Aden exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the mask settle more firmly against his face. It wasn't just an artifact—it was something more. Something alive. It whispered at the edges of his mind, not with words, but with a strange, instinctual awareness. The temple shifted around him, walls groaning as if resisting his presence. He could feel it now—the very structure of this place was an enemy.
But so was the warrior standing before him.
The gladiator's stance was perfect shield raised, short sword poised for a quick, brutal strike. The dull gleam of daggers strapped to his boots hinted at a fighter prepared for any range of combat. Unlike the lesser cultists who had fallen to his blade, this one had no wasted movement. He was a predator, just like Aden.
The temple responded to the standoff. The floor shuddered beneath Aden's feet, shifting slightly, forcing him to adjust his balance. A test. A warning. He took a step back, then another, drawing the gladiator forward. His opponent followed with measured steps, unhurried but relentless.
Aden lunged, feinting low before twisting into a real strike. The gladiator deflected it with ease, countering with a brutal swipe that forced Aden back. Their weapons clashed in a series of rapid, calculated exchanges, neither gaining the upper hand. But Aden wasn't just fighting his opponent—he was fighting the temple itself.
A tremor beneath him.
A whisper in his mind.
He jumped to the side just as a spike shot from the floor where he had been standing. The gladiator was unmoved, as if expecting it. Of course. The temple wasn't trying to kill him. It was working with him.
It's pushing me.
Aden gritted his teeth. The mask pulsed, feeding him glimpses of something—memories that weren't his own. Faint outlines of past battles, warriors maneuvering through shifting battlefields. He took a sharp breath and let the knowledge settle, let his instincts guide him.
The temple was an arena. And he could use that.
He pivoted sharply, adjusting his movements to the subtle shifts beneath his feet. A wall panel creaked—a warning. He sidestepped just as a blade shot from the stone. The gladiator followed, but Aden was already moving, weaving through the hidden dangers with growing confidence.
The warrior wasn't as lucky.
Aden twisted, forcing their battle toward a weakened section of floor. Another shift—another trap primed. The gladiator stepped forward—
And the ground beneath him gave way.
He dropped instantly, one leg sinking knee-deep into the collapsing floor. A moment of vulnerability.
Aden struck.
His blade slashed toward the exposed shoulder, but the gladiator was just as quick. The shield came up, deflecting the attack even as he wrenched his leg free. The warrior wasn't just skilled he was nearly flawless. But nearly wasn't good enough.
Aden pressed forward, forcing him into another precarious position, another shifting tile. The temple was trying to kill him, but he had learned to read its movements, to guide the fight into its jaws instead of his own. The mask's influence deepened, sharpening his reactions, his understanding of this battlefield.
The Overseer was watching. He had to be. Aden could feel the weight of his unseen gaze, the subtle adjustments being made in response to his tactics. The temple was no longer just throwing traps blindly—it was adapting, trying to anticipate him.
The gladiator suddenly surged forward, more aggressive now, as if sensing that the battle was slipping from his control. Aden barely managed to dodge, his back brushing against a wall that hadn't been there a moment ago.
It's trying to cage me in.
The temple wouldn't let him win so easily.
He shifted his stance, drawing in a deep breath. The mask pulsed once more, and this time, he welcomed the knowledge it offered. A different way to move. A different way to fight. The instincts of those who had come before him, passed down through something more ancient than the temple itself.
Aden grinned beneath the mask.
The real hunt was about to begin.