Chapter 34: Trial of Chains (Part 1)

  The transition through the archway is different this time.

  Instead of the violent disorientation of the shadow trial, this passage feels almost like a drop into a different reality. The world around us dissolves into prismatic light before reforming into something impossible.

  I stumble forward onto an arena of white sand. My claws click against the surface, and the sound echoes with a crisp and oddly familiar sound.

  "What..." Gorvash's voice trails off beside me.

  The amphitheater spreads before us in impossible grandeur. Not the blood-stained ruin we'd just left, but a pristine vision of what it must have been millennia ago. Tiered seating rises in perfect concentric circles, each row carved from flawless marble. Banners flutter from posts that shouldn't exist, silk fabric catching winds that carry no scent.

  And the audience.

  Even my scales prickle as I process what fills those seats. Thousands of them. Translucent figures that might once have been people, now reduced to suggestions of form. They don't sit so much as hover, their boundaries fuzzy and indistinct. When they move, they leave trails of light like afterimages.

  And they're cheering.

  A thrumming pressure resonates in my chest cavity, making my body vibrate with a frequency of anticipation and awe. It's the roar of a crowd hungry for violence, preserved in some magical time-space continuum for who knows how long.

  "By the ancestors," Kor'ik breathes beside me, his throat sac pulsing rapidly. "This is... this is impossible."

  But it's not. Not in this world. Not in these ruins where the past bleeds through like an open wound.

  I turn slowly, taking in the full scope of our situation. All of us are here. Hynnal and his remaining warriors, we slaves, even the injured Stalker who looks even more unsettled than usual.

  The Silent Frogman stands apart as always, his powerful legs tense, ready to spring, though there's nowhere to go.

  I can also see stone statues positioned all around the arena's edge at regular intervals.

  Each one is carved to represent a different warrior type, one with a massive two-handed sword, another with twin blades, a third with a spear and shield. There is also something unsettlingly lifelike about them.

  Decorative relics of whatever civilization built this place or monuments to long-dead heroes.

  As we settle in this overwhelming stage, the ghostly audience's cheering grows louder, more insistent. The sound crawls under my scales like living things.

  Then it happens.

  A sensation in my chest, like something cold and invasive pushing through my sternum from the inside. I gasp, my claws going to the spot, expecting blood, expecting a wound.

  Instead, I see light.

  A chain made of pure energy emerges from the center of my chest, solid despite being formed from what looks like crystallized moonlight. Where it exits my body, faint geometric symbols glow across my scales in concentric patterns, pulsing with each beat of my heart.

  It doesn't hurt, exactly, but feels like a violation of my being. Just the thought of having something emerge from inside me, makes my stomach turn.

  The chain extends outward, and I follow its length with mounting dread.

  And then it connects directly to Gorvash…

  The warrior's copper scales are marked with the same glowing symbols where the chain enters his chest. His eyes meet mine, wide with shock and confusion that mirrors my own.

  "What is this?" he growls, his clawed hand wrapping around the ethereal chain. It's solid to the touch, I can see his fingers close around it, but pulling does nothing except make the symbols on both our chests flare brighter.

  Around us, the others are experiencing the same phenomenon. Each of us is linked to another by these impossible chains of light.

  Kor'ik is connected to the Bog Goblin, the small creature chittering in distress as it stares at the chain emerging from its chest. The Frogman looks equally disturbed, his webbed hands trembling as he examines the glowing symbols on his skin.

  The Silent Frogman and the Stalker are also paired, and the irony would be almost funny if the situation weren't so terrifying. The two most isolated members of our group, forced into literal connection.

  Hynnal is chained to one of his warrior Gnolls, and I can see the calculating gleam in the pack leader's eyes even as the symbols pulse across his scarred chest. His subordinate looks nervous, which is never a good sign when your leader is someone like Hynnal.

  The remaining warriors are paired as well, two by two, until all ten of us survivors are linked in these magical bonds.

  The ghostly audience's cheering reaches a crescendo, then cuts off with shocking abruptness.

  Silence falls over the arena like a blade.

  Then a voice speaks, not from any visible source, but directly inside my skull. The sensation is like having cold water poured through my thoughts, invasive and absolute.

  "Two linked hearts beat, yet only one leads to life. Make two become one, or both will perish."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

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  The words echo in the same way as Magba’s voice once did, as if they're being projected directly onto my consciousness. But unlike her thoughts, this feels malevolent and deliberate in its cruelty.

  "What does that mean?" Kor'ik's voice cracks with barely contained panic. "Make two become one? How do we…"

  The cold logic of it settles in my gut.

  It's a prisoner's dilemma. A death game wearing the mask of a trial.

  The chains aren't just connections, they're sentences. One of each pair must die for the other to survive. That's what "make two become one" means. Reduce the pair to a single survivor.

  The ghostly audience begins their thrumming cheer again, a sound like thousands of hearts beating in anticipation.

  "No," I say firmly, looking directly at Gorvash. "That's not what this is. It can't be."

  But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. The shadow trial stripped away our identities and made us fight each other. Why wouldn't this trial force us into more direct betrayal?

  Hynnal apparently reaches the same conclusion I did, but without the hesitation. His ears flatten against his skull as he addresses his chained partner in rapid Gnoll. The warrior's eyes widen, his response equally frantic.

  "What are they saying?" I demand of Kor'ik.

  The Frogman's attention is split between translating and staring at his own chain in horror. "Hynnal is... he's establishing hierarchy. Reminding the warrior of pack law. Of obedience."

  A chill runs through me. "He's deciding which one dies."

  "Only strong survives," Gorvash says quietly beside me, but there's no conviction in his voice.

  "Not this time." I grab his shoulder, forcing him to look at me. "Think about it. The shadow trial, we survived by working together. By using light to find truth. This has to be the same."

  "You sure?" His copper eyes search mine.

  Honestly? No. I'm not sure of anything in this nightmare of a place. But giving in to paranoia, to that instinct to strike first, is exactly what killed so many in the shadow trial.

  The Bog Goblin suddenly shrieks, thrashing against its chain. Kor'ik tries to calm it, but the small creature is beyond reason, its yellow eyes rolling with terror.

  Across the arena, I see the two paired Hunter Gnolls backing away from each other, the chain between them stretching to its limit. They're both speaking rapidly, gesturing, trying to negotiate something. But I can see the way their hands drift toward weapons, the way they circle each other despite being literally bound together.

  "Listen!" I shout in my barely understandable Gnoll language, trying to project my voice across the arena. Some heads turn toward me, but most are too focused on their own partners, their own survival calculations. "Just test! Make us turn each other!"

  The Stalker growls menacingly, his yellow eyes fix on the Silent Frogman.

  The Silent Frogman's response is to tense his legs, ready to spring. The weights might slow him, but those powerful muscles could still crush bone.

  "Kor'ik!" I call out. "Tell them the previous trial rewarded cooperation, not violence!"

  The Frogman's throat sac pulses as he translates my words into Gnoll, but I can see from the warriors' expressions that my argument isn't landing. They've survived in this brutal world through strength and ruthlessness. Why would they suddenly trust cooperation?

  Hynnal barks something sharp, and his chained warrior's shoulders slump in defeat. The pack leader's claws flex, a predator preparing for the kill.

  "Wait!" I try again, with Kor'ik's voicing the translation with desperation. "The voice said 'make two become one.' It didn't say kill! What if it means something else?”

  It's a thin hope, grasping at semantic straws. But it makes one of the paired Hunter Gnolls pause, his ears perking forward as he looks at us.

  And that moment of hesitation is his doom as the other Hunter Gnoll viciously strikes at his back.

  He's been slowly maneuvering during the entire discussion, positioning himself just right. Now he lunges, his claws going for his partner's throat in a move that's pure instinct and terror.

  The first Gnoll tries to dodge, but the chain limits his movement. Those razor claws find purchase, tearing through fur and flesh. Dark blood sprays across the white sand, painting it in violent contrast.

  "No!" I hear myself shout, but it's already too late.

  The dying Gnoll falls to his knees, clutching his torn throat. His eyes are wide in anger and despair. He knows he's been betrayed by his own packmate, his own brother in arms.

  The killer stands over him, panting, blood dripping from his claws. For a moment, there's triumph in his eyes. Relief. He survived and his trial is over.

  But then the chain turns red.

  Not a gentle shift of color, but a violent, angry transformation. The crystallized ghostly green becomes something closer to molten glass, pulsing with a malevolent glow.

  The geometric symbols on both Gnolls' chests flare with the same crimson light.

  "What..." The killer looks down at his chest in confusion. Then pain explodes across his whole body.

  He drops down, both hands flying to where the chain enters his body. The symbols are burning now, actually burning, smoke rising from his fur as the magic brands itself deeper and deeper into his flesh.

  "Help!" he screams desperately "Help me! I can’t…"

  His words cut off as his entire body goes rigid. The chain is doing something, pulling something out of him. I can see it, a ghostly light being drawn from his chest, following the chain's path toward his dead partner.

  But it doesn't stop there. The energy keeps flowing, past the corpse, spreading across the sand until it reaches the statues.

  The killer Gnoll's scream reaches a horrifying pitch and then he collapses, his body hitting the sand with a wet, final thud.

  The chain between the two Gnolls fades, dissolving into motes of light that drift upward like reverse snow.

  Two bodies now lie in the white sand. The betrayer and the betrayed, both dead from a trial that punished the exact response it seemed to demand.

  The trap's full scope becomes clear. Betray, and both die. Cooperate, and you might live."

  Gorvash looks at me with respect in his eyes. "You were right, brother."

  “Don’t be so sure about this yet" I watch as the stolen life energy flows into the nearest statue. Where it touches the carved stone, something changes. The material seems to soften, to become more organic.

  And then the statue's eyes open.

  Not metaphorically. Literally.

  Stone eyelids that shouldn't be able to move peel back to reveal eyes of glowing amber. The guardian's head turns with a grinding sound that sets my teeth on edge, its gaze sweeping across the arena.

  Across the amphitheater, other statues are waking as well. I count six in total, positioned equidistant around the perimeter.

  Ancient Stone Guardians. The arena's enforcers, awakened by this death energy.

  The ghostly audience's cheering reaches a fever pitch, that thrumming pressure in my chest becoming almost unbearable.

  One of the guardians takes a step forward, stone foot crashing against the sand with a sound like thunder. The same stone guardians we were warned never to awaken.

  It levels its massive sword and points it directly at us.

  The message is clear. Fight or die.