The void itself trembled when Ashen fell into nothingness. No ground carried him, no sky above him, only an eternal abyss opening into a night without end. Suddenly, as if the void itself split, a circular arena appeared, suspended in nothing. A bloody disk carved with strange engravings, letters, skulls, and symbols like forgotten runes from an ancient age.
The ground of the arena was not solid stone, but seemed like fossilized bone mixed with blood. Every step on it made a sharp crack, like breaking bones. At the edges of the disk, huge black chains swayed, but strangely, they were not tied to anything; they just hung in the void, clinking against nothing, producing a screech that chilled the soul.
But all of this was nothing compared to what was above and below.
Above the arena… an enormous eye filled the sky. No clouds, no space, no light… only a colossal eye, its pupil wider than the arena itself. It glowed red, soaked in coagulated blood, releasing a bloody intent like an ocean of madness.
Below the arena… another eye, deeper, darker, larger. Its pupil was black like the abyss, pulsing slowly and terrifyingly. It felt alive, watching, waiting for the moment to strike.
Ashen, standing in the middle of the suspended disk between the two eyes, felt like a grain of dust caught between the jaws of a cosmic beast. His bones groaned under the crushing pressure. Every breath was like a knife stabbing his chest. Worse than this was the certainty he felt: the upper eye was observing his body, breaking him apart, measuring every cell, every bone, every drop of blood… while the lower eye was dissecting his soul, digging into it like a corpse on a table, searching through the deepest layers of his being.
And this was only the beginning.
The arena shook, and bloody engravings appeared on its surface, as if freshly written in living blood, forming terrifying words:
[The Trial of Body and Soul]
The letters blazed like hellfire, and their echo spread in Ashen's head, hammering his soul. Then a voice pierced through—neither human nor divine, but something older than time itself:
— [Whoever wishes to carry the savage intent… must drown his body and soul in pain. He must endure hell until he swallows absolute savagery.]
The words were not heard, but engraved in his brain like a tattoo. They became an eternal law, inescapable.
Then… silence.
But the void was merciless.
A massive bloody light burst from both eyes, joining them in a single crimson pillar that fell upon the arena and covered it. The light was not light, but pure savage intent, waves of madness, blood, and chaos. The instant it touched Ashen, his body shook violently, and his soul screamed without sound.
— "Aaaaaah!"
The scream did not come from his mouth but from his entire being. His bones shattered, his organs burned, his blood boiled. Yet the worst pain was in the soul… as if thousands of claws tore at his spiritual heart.
Then suddenly… everything vanished.
The bloody light, the arena, the eyes… all disappeared.
He found himself suspended in absolute darkness. No ground, no void, no sound. Only eternal silence.
He stayed there, not knowing how much time passed. A second? An hour? A century? Time dissolved and lost all meaning.
Then… the void trembled.
Something unbelievable appeared before him.
The eye. The same eye that had watched his body, now directly in front of him. Its size was so great that Ashen was nothing but a grain of dust in an endless desert. Its pupil widened, threatening to swallow him whole.
— "…!"
There was no sound, but Ashen felt his body being torn out of his being. Just looking into that eye made him feel his flesh separate from his bones, his blood evaporate, his cells explode.
And then… again, the scene vanished.
He was back in the arena, but now the upper eye, the Eye of the Body, burned with savage bloody flames, fire that cursed the very sky. The lower eye, the Eye of the Soul, had gone dark, as if waiting for its turn.
Suddenly… a strange melody pierced his mind.
Not a drum, not a hum… but the music of madness.
Each note was like a dagger in his heart.
The beats grew faster, pounding inside his chest until he felt his heart would explode.
With the next beat…
Boom!
His heart burst. Blood scattered, his body broke, and he fell to his knees, struggling to breathe without a heart. His eyes widened in horror as death crawled toward him.
But he refused.
He refused death.
With hellish willpower, he clung to consciousness. His blood-filled eyes, filled with madness, defied the fall.
And then… he returned.
He was back in the arena, and the melody played again.
This time, it was not the heart… but his head.
Beats echoed, bloody pulses, then—Boom!
His head exploded. His brain scattered. His awareness sank into nothing.
But again… he refused.
He refused to surrender.
He refused to die.
He returned.
Then his heart exploded again.
Then his head.
Then his heart.
Then his head.
A hellish cycle of death and agony, a nightmare with no end. Each time, the pain was more real, more savage, as if death itself mocked him.
With every explosion, every fall, his soul screamed… but one spark never went out: the refusal to surrender.
Crawling in his own blood, barely breathing, he looked up… and saw the flames of the upper eye fading.
As if his constant refusal had weakened it.
But once it went dark, everything vanished again.
He returned to the void. Absolute silence. A killing loneliness.
Then… the other eye appeared.
The lower eye. The Eye of the Soul.
This time, it burned with savage bloody flames.
Ashen was back in the arena.
But it was no longer the same arena.
Around him, walls of mirrors rose—not glass, but congealed blood. In the center of each mirror was a bloody eye staring at him with savagery.
Slowly… the eyes transformed into figures.
Hundreds of copies of him.
But they were not human.
They were bloody, twisted, hideous. Their faces cracked, smiling with madness, laughing and crying at the same time.
— "Cursed."
— "Weak."
— "You should not have survived."
— "A worthless insect."
— "You lived when your clan died… but you are just an ant, destined to be crushed and erased."
Each copy reached out its hand, pulling pieces of his soul. The pain was not physical, but spiritual, like cold flames devouring him from within.
He screamed.
He screamed until his voice tore apart.
The copies did not stop. They laughed madly, tearing at his soul, mocking his weakness, cursing him, whispering in his ear to surrender, to give them his body and soul, to drown forever in the darkness.