The air didn't blow.
It growled.
Matt stepped into a jungle sculpted from nightmares.
Trees rose like titan ribs, clawing toward a thunder-black sky.
Lightning flickered in impossible colors.
The ground breathed blood, ash, and bones too ancient to name.
This was not nature.
This was instinct unbound.
Where mercy had no roots.
Where reason rotted.
The Realm of Beasts—Trial IV.
The soil trembled, taut with anticipation.
Then it came.
A roar—ancient, feral—thunder breaking on his name:
"Matt Salurga… predator, or prey?"
The jungle split.
Something lunged.
A blur of muscle and Voidlight, claws slicing air like sirens.
And then—he saw it.
Himself.
But wilder.
Stripped of restraint. Cloaked in obsidian fur like jagged armor.
Spine arched in a permanent hunt.
Fangs dripping starlit venom.
Eyes made of survival—pure and merciless.
The Wild Matt.
"This is what you would have become," it growled, circling.
"If you'd embraced the beast. After Nyuga.
After you lost everything.
No guilt. No grief. No breaking."
Matt's heart clenched.
But his grip held.
"No pain," the beast offered.
"No doubt."
Matt's eyes narrowed.
"No mercy.
No meaning."
---
Combat Initiated: Matt vs. The Wild Within
They collided like storms.
Claw against blade.
Fury against fire.
Wild Matt moved with brutal grace—pure instinct sharpened into violence.
Every strike landed like truth denied.
Matt's blade cracked. His guard faltered.
Blood hit the roots.
He stumbled.
The beast stalked closer.
Then—
A whisper.
Not from the jungle.
From within.
Soft as memory.
Sharp as home.
"Matt... come home."
Mailane.
Not a vision. A presence.
Not in this realm—but in him.
He remembered her touch. Her tears.
Her belief when he had none.
The beast paused. Snarled.
"She's weakened you."
Matt stood. Broken blade in hand.
But eyes clear.
"No.
She anchored me."
---
He stopped fighting to win.
He started fighting to remember.
He dropped the weapon.
Raised his hand.
Open. Unarmed.
"You're not my enemy.
You're the part of me that survived by forgetting who I am."
Through teeth and fury and memory, he stepped forward.
Placed a hand on the beast's chest—right over its heart.
"But you don't own me anymore."
The beast trembled.
Then it howled.
Not in rage.
In release.
It knelt.
---
From the jungle floor, vines twisted upward—stone and root, fire and claw—
weaving a radiant sigil into the air:
The Mark of Tamed Instinct.
The realm pulsed.
Then exhaled.
A final door appeared—etched in fangs, feathers, and silence.
---
Matt stepped toward it.
Breathing hard.
Soul heavier than ever.
Four trials. Four seals.
But what he carried now wasn't just power.
It was command.
Identity.
Will.
"One more," he whispered.
He crossed the threshold.
The jungle vanished behind him.
Ahead—
Black stone scarred the heavens.
Golden gates glowed with waiting light.
And far beyond…
A throne sat in shadow.