Raka stood before the towering obsidian gates, their surface pulsing faintly as though breathing. The pressure in the air was unlike any arena he'd stepped into before. This wasn't just another Genesis Zone — this was Dominion Arena, a place reserved for those who had challenged the very system itself.
The air was heavy, each breath thick with static and something faintly metallic.
Behind him, Iqiww let out a slow breath. "Are we seriously walking into a place without an exit button?"
"This isn't just a dungeon," Raka murmured. "It's a loyalty trial… either to the game — or something deeper."
Without warning, the gates groaned open, releasing a red mist that smelled unmistakably of blood.
They stepped inside.
The arena was wide, ringed by black stone stands. But there were no spectators — only shifting shadows lingering in the edges of perception, watching silently.
In the center stood a humanoid figure, face wrapped in bloodstained linen. A massive black blade rested in his right hand, while the left twitched unnaturally.
"Welcome, challenger," the figure spoke — once aloud, and once inside Raka's head.
"You are here for the Trial of Blood. You will fight with no system menu. No item usage. No skill shortcuts. Only instinct. Only pain."
Iqiww scoffed, trying to shake off his unease. "What is this — hardcore mode with no UI? Who even survives this kind of crap?"
But Raka wasn't laughing. His gut told him this trial wasn't about surviving a boss.
It was about surviving yourself.
The figure took a step forward.
The skies above turned crimson.
And the game… became war.
A deep, resonant bell echoed through the arena. The sound didn't just ring in their ears — it rattled through their bones. Raka's body tensed automatically, instinct kicking in as the cloaked entity vanished in a blur.
"Left!" he shouted.
Iqiww ducked, barely avoiding the cleave of the dark blade that tore through the air behind him. Sparks erupted as it scraped the obsidian floor, leaving a glowing red scar.
They moved fast — faster than they ever had to in any Genesis Arena challenge. With no system overlays to rely on, Raka felt… naked. Vulnerable. But also sharper.
He could feel the air pressure shift before every strike.
He could hear his own heart pounding, syncing with the rhythm of battle.
The entity lunged at him, and Raka twisted his body sideways, drawing his real-time reaction purely from muscle memory and adrenaline. His borrowed blade clashed with the figure's, and the impact sent him sliding backwards across the stone.
"Don't try to win," he gasped to Iqiww, "just survive long enough to figure out the pattern!"
"Survive?! Bro, this thing's playing Elden Ring while we're still in tutorial mode!"
But Iqiww followed his lead, keeping distance, dodging more than attacking. He fired a few shots from his conjured musket — but the bullets evaporated before they hit.
"This trial doesn't obey combat rules," Raka muttered. "It's… psychological."
Suddenly, the figure stopped.
The shadows around the arena began to move. Slowly at first, then faster, coalescing into mirror images of Raka and Iqiww — exact copies, down to their scars, clothing, and weapons.
"Here comes the twist," Iqiww muttered.
The voice echoed again, both spoken and mental.
"Slay the self, or remain a slave."
The doppelgängers opened their eyes — and attacked.
Steel met steel.
Raka barely managed to block the strike from his own double. It was surreal — the copy moved with identical precision, mirrored every tactic Raka had ever used in battle. It was him, with all his strengths and none of his hesitation.
"You've gotta be kidding me!" Iqiww barked, leaping backward as his clone fired at point-blank range. The musket blast clipped his shoulder, drawing real pain. Real blood.
"Bro! These copies ain't just cosmetic!"
"Nope!" Raka replied through gritted teeth. "They're data constructs — every move we ever made in this game… they learned it."
His clone circled him like a wolf. Raka could feel his body pushing beyond exhaustion — and they were only minutes in.
He dashed forward, baiting his double into a feint. The mirror-Raka bit the bait and swung wide, and Raka spun inside the strike, planting a sharp elbow to the jaw.
A successful hit — but it felt like punching steel wrapped in flesh.
The clone stumbled for a second. Just a second.
And in that moment, Raka understood.
"They mimic perfectly," he said, panting. "But they don't improvise. They only remember."
Iqiww heard it too. "So we gotta do what we never did before."
"Exactly. Think sideways. Break our own habits."
Raka charged again, but this time he slid under his clone's sword swing, grabbed the wrist mid-motion — and headbutted it with all his force.
The double recoiled, stunned.
Now that, he never did in combat before.
Raka pressed the opening, slicing down in a jagged, uneven arc. Not a clean swing. Not a pro move.
A messy, human one.
The clone's body split in half with a static pop.
One down.
---
Iqiww laughed. "Okay, okay! Chaos mode it is!"
He grabbed a rock from the arena floor, shoved it into his musket like a caveman with attitude — and fired point-blank at his double's knee.
The explosion of fractured code signaled his win.
Two down.
Suddenly, the arena shook. The voice returned.
"You have rejected perfection. You have embraced chaos. Proceed to the second phase."
Raka and Iqiww turned toward the far end of the arena — where a dark throne began to rise from the ground, and on it sat a figure they both recognized instantly.
"Wait—" Iqiww whispered. "Is that…?"
Raka's breath caught in his throat.
It was Zeven — the former rank #1 player of Lost Saga. The legend who disappeared years ago.
But this Zeven… his eyes glowed with corrupted crimson. His armor cracked with shadows. And in his hand, he held a blade shaped like a virus.
He wasn't a player anymore.
He was the final gatekeeper of Dominion Arena.
Zeven rose from the throne, and the entire arena dipped into silence.
No music.
No system prompt.
Only his footsteps echoing against stone and steel as he descended.
"Zeven was a hero," Raka murmured. "He was the first player to ever break the level cap. They said he logged out one day… and never came back."
"Guess we just found out where he went," Iqiww muttered. "Or what he became."
Zeven's voice didn't come from his mouth — it came from everywhere.
"The game changed. The rules decayed. So I made my own."
He stopped a few meters away, lifting the virus-blade onto his shoulder. His corrupted armor hissed as the shadows inside twisted unnaturally.
"You came looking for truth. I became its prison. Show me you're worthy of the answer."
He raised a hand — and a crimson countdown began in the sky.
3…
2…
1…
FIGHT.
Zeven's first move was instantaneous. A black shockwave erupted from beneath his boots, sending both Raka and Iqiww flying into opposite directions.
Raka rolled mid-air and landed in a crouch, already charging forward. He didn't wait. He knew waiting was death.
But Zeven anticipated him.
He parried Raka's first strike with surgical precision and followed with a rising slash that shattered Raka's blade halfway.
What the hell?! That wasn't a skill from the game. That was…
"Code manipulation," Iqiww yelled. "He's rewriting game rules mid-fight!"
"Then we stop playing by the rules too!" Raka shouted.
Iqiww tossed him a raw energy shard — something they weren't supposed to access in trial zones. But the Dominion Arena had no menu blocks anymore.
Raka caught it mid-air and embedded it into his half-broken blade.
It flared with unstable blue light.
He struck again — and this time, he left a crack in Zeven's shoulder plate.
Zeven paused.
Then… smiled.
"Yes. That's it. Show me the spark."
The arena began to glitch — warping with raw code tearing through space. Platforms rose. Gravity twisted. Time stuttered.
It was no longer just a battle.
It was a fight inside the collapsing heart of Lost Saga.
And if they lost here — they didn't just lose their lives.
They'd lose the last hope of waking up.
The battlefield bent reality.
Chunks of the arena floated mid-air, swirling with fractured code and shadow. Static screams echoed from beneath the platform, as though broken players were trapped beneath the surface, begging to be remembered.
Zeven stood in the center of it all, a glitching god.
Raka and Iqiww regrouped atop a floating slab of obsidian, breath ragged, bodies bruised.
"He's not attacking," Iqiww said, eyes narrowed. "Why is he waiting?"
Raka stared down at his pulsing blade. "He's not waiting. He's watching."
Below them, Zeven raised a hand. Code tendrils exploded from his fingers, forming data chains that lashed toward them.
Raka jumped to intercept, slicing one in half mid-air. Iqiww grabbed a rising arc of corrupted terrain and vaulted to the next platform, avoiding three chains that nearly skewered him.
"Bro, this guy's fighting like the final boss and the server admin!" Iqiww cursed.
"That's because he is," Raka said quietly. "He's not just a lost player anymore. He merged with the system. He is the Dominion."
Zeven raised his sword, and the sky cracked.
From the breach descended ghosts — fragmented memories of players who had failed the Trial. Echoes. Broken data. They rushed the field with soulless eyes, howling with silence.
Raka's hands trembled.
He saw faces — old rivals. Former friends. People he remembered from guilds, battlefields… even forums. All now NPCs of failure, bound to this arena.
He couldn't freeze now.
He screamed and charged through the horde, blade blazing blue. Each strike tore through corrupted memory after memory, each kill heavier than the last. Behind him, Iqiww activated his prototype relic — a self-destruct turret that pulsed with pure light.
The blast cleared a path.
And finally — it was them, standing before Zeven again.
Bloodied.
Wounded.
Unbroken.
Raka dropped into stance. "Zeven."
The former hero looked up.
"You forgot one thing," Raka growled. "You're not fighting alone."
Iqiww stepped beside him.
Raka's blade glowed brighter — now fused with both his own energy and the shard of Zeven's broken code.
Together, they dashed forward.
Zeven raised his sword.
And they clashed — a burst of light so bright it drowned the arena in white.
---
When it cleared…
Zeven was on his knees.
Armor cracked. Sword gone. Eyes… human again.
"I… remember…" he whispered.
Raka stepped closer, lowering his weapon. "Then let go."
Zeven's body began to fragment — not in pain, but peace. His final words echoed like fading code.
"You passed… the Trial of Dominion. Escape is now… possible."
The arena collapsed behind them, piece by piece.
And above, a new interface appeared.
> [EXIT: REAL WORLD CONNECTION – UNLOCKED]
Raka and Iqiww looked at each other.
And for the first time in a long time…
Hope returned.