Aden's breath was steady, but his pulse roared in his ears. The mask's influence still lingered, whispers at the edge of his thoughts, fragments of a war long buried beneath time.
> The temple is our anchor. Through it, we shall erase the betrayers.
His fingers brushed against the cold stone walls, feeling the shift in the air. The temple wasn't just reacting—it was changing. The sigils that once flickered weakly were now alive, veins of crimson energy coursing through the ancient carvings.
Something was coming.
In the depths of the temple, the Overseer stood at the altar, their shadow stretching unnaturally across the chamber. Around them, kneeling cultists chanted in a language long forgotten by the outside world.
A great sigil glowed at their feet. A summoning.
> "The mask has chosen a new vessel," the Overseer murmured. "But does he deserve it?"
A robed figure at their side hesitated. "Shall we retrieve it, my lord?"
The Overseer smiled. "No. We will test him."
With a single motion, the sigil beneath them shattered—its energy surging outward, racing toward the depths of the temple like veins igniting in the dark.
Aden felt it before he saw it.
A rumble.
Dust shook loose from the ceiling. The air turned thick, like something vast and ancient was exhaling from deep below. Then, from the far corridor, shadows bloomed.
They weren't mere tricks of the light.
They moved.
Elongated limbs dragged across the stone, eyeless faces shifting within the swirling void of their forms. Abyss-born—creatures birthed from the temple's forgotten horrors.
Aden's grip on his knife tightened. His instincts screamed to run, but something in him—the mask, or perhaps himself—urged him to stand his ground.
> They were not the first to hunt the cult…
> Then neither am I the first to face their monsters.
The creatures lunged.
And Aden met them head-on.
His body moved before his mind caught up. The first shadow twisted toward him, its clawed fingers reaching for his throat. He ducked, feeling the whoosh of air as its strike missed by inches.
Slash!
Aden's blade cut through its form—not flesh, but something else. The shadow writhed, screeching, before dissolving into the air.
More came.
> Fast.
He twisted, barely avoiding a second swipe. His footwork carried him forward, into their ranks rather than away. The mask's whisperings weren't just visions anymore—they were instincts. It guided his strikes, his movement, the exact moment to turn and evade.
Another creature fell. Then another.
And then—the temple shuddered.
The Overseer Watches
From his chamber, the Overseer observed. A large basin reflected Aden's battle, the rippling surface shifting with every kill.
A slow smile crept across their lips.
> "He fights like them."
A pause.
> "Perhaps he is one of them."
The cultists around them murmured in unease. The Overseer turned, staring into the flickering torches.
> "Send the Executioner."
Aden had barely caught his breath when he felt it.
Not just another monster. Something worse.
A slow, heavy step echoed through the corridor ahead. The air turned thick—wrong.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Not a cultist. Not a mindless creature.
But a warrior.
Tall. Clad in blackened armor, runes pulsing along its surface. In its hands—a massive, curved blade stained with history.
Aden tensed.
> This one is different.
The Executioner raised its weapon.
And then, with impossible speed, it charged.