Hours crawled by like days.
The air had grown so dense it felt alive, pressing against Aeron's skin like a physical entity. His muscles trembled under the strain, his breathing shallow but measured. The floor beneath him vibrated softly, a constant reminder that the gravitational array was still intensifying.
He had lasted through twelve hours already. Most hadn't.
Only about a third of the students remained now, their bodies locked in unnatural stillness, faces pale and drenched with sweat.
Aeron's cloak clung to him, soaked through. Every inch of his body screamed for release, his bones creaking like strained steel. His vision blurred occasionally, but each time he refocused, anchoring his mind to a single thought.
Endure.
The gravity wasn't just a weight—it was a voice whispering for him to collapse, to let go, to give up. He knew that voice well. He'd heard it before—in pain, in isolation, in the heart of death itself.
And just like then, he ignored it.
Still… his strength was fading.
His breathing hitched. A faint crack echoed from his shoulder. Blood trickled from his nose, dark and sluggish. The pressure was no longer external; it felt as though his very organs were being crushed inward.
He gritted his teeth. His thoughts grew hazy. His pulse quickened erratically.
And then he felt it.
A pulse of energy deep within his chest—dark, slow, and rhythmic. Venom Heart.
He could feel the green hue in his veins stirring, whispering to be unleashed. The poison energy coiled beneath his skin like a living thing, waiting for his command.
He hesitated for only a breath.
Then he gave in.
A low hum rippled through him as Venom Heart awakened. His blood felt heavier, thicker, almost toxic. The pain in his body didn't vanish—it twisted, reshaping itself into something tolerable. The venom energy coursed through his veins, reinforcing his tissues, hardening his resolve.
The pain dulled to a throb. His breathing steadied.
The air around him shimmered faintly with a greenish haze, visible only for a heartbeat before fading again. His Plague Aura bled into the environment, quietly devouring the excess energy that threatened to crush him.
He was adapting.
He felt the gravity, but it no longer felt like an enemy—it became part of his rhythm.
Aeron exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's more like it."
The book's voice drifted softly in his mind.
"Clever. You're not resisting the weight—you're absorbing it."
"Didn't plan to," Aeron muttered through clenched teeth. "It just… happened."
"That's the essence of growth," the book replied.
He closed his eyes again, centering himself. The poison energy merged seamlessly with the Death Law inside him, intertwining like two serpents. Every heartbeat hurt—but each one also carried him further past his limits.
The hours passed slowly, painfully, but steadily.
By hour eighteen, only nine remained.
The rest had been removed from the hall—some unconscious, some broken beyond recovery. The pressure was now strong enough to deform the floor slightly under their bodies, and faint sparks of distortion flickered in the air.
Even breathing now felt like drawing air through molten lead.
Aeron's bones groaned audibly when he shifted position. He could barely lift his head, but his eyes burned with focus. The timer overhead read 06:00:00.
"Still standing?" a voice rasped from a few platforms away. It was the dragonkin from before, his crimson scales cracked and glistening with sweat. "Didn't think a human would last this long."
Aeron didn't look at him. "Guess you thought wrong."
The dragonkin let out a weak, humorless laugh before another tremor of gravity forced him silent.
The fifth surge came moments later.
It hit like a hammer.
The air screamed.
The floor cracked.
And for a heartbeat, Aeron thought his ribs had shattered.
He fell forward, catching himself with his hands. His arms trembled violently; blood spilled from his mouth, splattering on the obsidian floor.
The pressure was absolute now. It felt as though the world itself was trying to crush him into dust.
He wanted to move—he couldn't. He wanted to scream—he didn't.
Instead, he let his Plague Aura expand.
The faint, toxic mist flared around him, visible this time—a sickly green halo that shimmered faintly in the dim light. It didn't resist the gravity; it fed on it, siphoning the ambient pressure and turning it into faint waves of poisonous energy that diffused through his body.
He could breathe again. Barely.
His lungs burned, but they still worked.
He was no longer on the verge of breaking—just suffering.
And that, he could handle.
---
Hour 22.
The hall was silent except for the sound of strained breathing. Only four remained now.
The dragonkin had collapsed hours ago. Two elves still held on, their faces serene but their limbs trembling. Aeron sat unmoving, head bowed, eyes half-lidded. His body screamed with every heartbeat, but he no longer cared.
The weight was everywhere, crushing, suffocating—but it had also sharpened something inside him. His senses had become sharper, more attuned. He could hear his heartbeat echo through his skull, steady and deliberate.
He had learned something through the pain: how to listen to it.
The final surge came without warning.
Hour 24.
The air imploded with a soundless roar. The gravity multiplied one last time—dense enough to bend the light, to warp the edges of vision.
One of the elves screamed before their consciousness snapped and they vanished in a flash of white light. The other followed moments later, body folding like paper under an invisible hand.
And then, there was silence.
Aeron sat alone.
His back was hunched, his hair plastered to his forehead, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. The floor beneath him was spiderwebbed with cracks.
The pressure pressed harder and harder—yet he didn't move.
He had reached that point beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond even thought.
It wasn't strength that kept him upright anymore. It was defiance.
Seconds stretched into eternities.
Then, with a sudden pulse of light, the weight vanished.
The air rushed back like a storm. The hall brightened. The timer hit 00:00:00.
Aeron collapsed forward, catching himself just before hitting the floor. He stayed there, breathing raggedly, as the sound of faint footsteps echoed.
The instructor approached, their armored silhouette framed by the soft glow of the arena lights.
"Impressive," they said quietly. "Out of three hundred and twelve participants, only one remains conscious."
Aeron looked up slowly, eyes burning white with faint streaks of red. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The instructor studied him for a moment, then nodded once. "You can rest now."
---
When he finally stood again, the hall was empty. His body screamed with every step, but his mind was strangely quiet.
He could still feel the ghost of that crushing weight pressing against him, but now it was gone—and in its absence, something else filled the void.
Control.