"It’s dome 44!" shouted the young man in front, sprinting at full speed.

  "What’s going on, Ylier?" asked Eryndra, following closely behind, her voice lower and more serious than usual.

  "I’m assigned to domes 43, 44, 53, and 54. I follow protocol exactly — I check each dome every two minutes, I monitor the candidates, their fights, their fatigue levels…"

  "And?" Eryndra pressed, not slowing her pace.

  "At first, everything was fine. All four were doing okay. But the one in dome 44… he was incredible. He wiped out the golems from the first two waves in no time. I figured he’d pass the trial easily, so I shifted my attention to dome 54. That candidate was struggling with the second wave, used the distress scroll, so I deactivated the magic obelisk, stopped the golems — all by the book."

  "And the one in dome 44? He didn’t ask for help?"

  "No, not a word. When I came back to my post, there was just one golem left. The candidate looked a little winded, but nothing serious. I thought he was about to finish. He took a bit longer than expected, but I figured he was just catching his breath."

  "When did you realize something was wrong?" asked Eryndra.

  "When the first candidates started exiting their domes. Only three domes were still active, including 44. And then… I saw the ground. Craters everywhere, signs of explosions, shattered golem parts all over the area. It looked like a war zone. There were clearly more than three waves."

  "You’re sure?" Eryndra said, her face darkening.

  "Yes. The candidate was still on his feet, still fighting. Tired, yes, but fast. Focused. He took down the last golems and started walking toward the dome’s edge — he thought it was over."

  "But it wasn’t…" Eryndra murmured, already guessing what came next.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "No. The sparks came back. Right before my eyes, more golems appeared. Three, six, twelve… then twenty-four… forty-eight! I ran to the obelisk to deactivate the dome, but… the emergency scroll didn’t work. The artifact isn’t responding."

  Eryndra clenched her jaw.

  "Either the system’s malfunctioning… or it’s something worse."

  She quickened her pace again.

  "If he’s still alive, we get him out. Now."

  -----------------------------------------------------------

  "Sixty... sixty-eight? Eighty? A hundred?! Whatever. I’LL KILL YOU ALL!" Ale screamed, his lips bitten so hard they bled.

  He was panting. His legs felt like stone, his eyelids heavy. Every spell drained more of his life force. The mana he once thought endless after his training with Nyxion was slipping through his fingers like sand.

  And the golems kept coming. Again and again. Stronger. More relentless.

  "Damn it..." he growled. "At this rate, I’m going to..."

  His mind faltered.

  A cold chill ran down his spine.

  "...Sleep."

  That voice. Subtle. Calm. Cold. It came from—

  "Who... Who said that?!" Ale shouted, eyes wide, scanning the dome in panic.

  But no one was there.

  Only the golems, their red-flame eyes glowing, slowly closing in. Silent. Unstoppable.

  "Ignis Globus!"

  His hand raised by itself.

  A fireball shot up — into the sky.

  "What...?" Ale stammered.

  "Statua."

  The fireball froze mid-air.

  "No. That wasn’t me. That WASN’T ME!"

  His body was moving. His mouth chanting spells.

  But he wasn’t the one doing it.

  "Tenebrae Filum."

  Hundreds of shadowy threads burst from beneath him with an eerie whisper.

  They shot across the ground in straight lines, fast as lightning. The golems tried to leap, strike, dodge—

  But it was no use.

  They were caught. Wrapped. Trapped.

  Ale fought back. Tried to regain control. To resist.

  But the more he fought, the more his thoughts became fuzzy.

  "I’m... possessed."

  It was the only thing that made sense. He could feel it — he wasn’t the one in control anymore.

  Then — a snap.

  Not his.

  The shadow threads ignited, with a black, hissing flame.

  The golems shrieked — or maybe it was just the sound of their clay bodies cracking and crumbling to burning dust.

  Ale stumbled.

  This magic… he knew it.

  No — he recognized it.

  That power. That darkness. That style.

  "...Nyxion?" he whispered, eyes wide in shock.

  And as he spoke the name, Ale felt the last of his consciousness slip away.

  Everything went dark.