The Realm Scrapper did not reset this time. It stretched. It breathed. Under Nayan's twisted coding, the chamber no longer mimicked a single battlefield but an entire campaign of destruction — endless waves, shifting biomes, adversaries conjured from the deepest annals of history.
"Endurance mode," Azrail muttered, wiping dried blood from his lips. His voice was hoarse but steady, eyes glittering with feverish anticipation. "Let's see how long I can keep this orchestra playing."
[Affirmative, Master. Symphony Sustained Combat Protocol activated. Duration: until collapse.]
A timer appeared faintly across the void sky. Day 0 – Hour 0 – Minute 0.
The trial began.
....
The First Day, the first wave hit like a hurricane — spectral legions stitched from memories of devoured souls, each soldier carrying fragments of real combat techniques. They came with discipline, with synergy, as if mocking Azrail's own quest for harmony.
