Six Statues

The heavy silence of the dungeon pressed down on them. The six statues lined the walls, each carved with precision, each one radiating an ancient, ominous energy. As they observed them closely, the realization struck.

Each statue represented one of the six fragments of god. Power, War, Creation, Fate, Time, and the last—one that felt wrong, darker, and distorted.

Chaos.

Fenix's heart thudded in his chest as his gaze locked onto the last statue. The figure cloaked in shadow, its features hidden, a swirling aura of darkness wrapped around it. His core pulsed painfully. Only he knew what that statue truly represented. But he said nothing.

Aldric's voice broke the silence. "This is a trial. The fragments are watching."

Lena nodded, stepping closer to the statues. "It feels like we're being judged."

Vix glanced at the final figure, her brows furrowing. "Six statues. Six of us. This isn't a coincidence."

Rein's gaze lingered on the Fate statue, his voice low. "Each of us must confront a fragment."

The group hesitated, but there was no other option. They approached the statues, each one drawn to a different fragment. The weight of their choices settled heavy on their shoulders.

Aldric stood before the statue of Power, the figure of strength, authority, and unwavering resolve. "Let's hope I measure up to this one," he muttered, placing his hand on the stone.

Lena faced the figure of Fate, its gaze carved in eternal judgment. "Seems fitting," she said quietly. "I've always believed in destiny."

Vix walked towards Creation, her eyes lingering on the symbols of life carved into the stone. "Birth, growth... it's about beginnings. Let's see if I understand it."

Rein found himself facing War, the statue bearing a massive blade, carved as if ready to strike. "War... I know this well," he said, his fingers tracing the blade.

Orin stood before Time, gazing at the figure holding an hourglass. "Time judges us all," he murmured, placing his hand upon it.

Doran unknowingly stood before Chaos, his eyes narrowed at the formless figure, unaware of its true nature. "This one feels... wrong," he said, hesitating. "But I'll face it."

The ancient bowl remained on the pedestal at the center. Its presence was as oppressive as the statues, its purpose unknown. Fenix found himself drawn to it, unable to look away.

Aldric's voice broke the tension. "Everyone, be cautious. Interact with your fragment, but be prepared."

Fenix's breath grew heavy. His core pulsed painfully. The bowl's presence demanded his attention. It was calling him.

One by one, the Awakened reached out, placing their hands upon their chosen statues.

The dungeon responded.

The statues began to weep. Dark, crimson tears of blood flowed from their hollow eyes, seeping down their stone forms, soaking into the ancient rock beneath them. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as the scent of iron filled the room.

Rein's face paled. "What the hell is this?"

Vix stepped back slightly. "This... isn't right. Statues shouldn't bleed."

Doran hesitated, his fingers twitching against the stone. "What kind of trial is this?"

Fenix's breath caught in his throat. The sight of the blood stirred something deep within him, a primal warning. He hesitated, then reached for Ashfang, summoning its dark, burning blade.

'If blood is what this place demands...'

He drew the edge of Ashfang across his palm. Pain bloomed sharp, and dark, thick blood dripped from his hand. Without hesitation, he let it fall into the ancient bowl.

The reaction was immediate.

The bowl erupted in shadow. Dark essence swirled, twisting into the air, tendrils of power clawing at Fenix. His vision blurred as pain lanced through his core. He felt judged. Condemned. The bowl demanded more.

And Fenix gave it.

He gritted his teeth and pushed deeper, letting his essence bleed alongside the blood. The bowl accepted the offering, its shadow growing thicker, deeper. The statues' blood began to glow faintly, their stone bodies resonating with ancient power.

All around him, the statues pulsed. The air thrummed with tension. The trial had begun.

"What is this?" Orin whispered, his hand trembling against the statue of Time.

"A test," Aldric growled. "One we can't fail."

The Awakened stood frozen, locked in their own mental battles. Each faced their fragment. Proving themselves. Fighting memories. Failing. Learning. Surviving.

Fenix's strength waned. The bowl demanded more. His soul burned, his blood seeping out in dark, heavy drops. His veins felt as though they would rupture, but he endured, trembling as his energy flooded into the ancient vessel.

And then, silence.

The trial ended. The glow faded.

But something worse arrived.

Mist.

It seeped from the walls, thick and suffocating. It coiled around their feet, cold and hungry. No one could move. No one could speak. One by one, they collapsed.

Lena fell first. Her body crumpled to the floor. Vix followed, her beasts vanishing in an instant. Orin, Rein, Doran. All of them.

Aldric fought the longest, his blade drawn, but the mist was relentless. He fell with a final, heavy breath.

Fenix resisted, his core burning. His mind screamed, but it was futile. The fog wrapped around his throat, pulling him into unconsciousness.

When Fenix awoke, everything was wrong.

He sat on a cold, metal chair. His wrists ached, though they were unbound. A long, dark table stretched before him, its surface gleaming like polished obsidian. Another chair sat opposite him, empty.

The room was cold and sterile. Blue flames from torches lined the walls, casting an unnatural, haunting glow. The air was sharp, metallic.

To his right, his friends lay unconscious. The six of them, unmoving, trapped in unnatural sleep upon makeshift stone beds.

Fenix tried to stand, but his strength faltered. He was trapped in the seat, though there were no restraints. As if the very air pinned him down.

And then, it appeared.

A shadowy figure, vague and undefined, cloaked in heavy black, settled into the chair across from him. Its presence suffocated the room, heavy and cold. Fenix felt it before he saw it. Chaos.

The figure sat still, faceless beneath the hood. Waiting.

Fenix swallowed hard, his voice weak but defiant. "Who are you?"

No response. Only silence. Only weight.

But Fenix could feel it—the pull, the connection. The same presence that haunted his Trial. The one that followed him through the jungle. The one that called him here.

The figure radiated power. Cold, infinite, and ancient.

Fenix's pulse raced, his breath ragged. He felt small. Weak. But he clenched his fists beneath the table, gathering his courage.

The figure moved, slow and deliberate. A shadowed hand emerged from the folds of darkness, resting upon the table. Pale, inhuman. The silence thickened.

The chapter ends with Fenix's breath hitching, fear curling in his chest as he waits for the shadow to speak.