CHAPTER 37: Sentinel's Test

Of the four chains binding Durnak, one shattered with an echoing crack that seemed to reverberate through the crystalline chamber. The Forsaken Titan exhaled deeply, almost a sigh of relief, as he flexed his enormous crystalline frame, stretching as far as the remaining chains would allow.

"Ah, that was... refreshing," he murmured, his voice a mix of restrained malice and satisfaction. His massive crystal fist clenched and unclenched, the motion causing faint arcs of energy to ripple across its jagged surface.

Moyo's hand moved instinctively to rest on the hilt of Ida, his fingers tightening as his gaze locked onto Durnak. The Forsaken Titan noticed and chuckled, a sound like grinding stone.

"Zarnok was always the moral sort," Durnak said, his tone almost nostalgic.

"And yet, he followed your orders to his end," Moyo retorted, his voice edged with disgust. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

Durnak's laugh rumbled low and menacing, filling the space like a distant storm.

"What your general faced," Durnak began, his molten eyes narrowing slightly, "was merely a shadow of who Zarnok once was—a ruthless ascender who rose from the muck of the system to strike fear into the hearts of even exarchs. That man, that force of nature, I respected. Not this hollow replica the system conjured, built from the scraps of his former path."

Moyo's jaw tightened, his stare unflinching as he met the loathsome gaze of the Forsaken Titan.

"You set fire to worlds," Moyo said, his voice firm. "You ended civilizations for the crimes of a few."

"Ha! Spare me your sanctimonious drivel, would-be Titan," Durnak sneered, his laughter sharp and biting. "You, chosen by the same system you claim to despise, presume to lecture me on morality?"

"You and I are nothing alike," Moyo hissed, his grip on Ida tightening.

Durnak leaned forward slightly, his massive frame casting an even darker shadow over the room.

"To bear the title of Titan," Durnak said, his voice low and resonant, "is to loathe the system, the Archailect, and all it represents. Millions are chosen. Thousands may survive long enough to claim the title. Hundreds perish in the first trial. And a mere handful twist the title to their will, to forge their own path. Do not pretend we are different, Moyo. You hate the system, as I once did."

Pointing a crystalline finger directly at Moyo, Durnak continued, his words deliberate.

"That you have come this far, that you have companions who would die for you, speaks volumes of your willpower and your wrath. It is... ironic, as your people might say."

Moyo's glare deepened. "True. I detest the system and all it has done. But I will not destroy countless innocents for the crimes of the powerful."

Durnak barked a harsh laugh. "Oh? And what would you have done, oh wise Titan?"

Moyo sat straighter, his aura bristling around him like an unseen storm.

"I would use what they gave me," he said, his voice unwavering. "I would claw my way to the top and drag them down. And when the time comes, I will make them pay for their sins. I am no coward, Forsaken. I am a blade, tempered and honed, soon to be aimed at the throats of the powers that be."

The room seemed to shudder under the weight of Durnak's sudden fury. His molten eyes burned brighter, their glow spilling out in crackling streaks that danced across the jagged walls. The oppressive force of his rage pressed down on Moyo, thick and suffocating.

"Coward?" Durnak whispered, the word barely audible yet laden with venom. "You dare call me, Durnak, a coward?"

Moyo felt the chains binding Durnak begin to glow, their otherworldly light pulsing as if reacting to the Forsaken Titan's fury. The air crackled with tension, and Moyo began to channel his intent and aura, gathering them into a ready strike.

But just as he moved to unleash his strength, a chime resounded through the chamber, breaking the tension like a sudden gasp of air.

[The second dungeon trial is about to begin.]

Durnak stilled, his burning rage cooling almost instantly. His molten eyes dimmed as the embers of his fury were locked away once more, buried deep within the vault of madness that churned within his crystalline body. He leaned back, a mocking smile twisting across his jagged features.

"Well then," Durnak rumbled, his tone almost playful, "let us see how your Sentinel fares against the Juggernaut."

Moyo didn't reply, his focus shifting as the large crystal in the center of the room began to shimmer. The surface rippled and glowed, forming a vivid image of Josh stepping into the heart of the dungeon.

Durnak's chuckle was soft but filled with malice. "Sit back, Titan. This is where the game truly begins."

Moyo inclined his head slightly, though his eyes never left the crystal. His aura remained steady, a storm on the edge of breaking. "We'll see who ends this game, Forsaken."

And with that, the next trial began.

Josh, sentinel of the titan, found himself standing within the crumbling ruins of what once must have been a grand temple. The remnants of disfigured statues lay scattered, too broken to reveal the images they had once represented. Grey sunlight filtered through the jagged gaps in the half-destroyed roof, casting a somber pall over the shattered chamber. The wind whistled through the openings, carrying with it a sense of foreboding.

Behind him, the dungeon's gate sealed with a dull thud. Silence reigned, an unnatural stillness that put Josh on edge. Gravemaw rested in his firm grip, its reassuring weight a reminder of his purpose. His sharp eyes flicked across the temple, searching for any sign of movement.

Then, the ground began to shift.

Stone grated against stone as the temple itself seemed to awaken, the floor beneath Josh's feet rumbling ominously. The platform he stood on began to descend, lowering him into the depths below. He remained silent, his body tense, ready for an ambush. As the platform descended further, it revealed a vast underground labyrinth that stretched endlessly in all directions. The air was heavy, thick with latent energy, as if the walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Josh's Hud flared to life, delivering its grim message:

[Kraegor, personal guardian and juggernaut of the forsaken titan, is a being of unrelenting fury and unstoppable strength. Once a member of the Daxian race, he obtained the path of the Unrelenting Juggernaut before proving his loyalty to the Forsaken by crushing would-be assassins sent to end his master. In doing so, he ascended to the title and path of the Iron Juggernaut.

Blessed with the authority of the Forsaken (sealed), his blinding loyalty extends unto death and resurrection as a thrall of the system. Defeat him and seize the mantle of the true guardian of your titan!]

As the message faded, a voice reverberated through the hollow maze, cold and unfeeling, like gravel grinding against metal.

"Are you the guardian of your would-be titan?" it asked, judgment heavy in its tone.

Josh took a step forward, his voice unwavering. "Titan Blade. Sentinel of the Titan Blade."

The voice chuckled, low and derisive. "There is no titan but the Forsaken. All others are mere echoes—shadows of a truth they cannot grasp. Tell me, why did you choose to stand at his side?"

Josh didn't hesitate. "Because I trust him, and I will defend him with everything I have."

The voice laughed again, a booming, mocking sound that seemed to shake the very walls.

"Trust? From an acolyte? What do you know of trust? What horrors have you faced to understand true loyalty? You, who serve a coward!"

Josh's grip on Gravemaw tightened, his teeth grinding. "The Titan Blade is no coward."

"Good," the voice rumbled, now tinged with a dark glee. "Then perhaps you will provide me with some sport."

The wall to Josh's left exploded without warning. Reacting on instinct, he activated Argent Aegis, his ethereal silver shield manifesting just in time to deflect a crushing blow. The force of the attack sent him hurtling through the air, slamming him into the opposite wall. His head swam as he struggled to regain his footing, the ringing in his ears slowly fading.

Emerging from the dust and rubble was a towering figure—a monstrous juggernaut of rusted armor fused grotesquely with flesh. Kraegor's hulking form exuded an oppressive aura, his glowing red eyes burning like twin embers beneath the jagged helmet. A massive two-handed Warhammer, its head a wicked blend of crystal and metal, dragged behind him, grating against the ground with an ear-splitting screech.

"Glory be to the Forsaken!" Kraegor roared, lifting the impossibly heavy weapon with ease.

Josh twisted to avoid the hammer's descent, the ground shattering where he had stood. Seizing the moment, he swung Gravemaw in a brutal arc, the hammer crashing into Kraegor's armored shoulder and sending him staggering sideways.

The juggernaut laughed, the sound guttural and unhinged. "Good! You'll need strength like that if you hope to survive!"

Before Josh could capitalize on the opening, the ground beneath him shifted. The maze itself seemed to come alive, tendrils of rock and crystal reaching out to entangle his legs. He leaped clear just as Kraegor's hammer came crashing down again, narrowly avoiding the devastating blow.

Shards of crystal erupted from the ground, hammering into Josh's shield with relentless force. He grunted as the assault drove him backward, his feet skidding across the uneven floor. Kraegor followed, a relentless force, his hammer colliding with Gravemaw in a bone-jarring clash. Pain lanced through Josh's arms, the raw power of the juggernaut shaking him to his core.

"You are weak," Kraegor sneered, his armored fist slamming into Josh's side.

The blow sent him sprawling, his body skidding across the ground like a discarded rag doll. Blood filled his mouth as he fought to rise, his vision swimming. Yet, even as his body screamed in protest, he held tight to Gravemaw, its weight both a comfort and a burden.

Above him, Kraegor loomed, his laughter echoing once more. "Weakness deserves no pity."

Before Josh could react, Kraegor's massive hand gripped him by the collar, lifting him effortlessly. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled Josh through the air like a missile. The sentinel smashed through several walls, finally crashing into a lower chamber beneath the maze.

Gasping for breath, Josh forced himself to his feet. Around him, the walls shifted again, dozens of shapes emerging from the shadows.

[Clay Juggernaut: Level 120.]

They advanced in unison; their hulking forms a testament to Kraegor's influence.

"Do you see, Sentinel?" Kraegor's voice boomed from above. "Weakness has no place in this world!"

Josh spat blood, his vision clearing as determination blazed in his chest. He reached into his robes, withdrawing a refined aether shard. Crushing it in his hand, he absorbed its energy into his core. His strength surged, the familiar weight of Gravemaw now a lifeline as he prepared for the battle ahead.

"You want strength?" Josh growled; his voice steely. "Then let me show you what it means to fight for something greater."

The first clay juggernaut lunged at him, but Gravemaw swung with brutal precision, crushing its head into dust. The sentinel didn't stop, his hammer a whirlwind of power as he carved through the advancing ranks.

He gritted his teeth, every strike a testament to his resolve. He would not fall. He could not fall.

Above, Kraegor watched, his laughter a chilling accompaniment to the clash of steel and stone. "Show me, Sentinel! Show me if your faith can withstand the might of a Juggernaut!"

 **************************

Durnak chuckled deeply, the sound reverberating through the crystalline chamber like a drumbeat of mockery. His molten amber eyes gleamed with amusement, a cruel smile stretching across his jagged face.

"Kraegor is no easy meat, as you can see," he said, his grin widening with every passing moment of the struggle on the screen.

Moyo remained still, his arms folded across his broad chest, his expression unreadable. His gaze never wavered from the chaotic battle playing out before him, his sentinel locked in a brutal dance with the relentless juggernaut.

"What, no words in defense of your sentinel?" Durnak taunted, leaning forward in his crystalline bindings as though savoring the tension. "Is that how little he means to you? To sit there, silent, while he fights for his life?"

Moyo's response was silence, the weight of it more cutting than any retort. His eyes remained fixed on the display, unwavering and calm despite the fiery chaos reflected in them.

Durnak's grin faltered for a fraction of a second, the stillness unsettling. He straightened, the amusement in his tone replaced with a hint of sharpness.

"You do not speak. Is it pride? Confidence? Or perhaps doubt?" Durnak pressed, his voice curling with derision. "What kind of titan stands idly by while his loyal servant struggles beneath the weight of his enemies?"

Finally, Moyo shifted, his voice low and steady, but carrying a power that made the air in the room hum.

"You misunderstand what it means to lead," Moyo said, his tone calm yet firm. His gaze never left the screen. "A sentinel does not need my words. He already has my faith. And my faith in him is unshakable."

Durnak's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Moyo continued, his words deliberate, each syllable striking like the edge of a blade.

"You, Forsaken, bind others to you with chains of fear and dominance. But trust? Loyalty freely given? Those are things you'll never understand."

As if on cue, the display showed Josh rising from the rubble, bloodied but unbowed. His hammer gleamed with renewed energy, a defiant roar escaping his lips as he charged back into the fray.

Moyo's lips curved into the faintest smile, his eyes glinting with a quiet pride.

"Let him prove you wrong," he said simply, the words carrying an unshakable conviction.

 *****************************

The clay juggernauts were relentless brutes, mindless creatures that cared nothing for strategy or finesse. Their singular goal was to crush their target, to bury him beneath their sheer weight and might. But Josh was not about to make it easy for them.

Shock Blow reverberated through the air again and again, hammering into the tides of the creatures. Each strike left cracks in their hardened forms, shattering them into lifeless heaps of sand and shards. Yet they kept coming, an endless wave of malice and brute force, unrelenting in their assault. Josh could feel the strain in his body—his muscles burning, his breaths growing heavier—but he refused to falter.

The ache in his body was nothing compared to the fire in his heart. He had a purpose, a goal, and a belief that burned brighter than any pain. As stronger juggernauts emerged from the fray, his experience climbed with every crushing blow, and his mind sharpened with clarity.

Each strike he landed became more precise, more focused, driven not by desperation but by conviction. These creatures weren't just opponents; each one he defeated was a testament to the strength of his belief. He wasn't fighting out of blind loyalty to Moyo, but out of faith—faith in what the Titan Blade was building.

Josh's hammer swung faster, the weight of Gravemaw feeling like an extension of his own will. The idea of Bastion—a haven where the weak would be protected and the strong would thrive—filled his thoughts, propelling him forward. It wasn't a naïve dream of utopia; he knew better than to hope for perfection in the harsh reality they faced. But a sanctuary, a place where people could stand together against the horrors of the world? That was a dream worth fighting for.

The clay juggernauts pressed harder, their bulk crashing against him in relentless waves. His cracked and battered armor groaned under the force, his torn robes whipping around him as he moved. Yet Josh held his ground, refusing to back down. Each dodge, each deflected blow, and each counterstrike was calculated.

He found himself in a rhythm—a trance born of battle. It wasn't bloodlust or reckless fury but a disciplined focus, a methodical approach to destruction that felt like a song vibrating in his very core.

As he waded through the throng of enemies, the notifications on his Hud became a steady hum in the back of his mind, ignored until a single chime broke through:

[Level 150!]

The glow of leveling up coursed through him, momentarily easing his aches, but the battle was far from over. His armor was cracked, dented, and smeared with the remnants of his foes. His muscles screamed with every movement, yet with each swing of Gravemaw, he felt an unyielding force driving him forward.

Each clay juggernaut that fell brought not just experience but something more—an intangible energy that seemed to seep into him from the remains of his enemies. It wasn't just power; it was something deeper, older, and far more profound.

[Memory construction complete!]

Josh froze mid-step, his hammer poised to strike another enemy. The world around him blurred as his consciousness was abruptly wrenched from the battlefield and plunged into another place, another body.

The sensation was overwhelming—a disorienting rush of alien thoughts and emotions. He was no longer Josh, but someone else entirely. His senses adjusted, and the memories began to flood in like a tidal wave.

 *****************************

The skies over Daxia were a canvas of despair, perpetually shrouded in clouds of smoke and soot. The air clung to the lungs like a living thing, squeezing the breath from those who dared to inhale too deeply. For Kraegor, this choking atmosphere was life itself. Daxians had long since adapted to their dying world, a planet stripped of vitality by war, industry, and unending conflict. To Kraegor, the oppressive air was as unremarkable as the bloodied sand beneath his feet.

Yes, he was Kraegor. Last of his family. Orphan. War fodder. The names and roles blurred together, but one truth stood immutable: he existed to buy time for the "flesh bags." That was what the brutes who commanded him called the remnants of his people—broken survivors clinging to their last threads of existence. Kraegor did not resent the brutes. He could not. Resentment required energy, and all his strength was poured into obedience.

He could not speak. Language was a luxury denied to him and his kind, stripped away with the lives of those who might have taught it. He knew only the guttural sounds of his family's long-dead clan and the rudimentary battle signs drilled into him by his superiors. Hands moved, fingers gestured, and Kraegor obeyed. He always obeyed.

That obedience had brought him here, leading a regiment across a desert of shattered glass and sand, where the bodies of countless fallen lay unburied. The ground crunched beneath his boots, a grim symphony of death underfoot. His hammer—a weapon so massive it should have crushed him—swung with effortless grace at his side, a tool of destruction he wielded as if it were weightless. They said he was blessed, a child of Daxia itself, a warrior touched by the planet's wrath.

But to Kraegor, it was a curse.

He prayed for death every day. For release. For the sweet silence that came when the burden of life was finally cast aside. Each battle was a gamble, a desperate plea to Daxia to take him. But death did not come. It never came. Instead, there was only bloodshed. More anguish. More cries that pierced the air and fell on deaf ears.

That was all he was built for: war and slaughter.

When the forsaken came, it was not as death but as blinding light. Durnak arrived like a wrathful being, his radiance so piercing that it seared the eternal darkness of Daxia from the skies. Kraegor's eyes, accustomed to shadow, burned with the intensity of it. In mere moments, centuries of unrelenting conflict were snuffed out. The forces of the crystal titan swept across the land, silencing the endless screams of war with terrifying efficiency.

Kraegor had known then and there that he would follow Durnak through any fire, any storm, any war. The titan had ended the chaos that had defined his entire existence. The forsaken titan had brought order, and Kraegor would wield his hammer in service of that order until the end of time itself.

He became the weapon of Durnak, the unstoppable juggernaut of the crystal titan. Worlds burned beneath his feet; entire civilizations reduced to ash at the command of the forsaken. There had been no hesitation, no question in his mind. If Durnak had condemned those worlds to die, then it was righteous. Who was Kraegor to challenge the will of the titan?

Strength begets strength. This was the creed Kraegor lived by, and Durnak was the embodiment of it. Weakness had no place in the cosmos. It was an insult to existence itself. Each razed city, each broken enemy only reinforced that truth.

Even as his hammer fell upon the helpless, as their screams echoed in his ears, Kraegor did not waver. He buried any doubt beneath the mountain of corpses he left in his wake. If the forsaken titan deemed it so, then it was just.

But there were cracks, small at first, forming in the depths of his mind. The light of Durnak, once so radiant, began to dim in Kraegor's perception. He crushed the thought as quickly as it arose. It was not his place to question. He was not meant to think. He was a hammer, nothing more.

And yet, as the years wore on, and the worlds piled higher, something deep within him stirred. The faintest whisper of a question: Was this what strength truly meant?

But the answer, as always, came from the swing of his hammer. No place for the weak. No place for the questioning. No place for anything but the iron will of the forsaken titan.

To the end of his days, Kraegor clung to that creed, even as madness clawed at the edges of his mind. And in death, when the system claimed his soul, it bound him with the very chains of his own unyielding faith, twisting him into the eternal juggernaut. A thrall of power, unrelenting and unstoppable, a shadow of the man he had once been.

 **************************

The memory dissipated like smoke, leaving Josh standing exactly where he had been, as if no time had passed. His grip on Gravemaw tightened, his knuckles white with the force of it. The images of Kraegor's past lingered in his mind—tragic, twisted, and horrifying. Understanding seeped into him, but it brought no solace. He felt pity for the child that Kraegor had been, but it was a pity he would crush without hesitation. The monster before him, the so-called Juggernaut, had razed countless worlds and spilled oceans of innocent blood. There would be no forgiveness.

"I understand now," Josh said, his voice steady as he ascended the platform once more. His eyes met Kraegor's, mad and blazing, their light a fractured reflection of the being's torment.

"I hold you, and the one you call the Forsaken, responsible for what you have become," Josh continued, each word cutting through the tense air.

He accessed his Hud, the points he had gained flashing before him. Six hundred points. He dumped two hundred into strength, feeling the raw power flood his body, his muscles tightening like coiled steel. Another two hundred into dexterity, the added precision sharpening his reflexes to a razor's edge. The energy within him swirled and surged, his core trembling on the brink of ascension. But he held it back, not yet. Not until this was over.

Across from him, Kraegor stood like a colossus, his rusted armor creaking as he tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing in amusement.

"The system shows you what it thinks you want," Kraegor rumbled, his voice a mix of disdain and mockery. "I worship strength alone."

Josh rolled his neck, the audible crack of his bones cutting through the tense silence. "And I, the Titan Sentinel, judge you a coward. You are no Juggernaut—you are a broken dog. I will crush you beneath my hammer. I am the Titan Blade's justice."

Kraegor's laughter boomed, shaking the very walls of the maze. It was the laugh of a man—or monster—teetering on the edge of sanity, and it sent ripples of unease through the chamber. The aura surrounding Kraegor intensified, raw and wild, as though the very air bent to his will.

"Good. Don't die too quickly, little sentinel," Kraegor growled, his voice dropping to a deadly rumble as he lunged forward.

Josh was ready.

The juggernaut's charge was a blur of metal and malice, but Gravemaw answered with unwavering fury. Josh swung with all the strength of his enhanced body, meeting Kraegor's attack head-on. The impact was like a thunderclap, the force of it reverberating through the chamber as Kraegor was hurled backward, slamming into the far wall with a deafening crash.

The dust barely had time to settle before Josh stepped forward, his voice cold and deliberate.

"My turn."

With that, he launched himself at Kraegor, hammer raised high, his every movement a precise combination of strength and speed. The clash was just beginning, but already the air around them crackled with the promise of devastation.