FSE

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The ruined temple was exactly what he had imagined. There were vines hanging from the fragile ceiling, and dust rose gently in the air with each careful step he took. Pressure plates dotted the thin tunnels to his destination, the perfect traps for the unwary plunderer.

He had seen the movies enough times to know what to do if he wanted to survive. He had to be careful, and his extensive knowledge of this area's past might very well be his salvation. Knowledge and caution were the key to his prize, something he had never imagined he could ever obtain.

The closer he got, the more dangerous things became. Pit traps, darts, giant boulders, and even the occasional unexplained screaming skeleton. Everything was just like in the movie, only this time, he was the hero. He was wearing the lucky hat.

He knew he had reached his destination when he spotted the faint golden glow shining along the walls of the ruins. His anticipation increased exponentially with each centimeter he progressed towards it. He was perfectly ready to replace it with a bag of stones perfectly chosen to match the required weight and size he would need.

To a moth like him, there was no greater prize. The golden artifact was even more beautiful than he had imagined. He could smell the sweet nectar contained within, an ancient honey crafted using knowledge long lost, rumoured to be too sweet to have come from this world. His entire life's work was at stake, the wonders of today's technology would surely be enough to replicate such a wonder.

The switch was quick and efficient. Sits' patient inspection of the jar's pedestal left him rather surprised. It did not sink. Even though he had placed the rocks, the pedestal remained high and standing. He was not prepared for this. There was no way it could be that easy. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. No trap had been set off.

A sigh of relief escaped him, and the adrenaline in his body gradually shifted its focus from the expected traps to the artifact he was holding. This was his test. His life's determination would rest on one simple fact. The honey had to be preserved just long enough to escape the temple, and he would be able to live his life with no fear of ever running out. He was holding the key to the gates of Elysium.

The moth took off his fedora and set it on the jar as an attempt to silence his craving for its sticky interior. Using the best of his focus, he made his way out of the temple, careful to avoid every single trap, as he had done on the way in. He was rather disappointed by the ease with which he progressed. For an abandoned temple thousands of years old, it was rather badly preserved. Maybe the movies were wrong, for once.

His luck had its limits, however. The more excited he became to find the exit, the more careless he became. He eventually fell, not because of a trap he had missed, but simply by tripping over a misplaced cobble on the floor. The jar flew out of his hands, to his great horror, only to land in front of him, still closed. He swore he could recognize the shape of a face engraved in the jar, a figure faintly reminiscent of a woman. A face which seemed to mock him.

The moth's eyes went wide as the powerful smell of honey extinguished his confusion. The jar's tightly shut lid had shifted slightly during the fall, just enough to let the sweet scent escape its confines. That was all Sits could remember, the rest was a blur. He was entirely unable to resist the call, and he devoured every last drop.

It was then that he understood why this honey had been kept hidden for so long. He panicked and slipped his hat back on his head, then grabbed the jar and began to run. The temple was very obviously going to collapse on him.

He felt his clothes tighten around his body as he ran. The traps had become meaningless by that point, he only wanted to escape. He noticed a stone wall slowly lowering itself to block his path, so he did what any other adventurer would do. He slid under.

The stone wall simply stopped against him, leaving him stuck in the shrinking tunnel, feeling the weight against his chest. While heavy, he was expecting a much higher level of pain from being crushed in such a way, but it simply proved uncomfortable. He even seemed to be pushing the moving wall back up, as the tunnel closed in around him.

It was then that he finally realized that the temple would collapse, but not on his own. Rather, he was the one growing, and the way out would no longer be wide enough for him. His clothes stretched further and further around his growing frame. The jar seemed to slowly vanish in his arms as they grew larger and thick, becoming even more muscular than they were before.

Load groans could be heard, but not from him. The temple was old, and its rocks were fragile. Even laying down in one of the thin hallways, his body eventually reached a size where his chest began to press against the ceiling. Dust began to fall onto him as the structure weakened, and the stones' groaning turned to crashing.

Sits let out a loud scream and sat up straight. He looked around carefully. The creepy nazi with glasses seemed to smile at him as he held out his burned hand to the television. The three DVDs which formed the entirety of the Indiana Jones films were on the table. He had been in the mood to watch his favourite archaeologist in action, and so he had settled to watch the entire trilogy. There was nothing to worry about.

Nothing other than the increasing pressure against his chest. A pressure which moved to his body, as if he was being crushed. Thunder roared from the TV as the film played on.

The sound was loud enough to wake Sits from his torpor. He yawned and stretched out his arms, opening his eyes to be greeted by the bright glow of the afternoon sun. Thinking back, he couldn't help but wonder what had been going through his mind during that movie marathon, when he made the decision to come look for such an artifact. It was indeed a strange time to remember that event, considering this was all reality.

The temple was indeed in ruins. Its remains partially covered his massive, muscular body, like a shattered blanket made of ancient stones. Sitting in the pile of rocks which had once been an archaeological gold mine was not exactly very comfortable, but he was rather tired. Honey had always been a great way for him to sleep, and this was no exception, despite its unintended effects. Still, for a short nap inside a shattering temple, it could have been much worse.

The fedora hung at the tip of one of his antennae, while tatters of his coat could be found stuck to his fur. He gathered what he could to sew them back together later. He looked around carefully in the hopes of finding the jar. It was thanks to his smell that he could find it. It had remained unharmed by the collapse, and it had somehow shut its own lid itself. He picked up the tiny object. While it had once been the size of his head, it was now barely the size of its thumb.

His eyes went wide as he held it closer to his face. The smell had returned. He did his best to remove the lid, a task which proved difficult at his new size.

The feeding frenzy took hold once again.

He had never spotted the strange rune of Alari design on the jar.