Chapter:6 The scream beneath the stone!
The silence that followed the battle in the Dome was unnaturally loud.
Draven stood over the body of the defeated challenger, his breath heavy, fists trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. Something waking up inside him. His hand, the one marked by the glowing symbol, pulsed faintly as if acknowledging its hunger.
The arena lights dimmed.
A low mechanical groan echoed through the stone beneath his feet. He turned sharply, eyes darting toward the exit arch—only to see it close on its own, sealing him inside. The system hadn't announced his victory. No fanfare. No exit cue.
He wasn't done.
"What's going on?" he muttered under his breath, scanning the dome.
A circle of the floor at the center began to sink, stones grinding and clicking like ancient gears grinding against time itself. The ground opened into a wide spiral pit descending into pitch-black nothingness. A soft wind wafted upward, carrying with it a foul stench—blood, rust, and decay.
Then came the scream.
It wasn't human. It wasn't beast. It was something in between—something ancient. Something broken.
The mark on Draven's hand flared violently, bathing his skin in red light. A pulse of heat shot up his arm, burning like molten iron, and then it stopped.
"ENTER THE SECOND TRIAL," the system finally spoke, its voice more distorted than before. Almost as if it was... glitching.
He clenched his jaw. No time to hesitate. Draven leapt into the pit.
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The descent felt longer than it should have. He landed on stone—but not the cold, smooth dome flooring. This was different. Rough, natural, and warm... too warm.
He looked around.
He was standing inside a massive underground cavern. Jagged black rocks jutted from the ceiling like teeth, and glowing red veins pulsed within the walls like a living creature's arteries. Far ahead, a giant obsidian door stood between two statues of headless humanoid figures, each holding a cracked, burning lantern.
"Where the hell am I now?"
As if on cue, the torches in the statues' hands ignited, sending waves of heat through the tunnel. Then the floor shook.
Draven stumbled back as a massive stone slab behind him slammed upward, closing off the pit he came from. No going back.
That's when he noticed something was missing—his mark had vanished.
His palm was blank.
He tapped it. Nothing. No glow. No heat. It was as if it had been erased.
A sense of dread coiled around his chest like a python. That mark had kept him alive. It connected him to something greater. Without it, he was just... human again.
But only for a moment.
A voice, raspier than the system's, spoke directly into his head.
"You wish to be chosen? Then bleed for the title."
Draven staggered, gripping his temples. The voice wasn't just sound—it was pressure, like something ancient pressing against his skull.
The door ahead groaned open on its own.
Inside was a circular chamber lined with floating stones etched with glowing runes. In the center, suspended by black tendrils, was a massive egg-shaped stone, cracked and oozing a thick, glowing crimson fluid that hissed when it hit the floor.
Something was inside it. Something moving.
Suddenly, the tendrils snapped free.
The stone fell—and shattered.
Out of it crawled a creature unlike anything Draven had ever seen.
Its body was stitched together from blackened flesh, armored bone, and flickering shadows. No eyes. Just a wide, stitched mouth and a hollow skull crowned with thorn-like protrusions. It walked on four limbs like a beast, but its movements were calculated... intelligent.
Draven instinctively backed away.
Then the voice returned.
"This is the Devourer of Faith. To move forward, you must survive its hunger."
The creature screeched—a sound that cracked the floating stones and made Draven's ears bleed.
No weapons. No system interface. No mark. Just him and a nightmare born from forgotten gods.
It lunged.
Draven dodged, barely missing its clawed limb as it carved a chunk of stone from the wall. He rolled, kicked up a loose shard, and jammed it into the beast's side. It hissed but didn't stop. One swipe knocked him off his feet, sending him skidding across the stone.
He coughed blood. Something was broken.
The creature crept forward, slow, deliberate, savoring the moment.
Draven's mind screamed. His body trembled.
But his will?
It burned.
He remembered what the girl had told him in the forest—"This world doesn't test strength. It tests resolve."
His blood smeared across the floor.
And then... the mark reappeared.
It blazed to life on his chest this time, searing through his shirt and branding itself over his heart like a crown of fire.
The creature lunged again—but this time, Draven caught its claw with his bare hand.
The symbol lit up, and from it, a burst of light exploded, sending the creature flying against the wall with a screech that shattered every rune stone in the chamber.
Draven stood, taller now, pain gone. The light from his mark wrapped around his arms like gauntlets.
He wasn't human anymore.
He dashed forward, faster than ever before, fists glowing. Blow after blow, he pounded into the creature's core until it collapsed in on itself, its body burning from the inside out like old paper caught in fire.
The chamber fell silent.
Only Draven stood, shoulders heaving, chest marked.
Then the voice returned once more.
"Mark: Verified. Trial Two: Complete. Initiating Bond Protocol…"
The mark on his chest burned brighter—and began spreading like a tattoo across his left arm, forming the shape of a blade.
Whatever this bond was… it had just begun.
And something far bigger was waking up with it.
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