Aden's breath was steady, but his hands trembled. The mask was whispering again—clearer than before.
Each step he took down the temple's ruined corridor felt… guided. His body moved before his mind could react, dodging unseen threats, stepping over pressure plates he didn't know were there.
> "Do you feel it? The rhythm. The hunt. You were always meant to be here."
The voice was not his own. It wasn't a single voice at all.
It was many.
And they were inside him now.
---
The cultists fell before him, one by one.
At first, he thought he was simply getting faster. But no—he wasn't just fighting. He was executing.
A blade pierced a cultist's throat. Before the body even fell, he was already moving on to the next.
It wasn't him.
It was them.
Then, he noticed the blood. It didn't just spill—it sank into the ground.
Aden stepped back, heart hammering. The red glow beneath his feet pulsed, as if something deep below was drinking it in.
> "Yes. Yes. This is the way."
The mask wasn't giving him power.
It was making him feed something else.
---
A door ahead creaked open. Not by his hand.
The whispers led him inside.
There, slumped against the far wall, was a corpse.
No. Not a skeleton. Not dust and bones.
A body. Perfectly preserved. Its mask still clung to its face, black stone fused into pale, lifeless skin.
Aden's stomach twisted.
> "I was not the first. You will not be the last."
The words were scratched into the wall beside the corpse, carved with shaking hands.
> "Your blood is not yours. Do not let them take it."
Aden ripped the mask from his face. His skin burned where it had touched, his vision swimming.
Too late.
The door slammed shut behind him.
---
The temple rumbled. The sigils flared red, spreading like veins across the stone.
Aden turned—and froze.
The Overseer stood at the chamber's entrance, robes glowing crimson, arms outstretched. The cultists behind him knelt in reverence.
> "The time has come," the Overseer intoned.
The ground beneath Aden shifted, forming a vast, intricate sigil—directly beneath his feet.
The whispers became a roar. The mask in his hands burned white-hot.
> "Give yourself. Let the System take what it is owed."
Aden screamed as the mask pulled itself back onto his face. His limbs locked. His body wasn't his anymore.
The ritual had begun.
---