The moment Carlos stepped toward his chosen door, the rune carved into its black surface pulsed like a heartbeat. The others watched in silence, their faces lined with worry, but none of them spoke. Each knew the truth now: beyond these doors, they were alone.
He turned once, meeting Lys's steady gaze. There was trust there, and something else—an unspoken promise that she would be waiting on th
Carlos nodded to her,
Blinding light cons
When the glare faded, he stood in a vast arena. The ground was a perfect circle of cracked stone, scorched with old scars of battle. Black pillars ringed the edge, rising into darkness that had no ceiling. A heavy silence hung over everything, broken only by the slow drip of unseen water echoing through the
A message appeared across his vision:
"The Trial of One. You carry the Flame of Endurance and the Echo of Reflection. But power alone does not make a victor. Prove your worth—or be unma
Carlos tightened his grip on the Blade of Ascension. "Alright then," he muttered. "Let's see wh
The ground trembled. From the shadows bet
At first, they looked like faceless statues—hulking warriors of obsidian, their edges jagged and sharp. But as they stepped into the arena, Carlos's blood ran cold.
They weren't strangers.
They were him.
Seven versions of Carlos, each wielding a weapon, each wearing his face twisted with different emotions—rage, doubt, fear, despair, greed, arrogance, and apathy. His own flaws, shaped into warriors of stone and steel.
The Helm's voice whispered: "Defeat yourself—or be consumed by yourself."
The first Carlos charged, the one of rage. His eyes glowed crimson, and he swung a massive two-handed axe that cracked the floor with each strike. Carlos barely dodged, rolling aside, sparks flying as the axe missed his head by inches.
He countered, slashing upward with the Blade of Ascension. The weapon flared white, biting into the doppelgänger's chest. The figure roared, shattering into shards of obsidian that dissolved into mist.
But the others closed in.
Fear lashed at him with a whip, every strike making Carlos's chest tighten, his breath hitch. Doubt circled, shield in hand, muttering words that dug into his mind: "You're not strong enough. You don't belong here. You're just an ordinary man pretending to be a hero."
Carlos growled through clenched teeth. "I've heard enough of that my whole damn life." He slammed into Doubt, knocking the shield aside and driving his blade through the figure's heart.
It crumbled like broken glass.
But the battle only escalated.
Despair fought with twin daggers, every strike laced with shadows that slowed Carlos's limbs, dragging him down with the weight of old regrets. Greed hurled chains of gold, each one tightening around Carlos's arms and legs, pulling him toward the ground. Apathy stood still, eyes hollow, its presence draining Carlos of the will to move, to fight, to even breathe.
The arena became chaos. Carlos stumbled, barely able to stand, every flaw pressing down on him, every weakness clawing for dominance. His knees buckled under the strain.
For a heartbeat, he wanted to give up. To collapse. To admit they were right.
But then he remembered Lys's eyes. Rina's smirk. Thalor's steady hand. Maren's quiet strength.
And he remembered the gray apartment. The empty fridge. The man he used to be—the one who let life pass him by.
That man was dead.
"I am not you," Carlos roared, surging upward with newfound strength. White fire blazed along the Blade of Ascension, brighter than ever before. He spun, cutting through the chains of Greed, shattering the hollow mask of Apathy, and tearing through Despair's shadows with a single blazing strike.
The figures screamed as they disintegrated, one by one, until only a single doppelgänger remained.
Arrogance.
It smirked at him, mirroring his stance perfectly, the Blade of Ascension clutched in its hands—a perfect copy.
"You think you've changed," it sneered, voice identical to his own. "But you're still just Carlos. The nobody. The dreamer who needed a game to make him feel alive. Without the Helm, you're nothing."
Carlos gritted his teeth. "Maybe I was nothing. But I chose to fight. I chose to lead. I chose to become more."
They clashed.
Blade struck blade, the arena echoing with the sound of their battle. Sparks and light filled the void, each strike like thunder. The fight was unlike anything Carlos had faced—because every move he knew, every trick, every instinct, his enemy matched perfectly.
The duel stretched on, brutal and relentless. Sweat poured down Carlos's face, his arms aching, his body screaming for rest. But he refused to stop.
Finally, he saw it. A hesitation. A momentary flicker of doubt in Arrogance's eyes.
Carlos feinted left, then drove his blade upward in a brutal arc. The Blade of Ascension pierced his twin's chest.
The false Carlos staggered, staring in shock, before dissolving into mist.
Silence fell.
The arena floor cracked, light spilling from the fractures. The Helm's voice whispered one final time:
"You have conquered yourself. The Trial of One is complete."
The mist gathered at Carlos's chest, fusing with the other two crystals already inside him. For a heartbeat, his vision blurred, and he felt the combined weight of Reflection, Endurance, and Self-Mastery. It was overwhelming—yet empowering.
When he blinked, he was no longer in the arena.
He stood before the others once more, back in the chamber of five doors. His body was drenched in sweat, his clothes torn, but his eyes burned with fire.
The others were watching him—each having faced their own trial, each changed in ways he couldn't yet understand.
No one spoke. They didn't have to.
They were no longer the same people who had walked into those doors.
And the Citadel wasn't finished with them yet.