Chapter 34: Cycle

The Second Floor: The Mirage of Silence

The moment they stepped onto the second floor, the temperature dropped. A biting chill filled the air, stinging their skin as if they had walked into an icy void. There were no walls, no ceilings—only an endless abyss of pure, suffocating silence. Not even their footsteps made a sound as they crossed the threshold.

Livia's breath misted in the air, and she instinctively tightened the grip on her sword, her eyes scanning their surroundings warily. Sylas, too, stood alert, though his face betrayed little emotion, his senses stretched out in search of any hint of danger.

But nothing came.

The silence stretched on, suffocating and unnatural. It felt as though the very fabric of the universe had stilled. It was the kind of silence that spoke of unnatural presence, a void where nothing existed, not even time.

"What is this place?" Livia whispered, her voice barely audible, though she immediately regretted the sound, for the very act of speaking felt like a sacrilege in this world.

"Stay alert," Sylas replied, his voice low and measured. "Something's off. I don't trust this."

Their eyes met. Both knew this was no normal trial. There was a weight to the air, like an unseen pressure pushing down on them. It wasn't long before they began to hear it—the faintest of whispers, so soft they could've been imagined. But the whispers grew louder, clearer, as if the abyss itself was speaking to them.

"Who are you?"

"Do you even know what you've become?"

Livia's eyes flickered, a spark of recognition lighting within her. These voices… they were echoes of their own doubts, their own fears.

"Sylas," she murmured, her voice tight, "Do you hear that?"

"I hear it," he said, though his tone was colder now. "But don't listen. It's just feeding on our weaknesses."

And then—like the snap of a bowstring—a flood of memories rushed into their minds.

Livia's past, of family lost, of broken promises. The face of her mother, twisted with regret as she lay dying. The guilt of her choices, the feeling that she had failed them all.

And Sylas's past—the weight of each death he had caused, the demons he had slaughtered, the memories of betrayal and survival—the endless burden of his own actions pressing down on him.

Both tried to shake off the weight, but the whispers dug deeper. The mirage was not just about illusions; it was feeding on their emotions, twisting them, making them confront what they had long buried.

"You are nothing more than a tool of destruction," the whispers hissed. "You're just as guilty as those you've killed."

Livia faltered for a second. The whisper had struck home. She had always feared she was no better than the enemies she fought against—torn between survival and morality.

"No…" she whispered to herself, forcing the thoughts away. "I fight for something greater."

Sylas, too, was struggling. The weight of his choices, the lives he had destroyed, hung over him like a shadow. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the torrent of doubt that surged within him.

But just as the whispers seemed to crescendo, a strange sound cut through the air—a crackling, like the breaking of glass.

The voices stopped.

The mirage wavered.

And then, it was gone.

Before them stood a strange figure, its body cloaked in darkness. It didn't move, didn't speak, but its presence was suffocating, as though it was the very embodiment of their doubts made flesh.

Sylas stepped forward, sword drawn, but Livia stopped him, her hand gripping his arm.

"It's not real," she said, her voice steady. "It's just another illusion. It's trying to make us doubt who we are."

The figure raised its head, and the eyes that glowed from within the darkness were empty—like twin voids that sucked in everything, as if they could consume them whole.

The air itself felt thick with the figure's unspoken judgment. It didn't need to speak—its very existence was enough to convey the message.

And in the midst of this silence, Sylas understood.

The illusion wasn't just about fear. It was about guilt—a dark mirror that reflected their insecurities, magnifying every weakness they had. It wanted them to break under its weight. It wanted to remind them of every failure, every mistake.

But they were stronger than that.

Livia's voice broke the silence, clear and unwavering. "We don't need your approval."

With that, she drew her own sword and charged. The air shimmered in response, as if the tower itself was recoiling from her defiance.

Sylas followed suit, and together, they attacked. The figure lashed out, but its strikes were slow, almost predictable, as though it didn't truly understand the concept of battle. This wasn't a real opponent—it was a manifestation of doubt, an illusion meant to wear them down.

They attacked in perfect unison, their swords cutting through the air, each blow stronger than the last. And with one final slash, the figure dissolved into the ether, leaving nothing behind.

The silence returned, but this time, it was broken. The air felt lighter, and the weight that had pressed on them seemed to lift.

The door to the next floor appeared in front of them.

They had passed the second trial, but they both knew that the path ahead would only grow darker.

The door stood before them, looming like a gateway to the unknown. Livia and Sylas exchanged a look, both of them breathing heavily from their battle against the manifestation of their inner fears. There was a quiet understanding between them—this was only the beginning. Each floor of the tower would test them in ways they could scarcely imagine.

Livia wiped the sweat from her brow, her expression determined but weary. "We did it. We passed the second trial."

Sylas nodded, his eyes focused on the door. His calm demeanor was unshaken, but his mind was still processing everything that had just happened. That figure, that horror from their subconscious, had been a reflection of everything they'd buried deep inside themselves. And yet, in facing it, they'd come out stronger. But the nagging feeling that this was only a fraction of the challenge ahead stayed with him.

"That's one floor down," he said, his voice cold and steady. "But there's no time to rest. The third trial is waiting."

Livia glanced at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. She knew, deep down, that Sylas would never falter—not truly. His unwavering focus had always been his strength, and it was one of the reasons she respected him. But there was a shadow in his gaze now, a flicker of something that wasn't there before. She knew him well enough to sense it.

She looked back at the door, gripping her sword tighter. "Right," she said, her voice steady, though there was an undercurrent of hesitation. "Let's see what's next."

Together, they approached the door, and as they stepped through, the world around them seemed to twist. The very fabric of reality bent in ways they couldn't comprehend, the air warping as they crossed the threshold.

The third floor was unlike any of the others. The once silent and empty space was now a vast, sprawling city, but there was something off about it. The buildings towered above them, but they looked distorted, like they had been built by hands that didn't truly understand the concept of construction. Streets twisted and curved in impossible angles, and the air was thick with an unnatural fog, casting everything in an eerie, ghostly glow.

A low, grinding hum vibrated through the air, like the sound of something ancient and mechanical. The ground beneath their feet felt unstable, shifting as though the very city was alive—and in pain.

"This… this is wrong," Livia muttered, her gaze sweeping over the cityscape. "It's like the city itself is broken, or… like it's decaying."

Sylas frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. "It's a mirror, a reflection of something—perhaps the world that could have been, or a version of us we never saw."

Suddenly, the fog parted, and in the distance, a figure appeared. At first, it seemed like just another shadow, moving aimlessly through the fog. But as it drew closer, the figure began to take shape. It was humanoid, but something was wrong—its movements were unnatural, jerky, like it was stitched together from different parts.

Its face was blank, a smooth, featureless surface, but its body seemed to flicker and shift with strange glitches, as though its existence was constantly out of sync with reality. It seemed to grow larger as it approached, its form warping, bending in ways that defied logic.

Livia's instincts kicked in, and her hand gripped her sword tighter. "This… this thing isn't real, is it?"

Sylas narrowed his eyes. "It's a manifestation, just like before. This city, this place, is built from the same source—their thoughts, their fears, and regrets. This isn't a place for the living."

The creature loomed before them now, its presence sending a chill down their spines. It seemed to be made of shifting shadows, but the closer they looked, the more they could see—its body was a patchwork of old fragments, as if pieces of different beings had been sewn together into something new.

Its blank face tilted to the side, studying them, and as it did, a voice boomed out in their minds. "What are you?" The voice was not spoken, but felt—an oppressive force that seemed to wrap around them like a thick rope. "What do you want from this place? Why do you defy me?"

Livia stepped forward, gripping her sword with both hands. "We don't seek to defy you," she said, her voice steady, though she could feel the pressure of its presence pushing against her. "We're here to pass the trials and move forward."

The creature's blank face tilted again, almost as if considering her words. Then, it spoke again, its voice vibrating through their very bones. "You believe you can pass? You believe you can survive the trials? All who come here have fallen before. I will ensure you meet the same fate."

The air around them grew heavier, and with a swift motion, the creature reached out, its arm stretching unnaturally long, trying to grab them. It moved so fast that neither Sylas nor Livia had time to react—until they both instinctively leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature's grasp.

Sylas drew his sword, his gaze focused, intense. "We're not like the others. We won't fall."

Livia moved beside him, her sword held high. "We're not afraid of you."

With a shared glance, they launched into battle.

Sylas moved first, striking with precision, but his sword clanged harmlessly against the creature's body. The material of the creature seemed to shift, absorbing his strike, and the arm he had cut through reformed as if nothing had happened.

Livia stepped forward, using her agility to land a blow on the creature's shifting form, but it too seemed to be swallowed by the darkness, only to emerge somewhere else. "It's not real," Livia muttered through clenched teeth. "We need to disrupt the illusion."

Sylas, understanding her meaning, began to concentrate, focusing on his will, his mind reaching out to grasp the reality of the situation. They were no longer fighting just a creature—they were fighting a fragment of this world's twisted consciousness. The more they resisted, the more it would try to turn against them, but if they could break the illusion, they might be able to end the battle.

The creature's form flickered again, and its head tilted backward, as though laughing silently. "You think you can win? You are nothing. Just pieces of a broken world."

But Sylas's concentration only deepened. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing entirely on the essence of this creature, finding the root of its power. It wasn't just a monster—it was fear itself, a manifestation of the world's torment. To defeat it, they would need to cut through that essence.

With a sudden movement, Sylas opened his eyes, and the world around them cracked. A wave of energy shot from his sword, slicing through the creature's form, breaking the illusion that had held it together.

The creature let out a screech, its form dissolving into mist. And as it did, the twisted city began to crumble, the buildings flickering and collapsing in on themselves, as if the very reality of the place was being erased.

Livia stood victorious, breathless but unharmed, as the floor began to fade away. Together, they had conquered another trial.

But they knew that they were far from done.

The tower still loomed above them, and with it, the promise of even greater horrors to come.