The first wave had broken him. The screams, the villagers' eyes, Sorina's accusing voice, they pressed into him like stones dragging him under a black river. The chains bit deeper, cutting to bone.
But the trial did not relent.
The crucible shifted. The villagers dissolved into ash, their screams echoing even as their forms vanished. From the ground rose the second wave, an ocean of shadows, twisting, writhing, gnashing teeth and clawed maws, all made of hunger.
Kur's laughter cracked through the darkness, bone grinding against bone. His skeletal frame towered over Mike, shadows pouring from the hollow gaps in his ribs.
"You feel it, don't you?" the whispers slithered. "The gnawing, the endless need. That is you. No villagers. No morality. Only hunger. You devour because you are emptiness itself."
The shadows surged at him, plunging into his mouth, his chest, his veins. His body convulsed, his mind burning with hunger. For one dizzy moment, he saw Sorina not as a victim, but as prey. He saw her flesh as sustenance, her blood as life.
"No!" Mike roared, twisting against the chains. His throat felt torn raw. "That's not me, I'm not just hunger!"
The shadows clawed deeper, whispering promises with every bite:
You will never be weak again.
You will never lose again.
All will fall before you, and you will never be hungry.
His body shuddered. His chest heaved. For a terrifying instant, he wanted it, wanted the blood, the power, the release from guilt.
Bahamut's voice split the storm.
"Stand tall, hatchling! Hunger is not mastery. Power is not destiny. You must decide, are you its servant, or its master?"
Mike gagged against the shadows pressing into him, the hunger swelling until he could scarcely breathe. "I—I can't—" His voice broke, his chest trembling. "I can't carry this. I don't want this power anymore!"
Kur's bony maw split into a jagged grin.
"Then yield it to me. Return what you've stolen. I will feast. I will finish what you are too weak to begin."
The shadows surged, pressing harder. The chains strained and groaned as though even they feared snapping under the weight of his turmoil. Mike clenched his teeth, his eyes blazing crimson. Tears burned hot down his face.
"No. No, it's mine. I'll carry it. Even if it breaks me, I'll carry it."
The shadows screamed, recoiling like smoke in the wind. Kur's maw snapped shut, his laughter replaced by a hiss of fury. The chains trembled, the golden glow flickering brighter, as though strengthened by his defiance. But the crucible did not end.
The third wave came.
The darkness thinned, giving way to silence. Not screams, not whispers, but an emptiness more suffocating than either. The world faded into a void, and Mike stood alone, his chains falling away. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was no weight on his limbs, no voices gnawing at his mind. Only silence.
And there standing before him was himself.
A mirror image, human in form, but his eyes burned with crimson flame. His reflection carried no chains, no wounds, no tremors. It smiled, calm and cold.
"You keep fighting to deny what you are," it said evenly. "But what if this is you? The monster. The killer. The devourer. Maybe the villagers saw the truth before you did."
Mike's breath caught. He stepped back, heart hammering. "You're not me."
His reflection tilted its head. "I am exactly you. The part that doesn't hesitate. The part that doesn't feel guilt. The part that wins."
The silence pressed in, heavier than chains. Bahamut's voice did not come this time. Neither did Kur's. There was no guidance, only the reflection, waiting for him to answer.
Mike's fists clenched. His throat burned. "If you're me… then I'm not running anymore. I'll carry you too. I'll carry it all, the hunger, the guilt, the blood. Because if I can't, then everyone else is right. I'll be nothing but a beast."
The reflection studied him for a long moment, then stepped forward. The two figures overlapped, Mike and his shadow merging, light and crimson fire colliding in his chest.
The crucible shook. The ground split. Golden light surged outward, burning through the void.
And in the council chamber, the runes at Mike's feet flared blindingly as the chains rattled like thunder. The reflection dissolved into light, absorbed into his chest. For a heartbeat, Mike felt balance, his mind no longer tearing at the seams. The hunger, the guilt, the rage, all braided together into something whole. But the crucible was not done.
The ground beneath him split wide, a chasm tearing through the void. From its depths poured fire and radiance, divine essence unshackled. It rose like a tidal wave, blinding white and gold, and within it, a hundred voices shrieked in discord.
We are the souls you devoured.
We are the bones you stole.
You are ours. You are only a vessel.
The wave struck him, engulfing him in divine fire. His flesh seared, his veins turned molten, his body threatening to collapse.
Mike screamed. His knees buckled, but the ground beneath him no longer felt solid, it was as if he were dissolving into the essence itself. Images tore through him in rapid succession: Enki's blazing fury, Kur's roar, Bahamut's radiant wings, Hecate's cold fire, mortals crushed beneath his claws.
The voices howled, pulling him apart. Submit. Yield. Vanish. Be unmade in us.
Mike's body convulsed, his vision turning white. For a moment, he thought the council outside might be right, maybe he was just a fractured vessel, destined to burn out.
And then through the cacophony Bahamut's voice thundered one last time.
"Hatchling! Do not forget yourself! You are not vessel. You are not bone. You are not me. YOU ARE YOU. Stand!"
Something inside him snapped, not in surrender, but in defiance. He forced his head up, the fire scouring his throat raw, and roared back into the storm of voices.
"ENOUGH! You are not my masters! You are not my fate! You are mine! I carry you, I wield you, and I will not be broken by you!"
The divine wave surged again, trying to crush him but instead of drowning, he seized it. His arms spread wide, the fire lashing around him like chains, and he dragged the torrent inward. Every scream, every divine fragment, every whisper he pulled them into his soul.
The agony was indescribable. His body felt as if it would shatter. But slowly, the voices shifted from shrieking chaos to a low hum, like chords in a single note. The fire dimmed from blinding white to a steady, molten glow in his veins.
Mike fell to one knee, chest heaving, his eyes blazing crimson rimmed with gold. For the first time, the essence did not overwhelm him. It bowed, smoldering but bound.
The crucible quaked, the void splitting apart, and then shattered as Mike let out a roar.