Aden barely had time to breathe. The moment his blade struck down the last cultist in his path, the temple itself reacted. A deep, resonant hum pulsed through the walls, followed by a sudden shift beneath his feet.
The floor trembled.
Before he could react, the stone tiles cracked apart, rearranging in real-time. Pillars rotated, doorways sealed shut, and new passages emerged from the shifting architecture. The temple was alive, and it wasn't going to let him pass so easily.
Aden lunged forward, narrowly avoiding a section of floor that caved in behind him, revealing a pit of jagged spikes. The air filled with the sharp grind of stone against stone, the temple constantly shifting to throw him off.
> It's trying to trap me.
The realization hit him as a corridor ahead twisted, its walls closing in like the gaping maw of a beast. He sprinted forward, sliding through just before the stone slammed shut behind him. The temple wasn't just defending itself—it was hunting him.
---
Aden's breath came in ragged gasps as he took a moment to steady himself. The mask pulsed against his skin, its whispering presence growing stronger.
> Your blood… feed it…
His fingers twitched. The mask wasn't just a relic; it wanted something from him. It had shown him the past, the warriors who had come before. Now, it demanded more.
A fresh wound on his arm ached, the blood dripping onto the stone beneath him. As if in response, the sigils on the walls flickered, momentarily hesitating in their relentless shift.
> It needs blood to control the temple?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. The mask wasn't just guiding him—it was manipulating him. He had to resist, but at the same time, he couldn't ignore the advantage it offered.
---
Aden pushed forward, dodging another falling pillar. The temple was relentless. Spear-like protrusions shot from the walls, slicing through the air where he had been just moments before. The ground beneath him cracked again, revealing another death trap.
He couldn't keep this up. The temple was wearing him down, forcing him into an inevitable mistake.
Aden gritted his teeth, pressing his hand against his bleeding wound. If the temple wanted a sacrifice, he'd give it just enough to bend it to his will—without losing himself.
A single drop of blood dripped onto an ancient sigil at his feet.
The temple shuddered.
For a brief moment, the walls froze. The traps halted. The shifting stone hesitated.
Then, a passage ahead lit up—a path had opened.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the temple, the Overseer observed the struggle with cold precision. The lower cultists had failed. The temple's defenses were supposed to handle intruders like Aden, yet he had adapted—survived.
> "Enough. Send in the Bladeborn."
The cultists in the chamber stiffened. One of them hesitated. "But my lord, they are—"
The Overseer's gaze silenced them instantly. "Now."
Across the temple, hidden chambers opened, and figures clad in dark armor emerged. Unlike the panicked cultists Aden had been fighting, these were warriors forged for battle, assassins trained in the temple's ways.
And they were coming for him.
---
Aden's reprieve was short-lived. He sensed it before he saw them—figures moving unnaturally fast, blending into the temple's shadows. The Bladeborn.
His grip tightened around his weapon.
The temple had tried to crush him with traps and architecture. Now, it was sending something far worse.
If he wanted to make it out alive, he would have to fight like he never had before.
And the mask, still pulsing against his skin, whispered in his mind.
> Let me in.