It was only after Draven's reminder that Aaron finally noticed his surroundings. He hadn't really focused on it because of the dragon's overwhelming presence.
He was sitting in a vast, deep red hall. However, he couldn't clearly see its end because thick mist had gathered all around him.
He frowned and guessed the purpose of the mana.
"I constantly leak mana. Usually, it isn't much, but it has accumulated a lot since I've been here for years. You need to absorb it all into your body."
Before Aaron could say anything, Draven continued speaking.
"You want power to defeat the apocalypse, but once you learn the origin of it, you will understand that it is impossible to defeat it unless you become a God."
Aaron remained silent, waiting for him to complete his explanation.
"And you don't have what it takes to be a God, especially since the other Gods will stop your ascension to godhood."
'So, the other gods like the Dawnfire Goddess are real gods?' Aaron raised an eyebrow.
He had thought they were just beings people made up to create cults and churches...
"So, what are you suggesting?" Aaron asked.
"If you successfully assimilate with my mana, you will evolve and gain things you cannot even begin to imagine. I won't waste my time explaining those since I am sure you will end up just like many of your predecessors."
As Aaron turned to look at the hill of bones, Draven chuckled.
"I have never killed anyone here. I just gave them an opportunity, and none of them were worthy enough to seize it. You are the same. So, what do you choose?"
Aaron grinned and, without a second thought, answered, "I will absorb the mana mist."
"Daring, are we?" Draven was amused. "Try it. You will at least entertain me before dying."
Aaron snorted and sat cross-legged on the ground. He closed his eyes, trying to get into a perfectly calm state.
He knew what he was about to do was dangerous, and the chances of him dying were very high. Not to mention that even if he succeeded, the dragon could use him as a vessel or something to get out of the seal.
However, he didn't care about any of that. He wanted to destroy the apocalypse at any cost, and he knew he needed something extraordinary to do that.
He had already walked a normal path once and failed. He didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.
So, to fulfil his goals, he was willing to take any and all risks necessary.
Finally, his mind calmed down, and he began to sense the mana around him. It was still the same mana he used back on Earth, but much more chaotic and filled with thunderous destruction.
'It's to be expected, as it's his mana.'
He took a deep breath, inhaling the mist around him. Instantly, his entire body convulsed.
It was as if molten metal had been poured into his veins.
The first wisp of mana tore through his system like a wild beast unleashed in a glass chamber. His flesh quivered, his muscles spasmed, and every nerve in his body screamed in agony.
The pain wasn't just physical—it was spiritual, mental, and emotional. A trillion needles piercing his soul in perfect synchronisation.
Aaron bit his lip hard enough to bleed, the iron tang grounding him as his vision blurred.
He had experienced pain before. He had fought monsters, survived disasters, even tasted death, but this… this was something else entirely.
It wasn't just pain.
It was rejection.
The mana mist pushed back, repelling his very existence like oil on water. It hated him. It didn't want to be absorbed. It refused to be tamed.
But Aaron clenched his teeth, gritted his soul, and endured.
He refused to let go.
Each second dragged on like an eternity, and time lost all meaning. Minutes bled into hours, and hours into days. In this sealed hall without sun or moon, only agony marked the passage of time.
Draven watched him silently from behind the boundary, his vast body shimmering in and out of existence, eyes half-lidded in amusement. "A stubborn one," he muttered.
A year passed.
At least, that's what Aaron felt. He no longer knew if it was truly a year or a century. His body was in shambles.
His skin had long since turned dark and cracked like scorched earth, black veins crawling through his arms and neck.
His once-human aura was now tainted, corrupted, and strange... neither fully mortal nor anything else.
And still, the mana mist poured into him, day after day, each breath another battle for control.
Sometimes, he screamed.
Sometimes, he couldn't even do that.
His throat had been shredded so many times by the burning mist that even screaming became a luxury.
Sometimes, the mana entered his brain directly, causing hallucinations... visions of his past life, his mother's face, his friends dying in the apocalypse, and a younger version of himself, laughing at his struggle.
"You will fail again," the younger Aaron mocked. "You're not special."
He wanted to stop.
There were moments—dark ones—where he considered it, just… letting go. Letting the mist consume him like it did the others. Maybe death wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could rest.
But then he remembered.
His oath.
His promise.
He remembered the crying children he couldn't save, the cities swallowed by flames, the sky darkened by monsters, and his crushing despair.
"No," he whispered through cracked lips. "I will not lose. Not this time."
Each time he reached the brink of collapse, something deep within him reignited. A stubborn spark.
A flicker of will.
Even as the mana chewed through his flesh and soul, even as the pain never ceased... Aaron persisted.
He slowly began to assimilate.
Not smoothly. Not perfectly. But he endured, and with each passing month, his body began to adapt.
His bones grew stronger. His meridians, once cracked and splintered, began to reinforce with strange crystalline patterns. His blood began to shimmer with traces of red-gold light, and his heart beat with a rhythm no longer entirely human.
Even the mist started behaving differently around him.
It no longer attacked him with full hostility.
It tested him instead.
By the third year, Aaron no longer looked like the man he once was.
His hair had turned silver, his eyes glowed faintly with a crimson hue, and an intricate rune-like mark had formed on his chest where the mana had first entered him. His body emitted a quiet hum, like a tuning fork that resonated with the very air.
And most importantly... he was alive.
Not dead.
Not broken.
Alive.
Barely.
The final trial came without warning.
One day, as he meditated, his body soaked in the mist like a sponge in fire, a wave of pure mana surged from the floor beneath him.
It wasn't the usual oppressive mist. This was a core-dense, concentrated, unrefined energy straight from Draven's soul.
The moment it touched Aaron, his entire being ignited.
It was as if his body was being reborn in the heart of a dying star.
He didn't scream anymore. He couldn't.
His voice had long since died.
But inside, he fought.
His soul splintered. His essence shattered. His will nearly broke.
And yet, he pulled it back together.
'I will survive. I will destroy the apocalypse.'
There was perhaps not a single person who hated the apocalypse more than him.
He poured everything into resisting that overwhelming flood. His thoughts, his fears, his hopes—all were reduced to a single point of clarity.
Assimilate. Or die.
The process was excruciating.
Like ripping himself apart and stitching back together from burning glass. Every second felt like an hour of torment.
But Aaron… endured.
He didn't know how many hours—or days—had passed.
But then—
Silence.
For the first time in three years, the mana mist calmed.
The pain faded.
Aaron opened his eyes.
His body glowed faintly, every pore radiating power. The mist around him no longer resisted... instead, it circled him like a loyal beast, drawn to his breath.
He stood slowly, his knees shaking, his limbs heavy.
And for the first time in what felt like eternity, Draven smiled—genuinely this time.
"Interesting," the dragon murmured. "You survived."
Aaron didn't respond. He simply clenched his fist.
And the mist responded to his will, spiralling around his arm like a living flame.
He had done it.
Three years of unimaginable torment.
But he had assimilated with Draven's mana.
He had survived what no one else could.
And in doing so… he had taken his first true step toward transcendence.