They stood before it in silence. The entrance to the Obsidian Labyrinth was a gaping maw carved into the earth itself, jagged like shattered teeth, exhaling a slow, pulsing darkness that seemed to drink in sound and light alike. The ground trembled faintly, not with violence—but with anticipation.
Even the wind had stopped.
Aravae halted a few steps away from the threshold. "From here on," she whispered, "the labyrinth will test more than your strength. It will twist your mind, fracture your memories, and force you to confront the truths you never wanted to face."
Xian scoffed, gripping his glaive tighter. "I've faced demons. Gods. Nightmares. This place won't break me."
Aravae didn't respond. Her eyes, glowing faintly violet, remained fixed on Asura.
"It's not fear of death you'll face in there," she said. "It's the fear of truth. Your own. Your past. Your soul."
Asura stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Then let it try."
Without another word, he crossed the threshold.
The moment his foot touched the stone beyond, the world shattered.
The air around him screamed, splitting into fragments of light and shadow, warping like a broken mirror. The cold vanished. The darkness became light. For a moment, he stood not in a labyrinth—but in a familiar room.
Warm.
Safe.
Home.
The Flame Kingdom's temple courtyard. His childhood home.
He saw a younger version of himself—laughing, barefoot, chasing falling petals in the sun. His mother knelt nearby, brushing his hair with soft hands. Her face was kind, beautiful. Her voice a lullaby.
"Asura," she said, "you must promise me… never to lose your smile."
He froze.
This wasn't a memory he recalled. It felt real—too real. The warmth, the air, even the scent of the blossoms.
Then the sun flickered.
One blink—and the world turned to ash.
The younger version of him stopped laughing. His eyes turned hollow. Blood poured from his mouth. His mother's body hung from chains above him, mutilated, her face still smiling—but wrong. Stretched too wide. Her eyes were open, but weeping black flames.
Asura didn't flinch. The illusion burned around him, trying to claw its way into his soul.
He lifted his hand. Heaven's End: Path of Asura.
A pulse of power surged from his core. The illusion cracked like glass and shattered into nothing.
Darkness returned.
The true labyrinth unfolded before him now—an endless hall of spiraling black stone and mirrored walls, each reflection showing a different version of himself.
Some noble.
Some monstrous.
Some... broken.
He stepped forward. The air buzzed with whispers. Echoes of battles. Laughter. Screams. His reflections watched him—some with envy, some with hatred, others with sorrow.
But none more terrifying than the one that stepped out of the mirror in front of him.
Another Asura.
Older.
Darker.
Eyes devoid of kindness.
Clad in armor forged from dead stars, his aura leaking death and despair with every breath.
"You," the clone said, smirking, "the version that clings to mercy. To bonds. To weakness."
Asura drew his sword. "You're me."
The copy laughed. "No. I'm what you become if you ever stop pretending to care."
They clashed.
Sword met sword. Blow met blow. The ground cracked beneath them as sparks of divine and demonic ki lit the air in violent flashes. The clone fought with pure malice—his style vicious, efficient, lacking all restraint.
But Asura wasn't afraid.
He wasn't that boy anymore.
He wasn't a soul seeking strength for revenge.
He was a warrior who had found purpose.
Every strike he parried, every slash he returned—he did so with clarity. Each technique absorbed from countless foes now danced in perfect harmony. He didn't need to overpower the clone. He understood it.
The illusion collapsed.
The clone vanished, smiling.
"You're still weak," the voice echoed. "But you're getting there."
Asura moved deeper into the labyrinth.
Behind him, Lira and Xian followed their own paths—separate illusions, separate trials. The labyrinth isolated all who entered. Not just to test them… but to judge them.
The second chamber opened without warning.
Inside stood a throne. A man sat on it—no, a corpse—once regal, armored in silver and gold, wings of light pinned to his back, now wilted and blackened. His chest was open, his heart missing.
A plaque lay beneath him:
"Here rests Aegrion, Fallen Hero of the Celestial Kingdom. First Guardian of Truth. Slayer of Ten Thousand Demons. Devourer of Hope."
The corpse opened its eyes.
They were filled with sorrow.
"You seek to ascend?" the Guardian spoke, rising slowly, his skeletal wings dragging behind him. "Then prove you have not forsaken your soul."
Asura raised his blade.
The second Guardian had awoken.
And the labyrinth had only just begun.
End of Chapter 99