The factory loomed on the horizon like a corpse of steel, a ruin that had never lived yet somehow refused to die. Its chimneys pointed at the sky like broken spears, bleeding smoke the color of ash. The earth around it was blackened, as if the very soil recoiled from its presence. They called it Kronoshpan, a forbidden factory, abandoned by men but never by whispers.
For centuries it had stood untouched. No map carried its name, no road led to its gates. Those who strayed too close vanished, and those who returned spoke in voices trembling, their eyes never the same. Some said the factory was not built by men at all but by something older, something that had slipped through the cracks of reality.
Plamen stood at the edge of its shadow, the air colder than winter despite the heat of his breath. Beside him, his old Sensei's presence was a steady anchor, the man's face lined by both wisdom and scars. Behind them trailed Kamen, his steps hesitant, his gaze fixed on the looming silhouette with an unease that mirrored Plamen's own.
"This place…" Plamen murmured. "It feels like it's alive."
The Sensei's voice was low, grave. "It is alive. But not in the way you think. Kronoshpan does not exist in one world. It devours and connects. Every step inside takes you further from the realm you know."
Plamen looked at him. "And that's where we're training?"
A faint smirk tugged at the old man's lips. "The strongest blades are forged in the hottest fires. And there are no flames hotter than fear itself."
The air thickened as they stepped across the threshold. The factory's rusted gates swung open on their own, shrieking like beasts in pain. Darkness swallowed them, then light burst in jagged pulses. They were no longer in the world they had left.
The dimensions blurred. Walls twisted, ceilings warped, floors stretched into endless plains of corroded iron. Each blink revealed a different corridor, as if the factory reshaped itself to test those who dared to enter. The ground shuddered with distant machinery, though none worked. Shadows moved where no light fell.
"This is a crucible," the Sensei said as they walked, his steps unwavering. "What you face here will not be fire or stone. It will be yourself. Your doubts, your failures, your ghosts. Survive them, and perhaps you will walk out stronger. Fail…" His eyes flicked briefly to Plamen. "…and you will become part of the walls."
Kamen's breath hitched. "Part of the walls? You mean—"
The Sensei did not answer. He didn't need to. The groans of the factory said enough.
Plamen clenched his fists. He had faced danger before, but this place was different. It carried no honor, no clarity. It was pure hostility, and it wanted them broken.
The first trial came silently. A mirror formed in the middle of the corridor, its frame made from writhing steel, its glass dark. Plamen's reflection looked back at him — but then it smiled. He hadn't.
Kamen took a step back. "That's not—"
The reflection stepped out.
It was him. But wrong. Its grin was too wide, its eyes too sharp, its presence dripping with contempt. A Doppelgänger.
The Sensei halted. "Do not expect me to intervene. This is your test, Plamen."
The Doppelgänger's voice split the silence, a distortion of his own. "You can't protect them. You never could."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Plamen staggered back as images tore through his mind — Kalin, broken in a hospital bed; Misho's desperate eyes; Simeon's silence heavy with doubt. All the failures, all the losses, crashing down on him.
The Doppelgänger struck with inhuman speed, its hand wrapping around Plamen's throat, slamming him into the steel floor. Pain blossomed across his back, his lungs burning for air.
"You'll run again when Sasho comes," it hissed, its other arm twisting into a jagged blade of bone. "Because that's all you've ever done."
Kamen's voice echoed weakly. "Plamen, fight back! Don't let it—"
But fear clung like chains. The Doppelgänger's weight crushed him, its words poisoning him. And for a moment, he believed it.
Then — a memory. Laughter, sharp and alive. Kalin's stubborn grin. Simeon's voice cutting through despair. Misho's loyalty. They were still alive. And if he fell here, he would lose them forever.
Plamen's hand shot up, catching the bone blade before it struck. His voice cracked, but his eyes burned.
"I'm not done."
With a roar, he hurled the Doppelgänger off him, both crashing into a shatter of mirrors. Blood ran down his arms, his breath ragged, but fire raged in his chest.
The Doppelgänger rose, smirking, though its grin faltered as Plamen staggered forward.
"You're fighting yourself," it mocked. "Every wound you give me, you'll carry too."
"I don't care," Plamen growled, charging. "If I have to bleed, I'll bleed until nothing's left."
The factory shook with their clash. Fists met claws, steel rang under their strikes. Shadows gathered to watch, whispering in languages older than time. The Doppelgänger's claws ripped into Plamen's shoulder, but he slammed his head into its jaw, tackled it, and struck again and again.
Each punch was more than rage. It was defiance. It was memory. It was love for the ones still waiting.
At last, the Doppelgänger shattered, breaking into smoke and glass. Its laugh lingered a moment, then dissolved into silence.
Plamen collapsed to his knees, bloody and exhausted.
Kamen rushed to him, his face pale. "Plamen… you did it."
The Sensei remained still, his voice calm. "You fought the shadow within yourself. That is only the first door. The factory has more."
The corridor twisted again. The walls peeled open, revealing an abyss darker than night. Screams echoed from its depths, not of men, but of something else.
Kamen's voice cracked. "…We really have to go in there?"
Neither Plamen nor the Sensei answered.
Far from Kronoshpan, the world trembled.
Sasho, the evil being, moved through the Overworld unchecked. Cities crumbled, skies blackened, mountains split. Armies fell before him like insects under a storm. No one could stop him. His laughter bled into the winds, a reminder that resistance was futile.
In the hospital, Kalin lay bandaged, his body fighting to knit itself back together. Misho sat beside him, restless, while Simeon stood by the window, silent, his thoughts heavier than the storm outside.
"Do you think Plamen's alive?" Misho whispered.
Neither of them answered. But deep down, they hoped. They had to.
And in the depths of Kronoshpan, with the screams of the abyss before him, Plamen rose to his feet. His body trembled, his blood painted the steel beneath him, but his resolve had not broken.
If Sasho was tearing the Overworld apart, then here, in the darkest pit of all, Plamen would forge the strength to face him.
The Sensei's eyes glimmered faintly as he turned to the abyss. "Step forward. The trial has only begun."
Plamen took his first step.
And the factory swallowed him whole.