Chapter 24: The Cursed Citadel - Floor 21

Elias stood before the towering gates of the third layer of the Trial, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. The moment he crossed this threshold, there would be no turning back. The trials here were different-no beasts to hunt, no predators to outsmart. Instead, the air was thick with an unsettling presence, a chill that gripped his very soul.

The Cursed Citadel was a dark and eerie place, a stark contrast to the savage wilderness of the Beastlands. Ancient stone walls loomed over him as he entered, the floor beneath his boots cracked and worn with age. The architecture was imposing-grandeur marred by time and decay, the kind of place that whispered of forgotten histories, of soldiers long dead, and battles that had faded into oblivion.

Each step Elias took felt heavier than the last, as though the very stones were pressing down on him. It was quiet-too quiet-save for the distant echoes of chains dragging along the floor. As he moved deeper into the citadel, his senses heightened, and a gnawing unease settled in his chest.

Suddenly, a voice-a whisper at the edge of his hearing-tickled his thoughts.

"Turn back... Leave while you still can..."

Elias shook his head, trying to clear the voice from his mind. It was nothing more than the echoes of those who had entered before him, he told himself. The spirits of the dead that haunted this forsaken place. The Cursed Citadel was known for trapping the souls of the damned, and it was said that the dead could still speak to the living, pulling them into madness.

As he continued, the walls seemed to close in on him, the stone growing colder with each step. Faint shadows flitted just beyond the edge of his vision, too quick to catch, but their presence unmistakable. Elias' hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, even though he knew this was not a place where mere steel would protect him.

The spirits began to manifest. Faint, translucent figures that drifted through the walls like mournful wraiths. They were the souls of fallen warriors, doomed to wander the citadel for eternity. Their faces were gaunt and hollow, their eyes empty of life. They whispered in the eerie silence, their voices like a cacophony of agony, pleading for release, warning of the dangers that lay ahead.

Elias' grip tightened on his weapon. He couldn't let them break his focus. He had a goal-to defeat whatever lay within this cursed fortress

and continue his journey.

The first test came in the form of a shadow-a flicker of movement in the darkness. Elias spun, sword raised, but it was gone, vanishing into thin air before his strike could land. His heart raced. This wasn't a normal fight. These were not creatures of flesh and blood. No, these were spirits, intangible and unpredictable. He would have to rely on more than just his strength and Instincts to survive this layer.

"Too late... You're already trapped," the voice echoed again, growing louder, reverberating through the hall like a thousand whispers.

Elias' breath quickened. He couldn't afford to lose his mind in this place, not with the trials ahead. He focused, tried to block out the voices, tried to keep moving forward. But then... it happened.

The walls seemed to ripple as if they were alive. And then, with a sudden rush of sound, the shadows descended on him. They came from all sides-vaporous, ghostly forms that swirled like a storm of darkness. Their hands reached for him, claws of shadow aiming to drag him into the depths of their eternal torment.

But Elias stood his ground. His hand moved with practiced precision, swiping through the air in a blur. His body flowed with the movement, but his mind... his mind was locked in focus. He wouldn't let them take him. He couldn't let them win.

The first shadow touched him, but it passed through his body as though he were a mere illusion himself, his sword cutting through the wraith's form with ease. It shrieked, a sound that pierced his very bones, but it vanished before he could land another blow.

But then another appeared. And another. Elias continued to fight them off, slashing and hacking, but they wouldn't stay dead. Each spirit dissipated only to return again, like a wave crashing against a cliffside, relentless, ever-growing in number.

His heart began to pound in his chest as exhaustion started to creep in. This was no ordinary battle. The citadel tested more than just strength; it tested the mind, the spirit, and the will to survive.

As the wraiths closed in again, Elias paused for a moment. He couldn't keep fighting them forever. He needed a way to break the cycle.

Then he remembered-there was a key to this place. The souls weren't just random

manifestations; they were trapped, bound to the citadel, feeding off the fear and despair of those who wandered here. If he could find the source,

the core of the curse, perhaps he could destroy it, end the cycle.

But where? The spirits were everywhere. How would he even begin to unravel the mystery of this haunted place?

Just then, a shadow larger than the rest emerged from the darkness-a towering figure, its form shifting like smoke, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. This was no mere wraith. This was something different. Something powerful.

Elias gripped his sword tighter. This was the real challenge.

He didn't have time to think, only to act.