Luke's breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the pulsating chamber around him. The humid air clung to his skin, thick with the scent of iron and rot. His fingers curled tightly around his femur weapon, the binary etchings flickering with a faint glow as he steadied his stance. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, but he barely registered it. His focus was locked entirely on the hooded figure before him, their presence unnervingly still amid the throbbing walls of the Heart Nexus.
The spikes he had conjured still jutted from the ground, their jagged edges coated in the viscous fluid that oozed from the maze itself. Yet, despite his effort to trap their enemy, the figure stood untouched, their blade gleaming under the eerie crimson light. The way they carried themselves—calm, poised, unshaken—sent a ripple of unease through Luke's core. He wasn't just facing another entity spawned from this twisted labyrinth. This person wasn't mindlessly attacking. They were observing, calculating, waiting.
Kuro shifted beside him, his massive frame still tense from his last strike. The remnants of his failed attack lay cracked and splintered beneath his feet, yet the figure had evaded it with impossible ease. Eleanor stood further back, her bowstring taut, another arrow already nocked. Her sharp eyes flicked between the enemy and their surroundings, searching for an opening.
But their enemy remained eerily motionless.
Luke's grip tightened on his weapon. The silence felt deliberate. This wasn't just another mindless monster lurking in the labyrinth. Whoever they were, they had chosen this confrontation. They had attacked Eleanor first. They had phased through Kuro's defense as if they had expected it.
Luke's pulse quickened. He knew that this time, this was not a coincidence. This figure knew them.
A slow exhale left his lips as he took a cautious step forward. His mind raced through possibilities, but none of them led to an answer that sat right. There were only a handful of individuals in Aethereon who had a reason to seek him out directly, and fewer still who would take the effort to do so in a place like this.
So who was this?
The hooded figure moved.
The motion was so fluid, so sudden, that it felt more like a ripple through reality than a physical step. One moment, they were standing still, and in the next, they were upon him. Luke barely had time to react before their blade came crashing down, aimed directly at his skull.
He raised the femur in time to block, the impact sending a sharp jolt through his arms. The force of the blow forced him back a step, his boots sliding against the fleshy ground. His grip nearly faltered, but he forced himself to hold steady. The figure's blade was thin, elegant, and carried a weight that felt unnatural for its shape.
No words were spoken. The moment the first strike was blocked, the figure twisted their body and lashed out again, a blur of movement that forced Luke onto the defensive. He parried the next attack, then the next, but each time he barely managed to keep up. Their movements were seamless, each strike flowing into the next as if they were following an intricate dance that Luke had never been taught.
Kuro roared and charged from the side, swinging a massive clawed fist in an arc meant to crush anything in its path. The hooded figure reacted instantly. Without hesitation, they pivoted, ducking beneath Kuro's strike with unnatural grace. Their body shimmered just before impact, a distortion rippling through their form as Kuro's attack passed through them as though they were nothing more than mist.
Luke's breath hitched. That wasn't just speed. That was something else.
Eleanor took the opening. She loosed an arrow, the projectile cutting through the thick air in a perfect trajectory toward their opponent's chest. The figure didn't dodge. They didn't even move. The arrow met its mark—only to phase straight through their body, embedding itself deep into the pulsating walls behind them.
"What the hell?" Eleanor breathed, frustration creeping into her voice.
Luke narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance. They couldn't be intangible the entire time. If that were the case, they wouldn't have needed to parry his attacks earlier. There was a pattern here—something they weren't seeing.
The hooded figure turned their head slightly, as if acknowledging Luke's thought process. Then they attacked again.
Luke barely had time to brace himself before the figure closed the distance between them, their blade flashing toward his ribs. He twisted at the last second, letting the weapon skim past his torso before countering with an upward slash of his own. His femur met nothing but air.
The figure had already phased away.
Kuro snarled and lunged, his claws tearing through the space where the figure had just stood. His frustration was palpable. He hated enemies like this—ones who refused to meet him in direct combat, forcing him to think of creative solutions.
The figure materialized again, this time behind Eleanor. Without thinking, Luke thrust his hand forward, sending a surge of advent into the ground beneath them. Binary spikes erupted once more, forcing the hooded figure to retreat before they could land a fatal blow.
Luke exhaled sharply. He had bought them a moment, but nothing more.
"They know us," he muttered, his voice low but firm. "They know how we fight. They've been watching us."
Eleanor shot him a quick glance, her expression unreadable. Kuro let out a short, frustrated huff but didn't argue.
Luke's mind raced. This wasn't just an enemy—they had intent. They weren't attacking randomly. They weren't making mistakes. Every move was measured, precise. They were testing him, testing them.
The hooded figure remained still for a long moment before slowly tilting their head in Luke's direction. Something about the movement sent a chill down his spine.
Recognition flickered in the depths of his mind. It was faint, buried beneath layers of uncertainty, but it was there. Eventually he reached the only conclusion that could explain the hooded figure's identity.
Luke swallowed hard. His grip on his weapon tightened.
His breath came ragged as the realization took shape. The name formed on his tongue, his voice breaking as he finally shouted it aloud.
"Ashtor!"