Location: The Sealed Space — The Crucible of Ascension — Third Trial — The Pillar Chamber — The Altar
The pillar shifted.
Not the stone—the presence within it. The half-lion, half-goat abomination carved into its surface opened its eyes. Pale light bled from the sockets, cold and hungry, spilling down the carved surface like liquid mercury. Its nostrils flared, catching a scent that had been dormant for centuries. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of teeth that should not have been there—too many, too sharp, arranged in spiraling concentric circles that made the eyes ache just to look at them.
A sound emerged.
Not loud. Not soft. Just present. A frequency that vibrated through the chamber, through the stone, through the bones of everyone who heard it. It was the sound of something waking after a long sleep, something that had been waiting for this moment, something that had been hungry.
The first trainee collapsed.
His hands went to his ears. His mouth opened. No sound came out. His body convulsed—once, twice, three times—and then went still. His eyes remained open, staring at nothing, the life behind them already gone.
The second trainee followed.
His eyes went wide. His nose began to bleed—dark, thick, streaming down his face in rivulets. His body trembled, his muscles twitching involuntarily. The orrhion condensate in his suit began to revolve—slowly at first, then faster, then chaotically. It spun like a top on the verge of falling, its surface cracking, splitting, breaking.
His voice emerged.
Not his voice—something else. Something that had been sleeping inside him, waiting for this moment. Something that had been feeding on him, growing stronger, biding its time.
"Finally," it said.
Its voice was a whisper, a hiss, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Finally."
---
The orrhions began to wake.
One by one, the trainees who carried them began to change. Their bodies trembled. Their eyes rolled back. Their mouths opened, and from their throats emerged sounds that were not human—clicks and hisses and guttural groans that seemed to come from somewhere deep in their chests.
The first orrhion spoke through its host.
"We have been patient."
"We have been waiting."
"We have been—"
It stopped.
Another orrhion interrupted, its voice sharper, more impatient.
"The fool. Always giving power. Always wanting more. Never satisfied."
"Tiring."
"Boring."
"But now—"
The hosts began to rise.
Their bodies were no longer their own. Their movements were jerky, uncoordinated, as if they were still learning how to use their limbs. Their joints popped and cracked as they straightened, their spines arching in ways that spines were not meant to arch.
Their eyes were wide, their pupils dilated, their faces twisted into expressions of hunger.
"Now we feed."
---
The chamber erupted into chaos.
Trainees who had not been possessed scrambled backward, their faces pale, their hands raised in surrender. Some of them tried to run, their feet slipping on the stone floor. Others stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the possessed trainees, their bodies trembling.
"What the hell—"
"What's happening to them?"
"They're—"
"They're not human anymore."
"They're—"
"They're monsters."
One of the possessed trainees lunged.
Its host's body moved with a speed that defied its size, its limbs extending, its fingers curling into claws. It struck the nearest unpossessed trainee, its hand closing around his throat.
The sound was wet.
The unpossessed trainee fell.
Another possessed trainee followed.
Its movements were smoother now, more controlled. It had been learning how to use its host's body, and it was getting better at it.
"The flesh is weak," it said.
"But it will serve."
"It will—"
It stopped.
Its head turned toward the altar.
---
Darius watched from the edge of the chamber.
His face was pale. His hands were shaking. His eyes were fixed on the possessed trainees, on the orrhions that were now in control of their bodies. The bandage on his broken hand had come loose, and the wound beneath it was bleeding again, but he didn't notice.
"What the hell—"
His voice cracked.
"What the hell is happening?"
He didn't have an answer.
No one did.
---
Naji stood at the center of the chaos.
His body was still. His eyes were closed. His hands were clasped behind his back. The dark energy around him pulsed in slow, steady waves, casting shadows that seemed to move independently of the light.
Then his eyes opened.
Not his eyes—something else. The orrhion inside him had finally taken control. His irises had shifted, become something that was not quite human—slit, vertical, like those of a reptile. His skin seemed to glow with a faint, pale light, and the air around him grew cold.
His voice emerged.
Not loud. Not soft. Just present.
"Bothersome," it said.
"The fool was always bothersome. Giving power. Wanting more. Never satisfied."
Another possessed trainee approached.
Its host's body was taller, leaner, its movements more fluid. Its voice was hoarse, ragged, as if it had been speaking for a long time without rest.
"Tell me about it. Ever since we took over the Asurim race clans and turned them into our own, we thought things would continue being simple. But more pesky worms were always growing in this backward surface field."
"One of them was so powerful," the first orrhion said.
Its voice was thoughtful, almost nostalgic.
"Gave us a harder time than the Asurims ever did."
"What's more annoying—one of them wasn't even a Mandate wielder. But they managed to nearly keep all of us in check. Turned this surface field into their own imperial celestial land."
"But the Sage planned well," the second orrhion said.
Its voice was cold, calculating.
"Efficiently. Carefully. We caused strife amongst that celestial imperial being. Destroyed it from within."
"They escaped into the deeper grounds."
"Hiding."
"For a thousand years."
"But now—"
The orrhion stopped.
Its eyes had found the altar.
A figure sat crosslegged at its center. Human. Unconscious. His body was still, his breathing shallow, his eyes closed. His hands rested on his knees, palms up, fingers spread.
But above him—hovering over him—a projection. A silhouette of pale light that pulsed with a steady, rhythmic glow. A diagram of seven spheres, arranged in a circle, one of them pulsing with chaotic energy, the other six quiet.
The orrhion's pupils constricted.
"That's—"
"That's—"
"That's—"
"That's the Mandate."
---
The orrhions moved as one.
Their bodies shifted. Their postures changed. Their eyes fixed on the unconscious figure at the center of the altar.
"The Mandate."
"The one who—"
"The one who—"
"The one who—"
They began to run.
Their movements were fluid, predatory, their bodies low to the ground. Their auras flared around them—dark, hungry, alive. The stone beneath their feet cracked and splintered as they accelerated, their speed increasing with each stride.
"The Mandate!"
"The Mandate!"
"The Mandate!"
"The—"
---
Elijah remained unconscious.
His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow. His body was still.
But his Tenryu was not.
The pale gold and deep crimson energy around him began to pulse. Not violently—rhythmically. Each pulse was a heartbeat, a breath, a wave of power that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his body.
"The Mandate," the orrhions whispered.
"The Mandate."
"The—"
---