealed reliefs, shattered jars, and scattered bones.

But nothing more.

Von Bütow stumbled inside, tore the lamp from a worker’s hand, tripped over the rubble.

His eyes shone feverishly as he swept the chamber.

“This… this is it?” He turned to Weber, his voice breaking. “This cannot be! This should have been the final chamber!”

He shoved the map into the light, while soldiers exchanged uneasy looks.

Weber lifted a broken vase. “Perhaps… only an antechamber. We shouldn’t judge too quickly.”

“Antechamber?” Von Bütow hurled the map furiously to the ground. “It has already taken months just to reach this point. Time is slipping through our fingers!”

Above them, aircraft thundered and the men flinched.

Weber touched the professor’s shoulder, but was shoved off.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed, then stormed back toward the surface.

No sooner had he reached open air than the loud rattle of an engine approached.

A flatbed truck rumbled up the uneven jungle path, grinding to a halt among the ruins.

Shōsa Tanaka leapt down, uniform worn, face lined with fatigue. Soldiers followed, hurried and grim.

“Professor von Bütow!” he barked.

Von Bütow bowed quickly as Tanaka’s gaze swept the excavation, his eyes narrowed.

“All troops… withdraw. We leave.”

Von Bütow stared. “What? We are on the verge of success. Just give us a little more time!”

Tanaka cut the air with his hand, his broken German cold and sharp.

“Three years! Enough time. Soldiers, workers… all wasted. You say: great discovery. You promise glory. But I see only stones.”

Von Bütow staggered closer. “No, you don’t understand! We are so close...”

Suddenly, the ground vibrated beneath their feet, a deep, muffled rumble rising from the depths of the ruins.

Both men turned in surprise.

Dr. Weber burst up from the passage, breathless, eyes gleaming.

“Professor, we’ve found it! The burial chamber, it’s open!”

Von Bütow seized him. “What are you saying?!”

“A hidden switch in the reliefs. It opened another passage. This must be it!”

At once they hurried back underground, Tanaka and his men behind them.

The new tunnel opened into a wide chamber.

The oil lamps threw flickering shadows across golden wall reliefs: depictions of gods, processions, offerings.

Between the walls were piled statuettes, jars, fine vessels, and all manner of ancient ornaments.

All of them pure gold, gleaming bright in the lamplight.

And at the center, upon a pedestal, rested a massive black sarcophagus.

Its surface was covered with engraved characters in ancient Pali script, interwoven with strange motifs of death gods and decay.

The workers froze in fear at the inscription.

One cried out, threw down his pickaxe, and fled. 

The rest followed in panic.

“Tomare!” Tanaka shouted, but they were gone.

“…Let them go. We no longer need them,” von Bütow said, eyes fixed on the coffin.

“You seek… this one?” Tanaka asked.

Von Bütow struggled for breath, hands trembling. “Yes… the tomb of Amun Sithu Min, the Accursed.”

He ran his fingers across the engravings as a cold wind swept the chamber.

Tanaka ordered his soldiers forward, and with effort they pushed the heavy lid aside.

Inside lay a body, black, leathery, its limbs shriveled, its eye sockets hollow and dark.

In places, gold leaf still clung to lips and fingers.

Von Bütow and Dr. Weber immediately bent over the corpse in fascination.

“Look, Professor… here! Gold on the lips, and on the fingers. It recalls the burials of venerated monks… but…” He faltered. “…never for kings.”

Von Bütow nodded, stepped back, and pointed to the reliefs.

“…except for this king,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. “The chronicles conceal him, but the legend speaks of a ruler who defied Yama, god of death. He performed unholy rites to reign forever, sought to defy death itself. A sacrilege.”

“Zenbu ue ni hakobe!” Tanaka suddenly barked.

His men immediately began to tear vessels from the walls, stuffing bowls and artifacts into bags.

“Wait, what are you doing?” von Bütow demanded.

“No time. British soon here. We take things to Japan.”

Von Bütow trembled with fury, fists clenched.

“You can’t take this from us! Without us, you never would have found it!”

Tanaka’s tone dropped, hand on his holster. “Now… it is imperial property. Do you argue more?”

While they fought, one soldier crept closer to the sarcophagus.

He leaned low over the hollow, lamp in hand, the flame flickering over the black, leathery face.

“Sugoi…” he whispered in fascination.

For a heartbeat, the desiccated eyelids seemed to twitch.

The soldier blinked, his face nearly above that of the corpse.

Suddenly, a hand shot forth, withered and bony, yet of inhuman strength.

It clamped his throat and yanked him inside.

“ARGHHHH!” His scream gurgled out.

Heads snapped toward the coffin.

Then something rose.

The withered limbs cracked as the corpse pulled itself upright, its hollow eyes glistening blackly in the lamplight.

For a moment, absolute silence reigned.

“Ute! Ute!” Tanaka finally roared.

The Arisakas thundered, but the bullets seemed to pass through the brittle flesh, raising only dust.

With unnatural speed the creature lunged at a soldier, ripping his throat open.

Blood splashed against the walls, and the creature seized the next man, tore his arm off like a doll’s, and hurled the body into a cluster of soldiers.

A fallen lamp set the floor alight, smoke billowed through the chamber.

The creature stood now at the center, towering upright, arms spread wide.

Von Bütow gasped, his eyes feverish. “He… he calls to us, he wants us as his servants! He needs followers, as once before!”

Weber clutched his head, sank to his knees. “No… no, I hear him… he speaks… inside my head!”

“Hayaku! Run!” Tanaka shouted to them, and they scrambled after him up the stairs.

Dr. Weber lagged behind, stumbling, but suddenly something seized his leg.

“Ahh! Help!”

A skeletal arm shot from the darkness, dragged him down.

His cry ended in a wet, snapping crack.

Von Bütow shouted, but Tanaka dragged him upward.

They reached the upper chamber.

But the room darkened, and the creature appeared again, coalescing from black vapor, just in front of them.

But it did not strike.

Instead, a droning throb filled their heads.

“No…” von Bütow groaned, his face twisting. His hands trembled, clawed at his cheeks. “He… he demands it… he…!”

With a hoarse cry he jammed his fingers into his own eyes.

Blood streamed down his face as he staggered forward, blind.

The professor hurled himself at Tanaka, clawing like an animal for his throat, screaming wildly.

“Back off!”

With a desperate motion Tanaka wrenched up his pistol and fired.

The shot cracked, and von Bütow collapsed, gurgled once, then lay still.

The creature remained motionless, yet a sound vibrated as if it were amused.

Then it drifted slowly forward, seized Tanaka with inhuman strength by the chest, and hoisted him from the ground.

His body arched, breath caught, ribs cracking.

In the hollow sockets flickered a black gleam that bored into his mind.

For a heartbeat, Tanaka saw visions:

Armies, temples of sacrifice, mountains of skulls. A kingdom of blood and smoke, ruled by a cursed king of the dead.

His breath faltered, hands shook.

But then another memory flared, cutting through the visions.

A vast reclining statue in Pegu, only days earlier. 

An old monk smiling as he pressed something into Tanaka’s hand.

“Ofuda…” he whispered.

With his free hand he tore a folded paper from his pocket, covered in black characters.

Then he choked out words that had never meant much to him in life, until now.

“Namu Amida Butsu…”

The creature shrieked, as if the words themselves seared it.

Tanaka thrust the paper against its forehead and the characters flared.

The creature gave a soul-rending scream, its grip loosened, and Tanaka crashed gasping to the floor.

Its limbs spasmed, the black void in its eyes guttered out.

And with a heavy crash it toppled lifeless to the ground.

Tanaka stared at the motionless form, the paper seal still clinging to its brow.

Then he staggered back into the open, blood on his lips, his uniform in tatters.

Stumbling, he reached the truck, grabbed the radio and barked out a string of sharp orders in Japanese.

A hesitant voice answered, full of questions.

Tanaka drew a ragged breath, then roared with all the strength he had left:

“Yare to ittara, yarunda! Yare!!”

His hand slammed down on the wheel as he kicked the engine alive.

The vehicle jolted forward, grinding over rubble, carrying him away from ruins.

Minutes later, as he drove through the jungle, the artillery howled behind him.

The barrage hit, the earth trembled, and dark smoke lifted above Myochaung, until the burial site was smothered under fire and ash.

Tanaka drove on, eyes fixed ahead, as if he had already left it all behind.

Or as if he just tried to pretend, that nothing of that ever happened.