Auren smiled sweetly at the Paladin, whose gaze only darkened—sharp and unrelenting. The man stared at him with a thousand blades in his eyes, each one promising death.
But Auren glared back with millions more.
The entire place suddenly trembled, a violent quake rippling through the air. The Paladin frowned, his expression hardening as he instinctively shifted his gaze.
And that was all Auren needed.
He sprang into motion, launching himself out of the way. His body spun mid-air before he hit the ground and rolled into a quick retreat.
The Paladin tried to focus on him but he was too late.
A brutal force erupted from the earth beneath his feet, impaling him with raw impact. The shockwave hurled him backwards, slamming his armored body against the ancient, timeworn walls.
He crumpled to the ground. Blood streamed from the corner of his mouth.
He turned his head and saw Auren already sprinting away.
But that simple glance cost him.
The black, massive worm—round-faced and lined with countless rows of jagged, stirring teeth—lunged forward in silence, a monstrosity born of darkness.
The Paladin ducked low and rolled aside just as its colossal jaws shattered the stone wall behind him, one that had endured centuries. The creature crushed the debris in its maw, pulverizing it to dust before swallowing and shifting its bulk to face him once more.
But the holy man was ready.
His sword gleamed with radiant heat, humming with divine energy. As the worm surged toward him again, he sidestepped with precision and drove his blade deep into its side—then carved across its flesh in one fluid motion.
Putrid black blood erupted in a messy spray, splattering the ground in foul streaks. But the Black Worm didn't stop. It writhed with maddening hunger, undeterred by pain or damage.
Auren, meanwhile, kept running.
The black desert stretched endlessly around him—plain, open, unforgiving. Even at full speed, he could still hear the distant clash behind him... the storm of battle unraveling between the Paladin and the Cursed Creature.
But the advantage he had was that darkness was his friend. Or perhaps an acquaintance.
Either way, Auren wasn't entirely estranged from it. The shadows were subtly dictating his steps, like a whisper in the back of his mind. There was a pull—a direction not chosen but felt—and he followed it without remorse.
Whatever lay at the end of that path, he didn't care. Not as long as it led him away from the Paladin.
For a while, all he did was run. No destination, no thought—just momentum. His legs moved on their own, skidding across the black desert sand with frantic speed.
And behind him... something hunted.
Auren sensed it again—lurking in the darkness.
It lunged while he was mid-sprint. Auren slammed his feet into the ground, twisted, and slid sideways just in time to evade the strike. The creature missed, its momentum carrying it past him.
Auren staggered, nearly losing balance but caught himself.
He grimaced as he got a proper look at it.
The thing stood up, snorting.
It was an imp—shorter than him, with skin that blended seamlessly with the black sands. Its eyes were two pits of glimmering blackness, glaring wickedly in the dark.
Blackened tapes wrapped around its body like cursed bandages, giving it the look of a mummified beast. Its face was raw, primal ugliness—rows of black, needle-like teeth gleaming beneath a twisted, permanent smile.
Auren didn't have time for this.
The creature lunged again, that awful grin widening. It leapt through the air toward him, claws outstretched.
White sparks shimmered to life in his hand. As the imp descended, Auren spun and swung the Chains of Depravity from the side—striking it hard across the ribs.
The impact sent the creature crashing into the ground.
Auren stepped forward, towering over it. Then, without restraint, he brought the chains down again—and again. Crude, brutal, furious.
Each strike echoed with rage.
He kept going, unleashing all the frustration he'd bottled since the Paladin arrived. Blow after blow.
Finally, he stopped—heaving, breathless, seething.
The twisted imp lay mangled and curled in a pitiful heap.
Auren stared down at it, fist clenched. He wanted to finish it—wanted to crush it into oblivion. But he didn't have the weapon for a killing blow. And he was on a run.
He gritted his teeth, bitter with regret.
"I hate leaving unfinished business... damnit."
With one final glance, Auren turned—and bolted forward, vanishing back into the darkness at full speed.
He kept going—and going—and going.
Even he wasn't sure how long he'd been running. Time had blurred into motion. But one thing was certain: he was far from the Paladin now, and still running farther.
Yet he couldn't afford to be complacent.
The Paladin would keep searching. This wasn't over. Not until the trial ended... or the Paladin died.
A dark, resolute frown etched itself into Auren's sweat-slicked face as he sprinted forward.
"I'm not ending this trial without killing that bastard."
Then, finally—a dot appeared in the distance.
Auren's eyes narrowed. His breath caught with a flicker of hope. The strange sense that had guided him all this while—his darkness perception—was pulling him directly toward it.
Without hesitation, he pushed harder. His legs burned, his lungs ached, but he didn't slow down. The dot grew with every desperate stride, swelling into form.
At last, he stood before it.
A tower of black stone loomed above him—its surface forged from the same material as the ruins where he'd first clashed with the Paladin. But this structure was intact... and it was far more terrifying in its wholeness.
The tower rose like an obsidian fang piercing the black desert, a cathedral sculpted from night itself. Its architecture defied reason—jagged spires spiraled upward in chaotic angles, each edge sharp enough to cut light itself, if light ever dared to reach this place.
It stood alone—isolated in a sea of black sand. No paths led to it. No footprints scarred the ground. And yet it felt eternal.
As if it had always been here. Or had been abandoned by time on purpose.
Auren gulped.
Still, he moved forward—driven by the pull.
He stepped onto the stone stairs, the cold echo of his boot ringing into the silence.
Step.
Step.
Another step.
And then another.