Once, Conus had scoffed at gods and myths. He was an atheist, irreligious to the core. Yet here he stood, face-to-face with a being that claimed to have existed before creation itself. The embodiment of Darkness stood close enough to touch.
"Young Conus," the being said, his voice smooth as silk and resonant as thunder. "Take my hand, and let our pact be sealed."
Conus's throat tightened. He swallowed hard, then extended his hand. Their palms met, and a cold shiver raced through him as though ink itself poured into his veins.
The mirror on the wall flickered, drawing his gaze. A black mark appeared on his skin, etched beneath his right eye like a jagged bolt of lightning.
"What happens now?" Conus whispered, tearing his eyes away from the reflection.
"Now," Lord Darkness said, lifting his hand in a sweeping motion, "your training begins."
The world twisted. The bed, the walls, the familiar weight of his room dissolved. Conus staggered as reality folded in on itself, then reformed.
He stood in a forest. Towering pinewoods loomed overhead, their shapes swallowed by shadow. There was no moonlight, no stars, yet somehow Conus could see every branch and stone as though his eyes had been remade for the dark.
His breath quickened. "Where are we?"
"Calm yourself," Lord Darkness replied, gliding forward like a specter. "This is Purgatory."
"Purgatory?" Conus repeated, tasting the word with unease.
"Yes. A place of torment," Darkness said casually, almost indifferent. "But it will serve other purposes."
He flicked his wrist.
Something appeared before them. It was no taller than a child, with no neck, its grotesque head merging directly into its shoulders. Limbs jutted at odd angles, arms too long and ending in clawed fingers, legs bent like broken sticks. At first, its stubby form and wide eyes seemed almost comical. Then its mouth split open.
Rows of jagged teeth gleamed as its jaw unhinged wider than seemed possible. Claws slid from its fingers with a wet sound.
Conus's heart lurched. "What is that?" He stumbled back, every nerve screaming for him to run.
"A nightmare," Lord Darkness said simply.
He snapped his fingers. High above, glowing numbers flared against the black sky. Seven hours. The countdown began.
"Survive until the timer reaches zero," Darkness said, "and a new life awaits you."
"And if I fail?" Conus asked, voice raw, eyes locked on the nightmare.
"Then you die. And your soul becomes one of them."
"What? Wait!" Conus spun toward the voice, but Darkness was gone. Only the trees, the dark, and the creature remained.
The nightmare's head tilted. Its eyes narrowed with malice. Then it lunged.
A dagger materialized in Conus's hand. Its blade was short but sturdy, etched with inscriptions that glowed faintly, symbols he did not recognize.
He tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, but his gaze locked on the monster.
"Alright then," he muttered, swallowing his fear. His voice trembled, but there was steel beneath it. "Let's do this."
The nightmare struck.
It closed the distance in a blur, faster than Conus could follow. His eyes widened as claws raked across his chest, shredding fabric and splitting skin. Heat seared through him. He staggered back several steps, nearly losing his footing.
With a hiss, he tore the ruined night robe from his body. Now he stood in only his underclothes, crimson gashes marking his chest.
The creature came again, relentless. Its claws sliced down, but this time they met steel. The impact jolted through his arm, the dagger ringing in his grip. He stumbled aside, but the nightmare was already upon him, striking again and again, claws flashing like blades.
He twisted, barely evading a swipe that would have gutted him. Another strike caught his shoulder, shallow but stinging. He gasped, teeth clenched, heart pounding. The nightmare pressed him hard, forcing him into a rhythm of desperate dodges and shaky blocks. Each miss left another cut, another trail of blood.
Minutes stretched like hours. His breaths grew ragged, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. Finally, his knees buckled and he dropped, bloodied and shaking, the dagger slick in his hand.
The nightmare loomed above him, claws raised for the final strike.
Something inside Conus snapped.
He surged upward, throwing himself into the attack. The claws ripped into his side, tearing flesh, but compared to the torment he had lived with every night of his life, this was nothing.
With a roar, he drove the dagger into the creature's oversized head. The blade sank deep. The nightmare shrieked, a sound like tearing metal, before its body dissolved into black vapor.
The smoke rushed into him. Conus gasped, inhaling instinctively as the darkness invaded his lungs. Heat flooded his veins, and was soon replaced with pleasure. His wounds knit shut. Strength returned to his limbs. His body filled up with raw, intoxicating power.
He rose to his feet, flexing his hands, marveling at the surge of energy. He was stronger. Faster. Alive in a way he had never known.
Above him, the glowing timer ticked down. Six hours and forty minutes remained.
A ripple passed through the forest. Two more nightmares materialized, their forms twisting into shape with grotesque grins.
Conus exhaled slowly, lifting the dagger into a ready stance. "Round two," he murmured. His voice no longer trembled.
This fight was different.
He moved with motive now. Each step was measured. Each swing calculated. He dodged where before he had stumbled, struck where before he had flailed. The dagger flowed like an extension of his arm, guided by instinct more than training. When the first nightmare lunged, he let the strike pass within inches of his throat and buried the blade in its side. The second he felled with a feint and a quick slash to the head.
Black smoke poured into him again, burning like fire and soothing like balm. His wounds closed. His strength grew.
The waves kept coming. Four nightmares. Then six. Then nine. They were faster, stronger, hungrier. Conus fought with growing desperation, his blade flashing through the dark, his body moving on the knife-edge of exhaustion. Each kill restored him, but the mental strain never left. Fear gnawed at him even as his strength grew.
By the final hour, he was drenched in sweat and blood, his breath uneven, his muscles trembling. Then they came in force. Dozens of nightmares, more than fifty, rushing from every direction.
Conus roared, throwing himself into the fray. His dagger carved through shadows. His body twisted and struck like a beast unchained. Claws tore his flesh and teeth bit deep, but he endured. Every inhalation of black vapor forced him back to his feet. Pain was nothing new to him. Pain had been his forge.
But even he had limits.
By the time the timer burned down to its final second, Conus collapsed, sprawled on the soil of Purgatory. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. His vision dimmed. The world faded to black.
He woke in his bed.
Morning light spilled across his window. The forest, the timer, the nightmares were gone like a dream dissolving with dawn. Yet the mark beneath his eye still burned faintly against his skin.
Then a screen of light appeared before him.
The screen hovered in the air, its runes glowing as they shifted into language he could read.
Conus recoiled, then leaned closer, heart pounding.
Name: Conus Aromane
Age: 17
Level: 7 (F)
Skills: Night Vision, Death Rot, Shadow Movement, Terror
Weapon: Night Dagger
Countdown to Next Trial: 3 Weeks
His mouth went dry. It looked like something out of a game. As his eyes scanned the skills, he began to understand the abilities magically. It felt like the knowledge was being automatically absorbed into his mind.
Night Vision, the way he now saw through darkness. Death Rot, a skill that corroded life once a wound is created. Shadow Movement, the ability to travel the shadows. Terror, the ability to summon fear in a creature's heart.
Almost without thinking, he flicked his wrist. Shadows coiled in his hand, solidifying into a black dagger.
Conus stared at it, and for the first time in his life, he smiled.
He was no longer a Normie.
The dagger dissolved back into smoke. He turned again to the screen.
Countdown to Next Trial: 3 Weeks.
The words tightened his stomach. Returning to Purgatory was unbearable to think about, but it was necessary. If he wanted to grow stronger, there was no escaping it.
Unlike him, other pugnators never went to a strange world to complete trials for strength. They killed otherworlders for that.
His thoughts spiraled until the creak of a door snapped him back.
Alora stepped into the room, her red hair catching the morning light. Her warm brown eyes widened at the sight of him.
"Conus?" she whispered.