The third chamber pulsed with dim green light.
As Viper stepped forward, the air thickened—not with heat or pressure, but with tension. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
The doors slammed shut behind him.
Instant silence.
No more footsteps from Dreyl or Saint. No sound from the arena beyond.
Just him.
And the scent of ash and venom.
He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Alright, let's get this over with."
The chamber shifted. Vines fell away to reveal a circular arena carved entirely from obsidian. Ancient runes crawled across the floor, glowing like reptilian scales in the dark. Stone torches flickered with green fire, casting monstrous shadows across the walls.
In the center stood a massive serpent statue—coiled, fanged, its jaw open in a silent scream.
And in front of it… a figure.
Human.
Barefoot, cloaked in black, their face hidden behind a bone-white mask carved like a cobra's skull.
"You are late, traitor," the figure said.
Viper's jaw tightened.
"…No way."
The masked figure removed the hood, revealing a familiar face—one Viper hadn't seen since the day he walked away from the Cradle of Fangs.
His brother.
Raze.
"You're supposed to be dead."
Raze tilted his head. "And yet, here you are—pretending to be free."
Viper raised a hand instinctively, his whip slithering from his sleeve like a coiled predator. "What is this trial supposed to be?"
"Truth," Raze said, stepping down from the serpent statue. "The venom you left behind still runs in your veins. No matter how far you run, you're still one of us."
"I'm nothing like you," Viper growled.
Raze smirked. "Then why do you still dream of the Cradle? Why does your aura still carry the mark?"
The serpent statue glowed behind him. Runes burst to life across the walls. And then the shadows moved.
Not one. Not two.
Twelve assassins, cloaked and masked, emerged from the stone itself—surrounding the arena.
Viper narrowed his eyes.
"The Fangs."
Raze nodded. "Your old brothers and sisters. The ones you betrayed. Now, you must earn your absolution… or die like the rest who strayed."
Before Viper could speak, the first assassin lunged.
Viper snapped his whip forward with deadly speed—striking the attacker across the chest. They crumpled instantly, vanishing into mist.
But another came. Then another.
It was a blur of movement—blades clashing, shadows ripping through air, green sparks flying. Viper danced between them, his whip wrapping around throats and legs, snapping bones and cutting deep.
But the Fangs were relentless.
One slashed his side. Another struck his shoulder. Blood flew.
"You're outnumbered," Raze said, arms crossed. "Just like before. That's why you ran, isn't it?"
Viper didn't answer. His breath was heavy. His stance faltered.
A memory surfaced—unbidden.
—A younger Viper, kneeling before the High Fang, ordered to execute a captured child. An orphan. No older than seven.
He refused.
And they beat him for it. Carved a scar into his back.
"You are not a serpent," the High Fang had said. "You are prey."
That was the night he fled.
Now, here he stood again.
And the voice in his head whispered: Run.
But Viper didn't move.
Instead, he dropped his whip.
Raze frowned. "What are you doing?"
"I'm not here to prove I'm a killer."
Viper reached up and pulled the fang pendant from around his neck—the last relic of the Cradle.
"I'm here to prove I'm something more."
He crushed it in his hand.
Instantly, the assassins froze.
The runes on the ground dimmed.
Raze's eyes widened. "You broke the bond…?"
Viper looked up, his body glowing faintly with emerald energy. "No more chains. No more orders. No more past."
Raze snarled. "Then die, brother."
He charged.
This time, Viper didn't dodge.
He caught the blade—barehanded—and twisted it from Raze's grasp.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore."
Viper struck once—clean and sharp.
Raze dropped to one knee.
Around them, the illusion shattered.
The assassins vanished. The statue crumbled.
And Raze… changed.
His body flickered, revealing not a man, but a puppet made of memory and magic.
A whisper echoed in the chamber.
"Trial complete."
The obsidian walls pulled back, revealing the passage beyond.
Viper stood alone once more.
He walked forward, blood still dripping from his side, but his head held high.
In the hallway, Dreyl leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Took your time," he said.
"Had to bury some things," Viper replied, wiping his mouth.
Saint raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
Viper smirked. "Better than ever."
As they moved toward the final gate, the sigil of the Serpent etched itself onto Viper's jacket—glowing softly.
Saint clapped him on the back. "Three down."
Dreyl glanced at the final chamber ahead.
"One to go."
Viper exhaled, a strange peace settling in his chest.
He had faced his past.
Now… it was Dreyl's turn.