Aden barely had time to react.
The Executioner moved like a shadow—silent, deadly, relentless. One moment, it was at the far end of the corridor. The next, it was upon him.
The blade screamed through the air.
Aden twisted, barely parrying the strike with his knife. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, nearly numbing his grip. His feet skidded against the ancient stone floor.
> Fast. Too fast for something that big.
His eyes flicked over the armored figure. The blackened plating wasn't just for defense—it was alive, shifting like liquid metal, adjusting with every movement. Sigils across its surface pulsed in eerie synchronization with the temple's own glow.
> It's connected to this place.
> Like a guardian.
The Executioner didn't hesitate. It pressed forward, blade swinging in a series of brutal, calculated strikes—each meant to kill, not just wound. Aden weaved between them, barely keeping ahead.
But it was adapting.
Every missed swing forced him into a tighter space. Every step back was a step toward the temple's deeper horrors.
He needed to change the fight.
Aden's grip on the mask tightened. The whispers in his mind weren't just noise anymore. They carried understanding.
Memories.
> The last defender stood alone.
> But they did not fall easily.
Aden exhaled. He let the mask's presence sink deeper, not resisting its pull this time.
And the world shifted.
For a split second, he saw through the eyes of another—a figure draped in black, facing an identical Executioner in a battle lost to time. The same charge. The same impossible speed.
But in that memory, the warrior didn't retreat.
They stepped into the attack.
Aden's eyes snapped open.
The Executioner lunged again—its blade a streak of death.
Aden didn't dodge. He didn't block.
He advanced.
The shift caught the Executioner off guard. Its blade was still mid-swing when Aden closed the gap.
Aden's knife carved across the Executioner's plated arm, sparks flying as the runes along its armor flickered. A direct hit—but not enough to kill.
The Executioner twisted, its free hand lashing out. Aden barely ducked. The force of the missed strike shattered a nearby pillar.
> If that hits me, I'm done.
But now, he knew something crucial.
The armor could be damaged.
He just needed the right strike.
The Overseer's Interest
Far above, the Overseer watched in amusement.
> Interesting.
Most who faced the Executioner barely lasted seconds. This boy wasn't just surviving. He was learning.
> "Shall we intervene?" one of the cultists asked hesitantly.
The Overseer smiled.
> "No. Let him struggle."
> "Let him earn his death."
Aden shifted his grip. The mask whispered one last time.
> A single opening.
> That is all it takes.
The Executioner raised its blade for a final, crushing swing.
Aden moved first.
Instead of retreating, he dove low, rolling beneath the strike. In the same motion, he twisted his knife in his grip—and drove it straight into the Executioner's exposed side.
The armor splintered. The sigils flickered—then died.
The Executioner staggered. For the first time, it hesitated.
Aden didn't.
He tore his knife free and slashed across its throat.
Silence.
Then, the massive figure collapsed. The runes along its armor dimmed to nothing.
The Executioner was dead.
The moment its body hit the ground, a deep resonance echoed through the temple. The sigils on the walls flared—then shifted from crimson to black.
Something had changed.
Something worse had just awakened.
Aden, still breathing hard, barely had time to process it before a new voice filled the air.
A voice that wasn't human.
> "At last… a worthy successor."
And the temple's true horrors began to stir.