Darkness breathes.
Thick, wet, ancient darkness—older than the stones of the Eastern Temple Ruin, older than the blackened hills around it, older than the creatures that crawl through its tunnels. The colony unfolds beneath the earth like a monstrous wound: towering rib-like structures grown from hardened resin, spiraling shafts that plunge deeper than sight, and chambers carved by claws rather than time. The air is hot, wet, and metallic—like the breath of something dying… or something waiting to feed.
And in the middle of this nightmare, a boy hangs.
Kresor dangles from the jagged claw of a demon, his body limp, skin pale beneath the sheen of blood. The creature drags him through the hive, its heavy limbs cracking dead shells scattered across the floor. Each step echoes like a hammer against Kresor's skull.
The colony is alive.
Walls pulse faintly, veins of dull crimson light throbbing beneath translucent surfaces. Ant-like demons crawl along them, their many eyes glinting like shards of obsidian. Some carry chunks of flesh. Some carry severed limbs. Some carry nothing but hunger.
The horde pushes deeper.
The dead of past trials litter the ground—slain candidates, half-eaten demons, unknown beasts ripped apart in ritual slaughter. Rot mixes with the acidic stench of demon resin. A choir of buzzing whispers fills the chamber, as though the walls themselves are whispering secrets.
The demon stops.
It swings its claw down. Kresor's body is thrown into a heap of corpses—limbs twisted, bones snapped, faces frozen in terror. Fresh blood splashes across old stains, mixing into a sticky, dark lake.
The demons don't even look back. To them, the boy is already a corpse. Their scuttling fades as they crawl toward the deeper nest, toward their queen—toward the heart of the colony. Silence settles. A thick, suffocating silence made of death. Then—A breath. A shallow, broken inhale. Kresor awakens.
His eyes snap open, wide and disoriented. Pain roars through his body in waves—hot, stabbing, merciless. Blood coats his skin, soaking into the corpses beneath him. His head spins, his lungs burn, and for a moment he wonders if this is hell.
If he is dead. If this pit of bones is the punishment waiting for him beyond the veil. His fingers twitch, brushing against something cold—a lifeless hand. Fear grabs him. His breath quickens. His chest tightens. All around him, bodies stare with hollow eyes. Candidates he saw this morning. Demons twisted into grotesque forms. Creatures from forgotten nightmares. Some hang upside down from spiked resin columns, their bodies torn open as though dissected for sport. Others lie in heaps, skulls crushed, limbs broken, throats slit.
Kresor trembles. His voice breaks into a whisper."…Am I dead?" The darkness does not answer. His heartbeat races, pounding like a trapped animal inside his chest. He wants to scream. He wants to run. He wants to close his eyes and wake in another world. But then— A memory surfaces. Seren's voice. "If you have faith… you can do anything." The words press into him like a hand on his back, steadying him. Calming him. He breathes. Slow. Deliberate. His trembling eases.
He forces himself upright, gritting his teeth as fresh pain shoots up his side. Blood runs down his arm, dripping into the dead pile below. He rises from the mountain of corpses one shaking limb at a time. The hive murmurs. Something moves above—skittering claws. Clicking mandibles. A deep vibration running through the walls. Kresor looks around, searching desperately for an exit.
There—a tunnel leading upward, faint light filtering through broken resin. It's narrow, twisted, unstable. But it's the only path that doesn't lead deeper into hell. He starts toward it. His legs buckle at first. Pain lances through his ribs. But he doesn't stop. He limps forward, pushing past shadowy bodies, stepping over shattered skulls and spilled organs. Each step is a challenge. Each breath feels stolen.
But he moves. He climbs over a collapsed pillar. He squeezes between two resin walls. He reaches the base of the tunnel—and freezes. A roar splits the chamber. A demon stands at the entrance of the tunnel, its grotesque form silhouetted by the dull red glow behind it. Its eyes widen with shock as it realizes the "dead boy" has vanished from the corpse pile. It screeches. A violent, ear-splitting cry that shakes dust from the ceiling. Kresor runs.
The demon lunges, claws tearing through the ground where his head was a moment before. Kresor throws himself forward, rolling across jagged debris as pain tears through every wound. Behind him, the demon charges. Its body slams into the walls, cracking resin, shaking the whole chamber as it prepares to crush him beneath its massive weight—
And suddenly—
Far above the ruins, in the control room filled with crystalline monitors, glowing screens, and floating sigils, the President stands in a dim chamber surrounded by shadows.
Not metaphorical ones. Real ones. Figures cloaked in living darkness appear on the screens—faces obscured, voices distorted by divine static. The higher-ups of the Order of Grace. One speaks, voice cold enough to kill a flame. "Explain yourself, Halucius. Why did you allow Kael to enter the field? Our mission does not permit deviation." Halucius keeps his head bowed, voice controlled. "Do not be concerned. The assignment you entrusted to me is in motion. The boy will not leave the Eastern Temple Ruin alive."
The shadows hiss in displeasure. "We want that boy dead, Halucius. Kresor must not awaken. We do not care how you do it. But your interference with THE CURSED LIGHT complicates matters." Halucius smiles—slow, poisonous. "You will see results. I promise. Even the cursed light cannot shield that child from the fate crafted for him."
The shadows fall silent. Their signal fades.Halucius straightens, a thin, satisfied smirk slicing across his face.Below, the hive screams with pursuit.Above, betrayal tightens its grip.And Kresor runs between both fates—bleeding, terrified, stubbornly alive.
The forest trembles. Deep within the western trial field, two battered figures crash against the roots of a towering tree-like demon. Its bark is twisted and blackened, pulsing with veins of sickly green light. Each movement sends razor branches whipping through the air like steel whips.
Norphis staggers backward, arms raised, chains of faint catena energy swirling around him. Clauiy skids behind a fallen boulder, breathing hard, bruises darkening her skin. The monster's claws dig trenches across the earth. It roars—a guttural, ancient sound that shakes leaves from miles of canopy. Norphis reacts first.
He steps forward, his presence sharpening, eyes glowing silver from the pressure building inside him. "Clauiy—move!" She darts aside just as a branch crashes down where she stood, splitting the ground. The demon lunges again. Massive. Towering. A living fortress. Its limbs stretch unnaturally—branches elongating into deadly spears. Clauiy rolls under a strike, blades of wind slicing from her palms. They carve through bark but barely bruise the creature.
Norphis sweeps his arm. Catena chains burst from the ground, coiling around the demon's legs. The monster jerks violently, tearing against the bindings. Wood cracks. Energy pulses. The chains strain. Fracture. Break. The creature snaps free with a thunderous roar and swipes.
Norphis barely blocks—catena pulsing into a shimmering barrier that absorbs the blow, but the force still sends him flying. He slams into a tree, coughing blood. Clauiy screams his name—but the demon's shadow swallows her voice. The creature turns toward her. Its branches rise like executioner blades. She freezes only a moment—just enough for death to reach her— But Norphis breaks the ground beneath him.
He launches forward, faster than before, chains wrapping his arms, his torso, glowing with a fierce, desperate light. "—NOT HER!" The chains ignite—white-hot, violent. He leaps onto the demon's shoulder, energy blazing around his fist. His final strike tears through bark and resin.
CRACK.
The demon's core splinters. A shockwave bursts outward, shredding leaves and shaking every tree in the clearing. The creature collapses. Slowly. Heavily. Like a dying titan falling to its knees. Norphis drops to the ground, swaying. Clauiy catches him before he faceplants into the dirt. "You idiot—" she mutters, breath shaky, "—you could've died."
Norphis grins weakly. "You're welcome." They slump beside the broken corpse of the demon, catching their breath, listening to the faint crackle of dissipating catena energy. For a moment, there is peace. A fragile, trembling peace born from exhaustion.
But then— The world shifts. A pressure rolls across the forest. Not wind. Not catena. Something older. Heavier. Enough to bend the knee of anyone unprepared. Clauiy's heart stumbles in her chest. Norphis stiffens, breath catching. "What—what is that?" she whispers.
The horizon blurs. Light bends. Space ripples as though reality itself bows. A figure emerges through the distortion, walking with controlled, unhurried precision. Each step resonates. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But with authority that carves through the air like a silent blade. Clauiy's eyes widen.
Norphis drops to his knees—not from respect, but instinctual submission to the weight crushing the world. Kael approaches. The Commander of Order. The Cursed Light. A man whose purity alone can turn the sky white.
He moves across the field in a single stride—then another—each one eating distance like the laws of nature no longer apply. Clauiy blinks. He is suddenly closer. She blinks again. He stands before them. Norphis bows so sharply his forehead nearly hits the soil.
"H-High Commander… The Cursed Light… I—Norphis of Class C—offer my respect. It is my honor to—" His voice trembles. Fear shivers in every syllable. Clauiy stares at him in disbelief. Why is he acting like that? Master is just… Master. Kael's gaze sweeps over them, calm yet heavy—like a judgment weighing the worth of the world.
"Where is he?" Kael asks, voice deep, composed, carrying the resonance of distant thunder. "Where is Kresor?" Clauiy steps forward immediately. "We're looking for him too, Master. He—he fell into a portal during the trial. We—" She explains everything in quick, panicked detail. Every event.Every moment.Every second since the collapse.
Kael listens without a word. When she finishes, he finally speaks. "I know where they took him." Norphis lifts his head slowly, pale with terror. "Where… s-sir?" Kael's jaw tightens. His eyes sharpen with an emotion too cold to be fear and too controlled to be rage.
"The Eastern Temple Ruin," he says quietly.
The forest seems to stop breathing.
Even the wind falters.
Norphis stumbles back. "T-That place is restricted! Forbidden! Sir, we cannot—" Clauiy cuts him off sharply. "Kresor is more important than any exam." Her voice quivers—but it's fierce. Kael doesn't acknowledge the debate. Because a voice crashes through his mind.
A deep, urgent, vibrating voice—a projection from the communication energy link formed earlier. "Kael—it's Boris. Kresor's purity is dropping. Fast. If you don't reach him soon, it will break." Clauiy jerks back. "Master—who was that?!" Kael's expression remains utterly calm. "A story for another time."
He lifts his hands. Power gathers beneath his feet—light, pressure, energy shaped with surgical precision. "Both of you," he orders, "take my hands." Clauiy grabs one without hesitation. Norphis hesitates only a heartbeat before gripping the other, trembling. The world explodes in white radiance.
Wind tears upward. Leaves scatter. Stone cracks. Space bends. A teleportation sigil unfurls beneath them—vast, complex, ancient. In the span of a breath— They vanish.
A heartbeat later… They stand before the colossal, shattered gates of the Eastern Temple Ruin. Black towers loom overhead, carved from obsidian stone. Ancient runes flicker faintly. The air reeks of sulfur, dust, and old death. Kael steps forward. His cloak burns with soft light.
His eyes lock onto the abyss ahead. And his voice drops to a whisper that ripples across the dead land like the promise of a storm.
"Kresor… your faith has arrived."