The Man Who Shouldn’t Exist
Trial III: The Realm of Time
Time didn't flow here.
It fractured.
It broke into a thousand shimmering shards and scattered across a place that shouldn't exist.
Matt stepped forward—and the world stepped back.
This wasn't space. This wasn't air. This was memory and possibility made physical, stretched thin over the bones of eternity.
Moments floated around him like dust motes in a dying sunbeam—childhood laughter, battles not yet fought, kisses never shared, blood that hadn't spilled yet.
Above, the sky twisted: a cyclone of broken clocks and spiraling constellations.
Below, a glass floor mirrored things that never were—visions of Matt holding a crown, wielding a blade not forged yet, standing over graves that hadn't been dug.
The Third Trial.
The Realm of Time.
And already… something was wrong.
Out of the fog, a dozen figures emerged.
Each one bore his face. Each one bore his scars—but twisted, aged, broken.
One wore black Voidflame armor, radiating malice like heat from a forge.
Another's eyes bled with gold starlight, divine and detached, as if humanity was a distant memory.
A third knelt in chains, muttering to someone who wasn't there—his voice hoarse from too many apologies no one heard.
Matt's breath caught.
> "What is this…?"
The answer came—not from one, but all.
> "We are the selves you could have been."
The fog parted again.
And from its heart, something terrifying stepped forward.
An older Matt.
Taller. Heavier. Regal. Cloaked in spiraling Voidlight and crowned in living flame. His presence warped the world—time bent around him.
The Void King.
A voice that was his, but not his, thundered like prophecy:
> "This is your greatest threat.
Not Thermuz.
Not the Paladins.
Not even death."
The king raised a hand—a crown of flame blooming above his palm.
> "It's what you might become."
---
Combat Initiated: Matt vs. Possible Futures
The fractured versions moved.
Not like people.
Like warnings.
The Tyrant struck first—void-forged blade screaming through air, fueled by pure vengeance.
The Slave followed, shackled and broken, eyes empty, attacking not to win—but to suffer.
The King stood unmoving, letting Matt exhaust himself against mirrored fate.
But Matt didn't fight them with fury.
He fought them with choice.
He caught the Tyrant's blade mid-swing, meeting his own twisted gaze.
> "I know your rage. But I'm not your weapon."
With effort, he disarmed the Tyrant—and let the sword shatter on the ground.
He knelt before the Slave. Unchained his wrists.
> "You carry guilt. I carry truth. We move forward."
Chains clanged to the floor like thunder.
Last, he stood before the King.
> "I won't wear your crown," Matt whispered. "But I'll carry the fire."
The King studied him for a long moment. Then—nodded.
He turned to smoke.
And the broken reflections vanished with him.
---
From beneath Matt's feet, the mirror floor pulsed—cracked—and ignited.
A blazing sigil carved itself from the light:
The Seal of Chrona-Echo: The Unbroken Path.
The Realm of Time fell still.
Silence wrapped around him like a warm shroud.
A single door appeared ahead, suspended in time's silence—its edge glowing with quiet fate.
Trial Three—complete.
But peace did not follow. Not yet.
Matt stood in the silence, chest rising and falling. His knuckles were white from the weight of what he could be. Of what he still might become.
> "Three down," he muttered. "And I still don't know if I'm becoming something better…
or something worse."
He stepped through the door.
On the other side, the wind screamed.
And the earth dripped with blood.
---
Next Realm: The Trial of Beasts.