Aden barely had a moment to breathe before the temple shifted again. The walls groaned, ancient stone grinding against itself as pathways closed behind him and new ones opened ahead. The temple wasn't just a ruin—it was alive, and it was trying to trap him.
But the real danger wasn't the shifting architecture.
Footsteps echoed through the dark corridors, precise and controlled. Not the clumsy, frantic movements of panicked cultists. These were warriors.
The Overseer had finally sent someone worthy.
Aden pressed himself against the wall, mask firm against his face. His heartbeat slowed, his breath steadying. The mask was doing something to him—heightening his senses, sharpening his instincts. He could feel the presence of his pursuers before he saw them.
Then, they arrived.
Five figures emerged from the darkness, clad in ceremonial armor, their movements fluid. Unlike the lesser cultists, these fighters carried themselves like seasoned killers. Each bore a different weapon—curved blades, short spears, and wicked-looking chain weapons that hissed through the air.
One of them spoke, their voice distorted by a dark-metal helm.
> "The Overseer has decreed your end."
Aden didn't bother responding. Words wouldn't change what was about to happen.
They struck first.
The air filled with the whistle of blades. Aden dodged the first strike by instinct alone—ducking just as a chain weapon lashed where his head had been. Another warrior lunged, forcing him back.
They were fast. Too fast.
Aden barely parried a spear strike, the force behind it rattling his bones. He twisted, using the temple's uneven flooring to throw off their footing. But he knew the truth—he was outmatched.
And then the mask pulsed.
For a moment, the world blurred. Aden felt something surge through him, a sensation like stepping into another body, another mind. His vision flickered—and suddenly, he wasn't just moving.
He was fighting with knowledge that wasn't his own.
He sidestepped a blade, twisting his torso at just the right angle to avoid the next strike. His hand lashed out—not his hand, but one guided by something ancient. His dagger plunged into a weak spot in the warrior's armor.
A clean kill.
The remaining four hesitated.
Aden exhaled, gripping the dagger tighter. The mask wasn't just enhancing him.
It was teaching him.
The temple responded to the bloodshed. The ground beneath them rumbled, and suddenly, jagged stone spikes erupted from the floor. One of the warriors was impaled instantly, their body skewered mid-air.
Aden leapt back as the walls groaned, closing in. The temple wanted all of them dead.
But the Overseer's warriors weren't so easily undone. The remaining three adjusted, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease. One of them hurled a spear, and Aden barely managed to twist away in time. The temple was a battlefield, but it wasn't choosing sides.
> "Enough games," one of the warriors snarled, their voice laced with frustration.
They spread out, forcing Aden toward the dead-end corridor that had just formed behind him. He was running out of space.
Aden's grip tightened. The mask pulsed again, and he felt it—another memory, another whisper from the past.
> Bleed.
A command.
Aden hesitated. The first time, the mask had guided him. But now, it wanted something in return. A sacrifice.
The warriors advanced.
Aden made his choice.
With a sharp breath, he dragged his dagger across his palm. Blood welled, dripping onto the temple floor.
The effect was immediate.
The sigils in the walls flared, the shifting architecture momentarily halting. Aden felt the power surge through him—his body lighter, his senses sharper.
He moved.
Before his enemies could react, he was on them. He ducked beneath a strike, drove his knee into a warrior's gut, and slashed upward. The blade found flesh.
Two left.
The temple's walls groaned again. The architecture had sensed his offering—and it wasn't satisfied.
More blood.
More.
Aden shook his head, forcing himself to focus. The mask's influence was growing, but he couldn't afford to lose control. He had to end this fight before the temple demanded too much.
The last two warriors exchanged glances. They had expected an easy hunt. Now, they were the ones at a disadvantage.
But they didn't run.
With a sharp whistle, they moved in unison—one feinting high while the other swept low.
Aden had no time to think.
He felt his body move, twisting mid-air in a way that shouldn't have been possible. His dagger slashed across one throat, even as he landed behind the final warrior.
Before they could react, his blade found their spine.
Silence.
The temple walls stilled. The shifting architecture settled. The sacrifice had been made.
Aden exhaled sharply, his hand still bleeding. The mask's influence still lingered, whispering at the edge of his thoughts.
> More.
He ignored it.
For now, he had won.
But he knew the Overseer wouldn't stop here.
Deep within the temple, the Overseer sat in silence.
The deaths of their warriors had not gone unnoticed. The sigils pulsed, relaying the battle's outcome.
A slow exhale.
> "Interesting."
The Overseer rose, stepping toward the altar where a massive, dormant figure lay in shadow.
> "Prepare the Executioner."
The temple trembled.
The real hunt was about to begin.