The chamber stretched out before them like the maw of a beast. Spikes gleamed in the dim torchlight, narrow gaps between them promising only death to those who misstepped. Above, rusted mechanisms creaked and twitched, crossbows wound tight and waiting for the smallest vibration.
Lucien exhaled slowly behind his mask.
"Who's first?" Ino asked, his black blade resting against his shoulder. His tone was casual, but sweat gleamed at his brow.
"I'll go," Matteo said before anyone could speak. He notched an arrow to his longbow, but didn't draw it. Instead, he crouched low, studying the floor. His eyes flickered, sharp and calculating. "The plates are irregular. Watch the spacing."
He stepped forward, light as a cat. The first plate clicked—arrows shrieked from above. But his bow was already moving, loosing wooden shafts into the air. His arrows struck the incoming bolts, shattering them midflight. He moved with a dancer's rhythm, weaving between spikes, every step measured. By the time he reached the halfway point, his breath was ragged, but he looked back and grinned. "Doable."
"Show-off," Ino muttered, and without hesitation, he leapt.
Where Matteo had relied on precision, Ino used raw speed. His blade flashed as he darted forward, a blur of black steel. Traps sprung in his wake—spikes shot up from the floor, bolts rained from above—but he was always just ahead of them. Once, a spear of iron nearly grazed his leg, but he twisted midair, blade sparking against metal as he pushed himself over it. He landed on the far side with a flourish, smirking. "Like I said. Easy."
Juan scoffed. "Easy for you, maybe." He spat on the ground and rolled his shoulders, then drew his saber. Unlike the others, he didn't dodge the plates. He stepped directly on one, then another, baiting the traps.
Arrows rained down. With a sweep of his saber, water surged from the air itself, coiling into a barrier. Bolts struck the liquid wall and slowed, sinking harmlessly. He pressed forward, each swing of his blade sending out slicing discs of water that cut down mechanisms and jammed gears. By the time he reached Matteo and Ino, half the field behind him was flooded.
"Subtle," Matteo said, wrinkling his nose.
"Effective," Juan shot back.
For a moment, they stood proud—until Juan's soaked boots squeaked loudly against the stone. SQUISH-SQUEAK.
Matteo scoffed.
All eyes turned to Lucien.
He hesitated, watching the spikes glisten, the shadows shifting along the floor. His ribs still ached, but the blood in his veins burned with urgency. Don't falter now. Not in front of them. Not in front of him.
Lucien drew a dagger and nicked his palm. Lucien even started thinking that he might get used to cutting his hands soon. Someone would even suppose that he is a masochist. Blood welled, sliding down the blade, and the weapon pulsed. Threads of crimson unraveled, weaving into a web that stretched outward. With a flick of his wrist, the blood latched onto spikes ahead.
When he stepped forward, the floorplate clicked—but instead of dodging, Lucien pulled. The web of blood yanked him upward, swinging him past the barrage of arrows. He landed lightly on a spike's edge, balancing as though the blade of iron were a flat street stone. Another leap, another pull of the crimson web.
He crossed the field like a phantom, skipping from spike to spike, each one a foothold rather than a trap. By the time he joined the others, his mask hid the small smile tugging at his lips.
"Not bad," Ino admitted reluctantly.
Juan laughed and clapped Lucien on the back. "You looked like some kind of deranged spider. But hey—it worked."
But when he took a step forward and SQUEAK-SQUISHED again, the whole group collapsed into laughter, even Ino.
On the far side, Aurelius pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about "children" and "future hunters of the Order." But for just a fraction of a second, even the Grandmaster's mouth twitched at the corner.
"Good," Aurelius said at last. His voice carried across the hall like steel dragged against stone. "You survived the easy part."
The team stiffened.
Behind them, the clatter of chains echoed in the dark. Something was stirring deeper in the catacombs