The floor beneath the plinth ground into motion with a deep mineral groan, slow at first and then steadier, a black ring revolving under the seal as if the chamber had finally decided to bare its second mouth. Neo read the shape of it at once. Gray Hand had built the room to punish obsession. Focus on the beast and the seal would melt into whatever mechanism waited below. Focus on the seal and the beast would mash someone into the stone. The sort of trap that would coax a patient man into nodding in approval. Neo lacked the patience to admire it, though he respected the malice plenty.
The guardian wrenched toward him with old blood foaming at the lip of its jaw and came in low, hard, hateful, more avalanche than beast for the first few strides. Neo slid left rather than yielding ground. A straight lane would let it build speed, and then Helena would have to absorb the whole chamber through one point. She could do it. That didn't make it intelligent.
