The runes beneath Mike flared brighter, their light burning through the chamber until the world around him dissolved into gold and shadow. The chains that bound his body melted into searing lines that sank under his skin, dragging him downward. His breath caught as he was falling, yet there was no wind, no ground, only the weight of himself collapsing inward.
When the plunge ended, Mike's knees struck stone. He gasped, clutching at his chest. The air was heavy, choked with ash, and the sky above was torn between endless night and a burning red horizon. Mountains of blackened bone rose in the distance, their jagged spines glowing faintly as though embers lingered within.
Mike staggered to his feet, the ground beneath him cracked and pulsing faintly, alive with some buried heartbeat. Where… where am I?
"You stand within yourself," came a voice, deep and resonant. Bahamut's tone was not the weary growl that had haunted his dreams, but thunder rolling across the sky. "This is your crucible, hatchling. The marrow of your soul, tangled with the bones of Kur and the whispers you fed."
Mike turned in a circle. Shadows stretched at the edges of the plain, shifting and writhing, faces flickering within them, screaming villagers, eyes wide, their mouths forever frozen in terror. He stumbled back, chest tightening. "No… no, not them again."
"They are yours," Bahamut said grimly. His form began to emerge before Mike, vast wings of light unfurling, a dragon vast as mountains yet half-shrouded in flame. "The ones you tore, the blood you swallowed. They do not fade. They are part of you now, as much as the scales on your skin."
Mike's throat closed. "I didn't want this! I didn't choose—"
"Choice was made when you consumed," another voice hissed, slithering from the shadows. The ground trembled, and from the black bones rose another shape. Massive, horned, its eyes burning with a faded red light. Kur's form, distorted, spectral, and skeletal dragged itself free of the marrow of the land. His voice was a chorus of whispers, each one cutting like glass.
"You devoured me, thief. You wear my death. You claim my strength. But you cannot master it. You are no dragon, you are a carrion beast, gnawing at the remains of gods."
Mike backed away, heart hammering, as the villagers' faces turned toward him, their mouths opening to scream in unison. The sound cut into his skull until he dropped to his knees, hands clamped over his ears.
"Enough!" he roared, though his voice cracked under the weight of it. "I never wanted any of this! I was just trying to survive!"
Kur's skeletal maw opened in a mockery of laughter, the sound like rocks grinding together. "Survival is feeding. Feeding is hunger. Hunger is you."
Bahamut's roar split the air, shaking the cracked ground. "Do not listen, hatchling. He is the rot within you. If you yield to him here, the council will end you. Stand and prove yourself, or die giving up."
Mike forced himself up, trembling, his breath ragged. The whispers surged louder, the villagers' screams joined by new voices, Maymun's disappointment, Hamza's condemnation, Binyai's cold pronouncement. They swirled together until he could not tell where his thoughts ended and theirs began.
His fists clenched, claws slowly forming at the ends of his fingers. He looked from Bahamut's burning gaze to Kur's skeletal grin.
Two paths stood before him, both unbearable.
And in the silence between their voices, another whisper stirred, his own.
If I can't master this… then I deserve to fall.
The ground split open at his feet, golden chains rising again, trying to bind him even here within himself. He screamed and fought against them, torn between the dragon's fire and the beast's hunger, knowing that this trial would test his soul.
The golden chains clawed their way out of the ground, looping around Mike's wrists, chest, and throat. He writhed against them, the metal biting deep, burning like fire under his skin. But these chains were not Maymun's, they were his own, spun from guilt and fear, forged in every moment he had tried to run from what he had done.
The faces of the villagers loomed closer, mouths open, their screams splitting the air. He tried to shut his eyes, but the images burned against his lids, sharper when unseen. Blood on his claws. Sorina's eyes wide with betrayal. The copper tang of flesh in his mouth.
"No!" Mike roared, thrashing against the bindings. His voice cracked, raw with denial. "That wasn't me! I wasn't in control!"
Kur's skeletal form loomed larger, bones clattering as shadows swirled around him. His maw gaped wide, whispering in countless voices, male and female, child and elder, each one belonging to a villager he had slain.
Not you? But who then? Your claws are yours. Your hunger was yours. You tore, you fed, you swallowed. Was it Bahamut's fangs in their flesh? Was it mine?
Mike trembled violently, tears welling as the weight of the words crushed him. His knees buckled, forcing him to the ground. He wanted to scream back, to deny, but the screams of the dead drowned out his thoughts.
Bahamut's form loomed above them both, massive wings folding inward. His golden eyes seared into Mike.
"Stand, hatchling. These chains are not forged of Maymun's essence, they are yours. They are what you believe. If you do not master them, you will drown in them."
"I can't!" Mike rasped, his voice breaking. His chest heaved, every breath torn from him like fire in his lungs. "I didn't mean to kill them… I thought I was protecting them! I tried… I tried!"
"Intent does not wash away blood," Bahamut said, grim and unyielding. "And yet intent is the path forward. If you run from what you have done, you become nothing more than Kur's shadow. If you accept it, you may yet rise."
Kur's laughter rolled through the land like a storm. His bony claws dragged through the ash, splitting the ground.
"Rise? He will never rise. He is mine now. A beast, no matter how he claws at righteousness. He tastes their fear even now. Look at him, look at the truth."
The villagers' faces swarmed closer, surrounding Mike in a circle. Each one was clear now, their wounds vivid, ripped arms, broken ribs, burned flesh. Sorina stood among them, her arm missing, her eyes hollow.
Mike's chest collapsed inward. He shook his head frantically, chains rattling, tears spilling freely. "I wanted to protect all of you! Please, I tried… I wasn't myself—"
Her face twisted into fury, her scream piercing the air: "LIAR!"
The circle of villagers surged at him, their hands clawing, dragging him down. Their touch burned, every hand a brand of guilt. The chains dragged tighter, pinning him to the cracked earth. He gasped, clawing against them, his strength crumbling.
"Let it in," Kur hissed, his voice oily and insidious. "The hunger will silence them. Devour the guilt. Devour the pain. Devour everything."
For a heartbeat, the temptation nearly consumed him. If he gave in, if he just fed again, the screams might stop.
But Bahamut's roar shook the crucible, rattling the bones of the world. "Resist, hatchling! This is your essence, your trial! If you kneel to hunger, you will never rise. Master yourself!"
Mike's claws scraped the ground, trembling. His breath came in ragged sobs. He looked at Sorina's face, twisted by grief and fury, and forced himself to whisper through the chains tightening on his throat:
"I was supposed to protect you… I failed you. But I will not let Kur make me a liar again."
The chains pulsed, their golden light flickering faintly, as though his words had shaken them. But the villagers screamed louder, Sorina's voice rising above them all, hammering at his resolve.
Mike's essence trembled on the edge between breaking and binding.