The Temple Master took his place on the dais, draped in black and gold like some badly aged relic.
He raised a hand, fingers long and pale as bones. The Temple Master's voice rolled out over the hall, deep and measured, like a funeral bell disguised as a sermon.
"Hail the Chained One, whose bonds hold the void at bay.
Hail the burden we are honored to bear."
He paused, letting the words linger, letting the silence curdle.
Then he continued — heavier, colder.
"You stand here today, trembling on the edge of significance.
You who are dust, pretending at shape.
You who are fleeting, daring to reach for the eternal."
His gaze swept over the disciples — not warmly, but like a man surveying livestock before a storm.
"You seek power. You seek salvation. You seek purpose.
Fools.
Power demands blood.
Salvation demands suffering.
And purpose..."
He smiled again — that same bloodless, humorless curve of the lips.
"Purpose demands that you cease being what you are."
A murmur of unease rippled through the crowd, subtle as a dying breath.
Temple Master lifted one hand — skeletal, patient — and said,
"Now... today your trial will begin."
Samuel's hand tightened around the dagger hidden in his robe.
In his head, he was already running scenarios:
If this old bastard suddenly announced a battle royale, Samuel needed to move fast — preferably in the opposite direction of anyone bigger than him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Elias gave him a strange look. Something between amusement and pity.
Samuel ignored him.
Because at this point, what wasn't strange?
The Temple Master finally spoke again.
"You will all be sent into the Umbral Threshold"
A soft murmur rippled through the crowd.
The Temple Master's smile faded, replaced by something heavier — something that felt like a chain being locked into place around all their necks. He raised his hand again, speaking slowly, each word weighing down the hall like falling stones.
"Listen well, disciples.
The realm you will be cast into... is the lowest of the Abyssal Realms. Vast. Endless. Indifferent to your survival."
A cold murmur swept through the crowd — the kind of sound people made when they were trying not to show fear.
"You will be scattered like ash in the wind. Within the realm, Abyssal Beasts of the First Rank will hunt without rest. If fate truly despises you... you may stumble upon something far worse."
The Temple Master allowed himself a small, mirthless chuckle.
"...you may even encounter a Second Rank beast. Pray you don't."
Samuel shifted his weight slightly, feeling the dagger pressing against his ribs beneath the robe.
Rank 2 beasts.
Wonderful.
Just the thing to spice up a death sentence.
The Temple Master continued, his voice a low thrum in the air:
"You will have one week.
No more, no less.
Within that time, you must locate a cathedral.
There are many scattered across the realm — but not all are sanctuaries. Some are... death traps, built to swallow the foolish whole."
He let that sink in, his eyes gleaming like knives under the dim light.
"Once you find a true cathedral, you must approach the altar.You must bleed before it — offer yourself to the Abyss."
A few of the younger disciples shifted uncomfortably at those words.
Offer yourself.
Like lambs at a butcher's block.
"If the Abyss accepts your offering," the Temple Master said, voice deepening,
"It will grant you your True Rune.
Your power will be shaped by your offering... and your
performance within the realm."
He let that hang in the air — a promise or a threat, it was hard to tell.
Probably both.
"Each cathedral also holds a teleportation array.
Use it to return to us.
But remember this well..."
The Temple Master's eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers.
"You have only one week.
After that, we will seal the realm."
The hall was silent, heavy with the realization of what had just been handed to them.
A trial?
No.
A gauntlet.
A crucible of teeth and blood.
Samuel's lips curled into something that might have been a smile — or a grimace.
He wasn't sure anymore.
Either way, he would walk through it.
Or he would be devoured trying.
***
The Temple Master raised his hands.
The air behind him groaned, then split open, like a carcass being torn apart. A void gate formed — blacker than black, a perfect circle that seemed to drink in the light around it.
A soft, whispering sound spilled from it, like a choir of invisible mouths exhaling.
Samuel knew what it was.
A teleportation altar.
A doorway into the Abyssal Realm.
And a coffin, for many.
The golden robes were called first.
They stepped forward, their faces carved from marble, eyes steady.They had reputations to uphold — sons and daughters of sect elders, young prodigies with glittering futures.
But Samuel watched closely, and he saw it.
The way one boy's right hand twitched uncontrollably. The way another's breathing came too fast, too shallow.
Fear, hidden under layers of pride.
One by one, they entered the gate and vanished.
No screams yet. Only silence.
Then came the white robes.
And the mask of control began to crack....
One white-robed girl hesitated at the edge of the altar.
The Temple Master merely tilted his head slightly.
Two guards immediately stepped forward, each grabbing an arm.
"No—no, I can walk!" she gasped, trying to find her dignity.
But it was too late. They threw her bodily into the void, like garbage tossed into a fire.
Another boy stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut.
"Just do it," he muttered to himself, barely audible.
"Just do it, just do it, just—"
He broke into a run and hurled himself into the gate before the guards could reach him.
Then came the black robes.
And all pretense ended.....
The first black robe — a thin, sickly boy — took one look at the yawning void and screamed.
"No! No, please! I'm not ready! I can't—!"
He turned to flee.
A guard clubbed him in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling face-first onto the cold stone.
"Mercy! Mercy!" he howled, blood leaking from his mouth.
He was dragged, kicking and sobbing, to the altar and thrown inside.
Guards moved swiftly, methodically.
Grabbing, dragging, tossing.
Like fishermen gutting their catch.
Chaos swallowed the hall.
Disciples screamed.
A dozen voices rising into a mad, discordant chorus.
***
"I have a medical condition!, I can't go into void spaces! My uncle said it's bad for my—AAHH—my spirit bones or something!"
"Listen, listen! I'm a strategic resource! You can't just throw me away! I have—connections! Powerful ones! I'll mention you in my will! I swear!"
"Do you know who I am?! My great-grandfather's cousin was a friend of an elder once! You'll regret this when I ascend to the heavens! I swear it on my future sect!"
"I'M STILL A VIRGIN, DAMN YOU! HAVE MERCY!"
"Oh mighty gate, most gracious void, I come in peace! I offer no resistance! Please rank me favorably, okay? I'm a very good person—"
"Tell my mom I died like a hero! No wait—no! Tell her I died protesting injustice! Yeah, that sounds cooler! Write it down!"
"My makeup isn't waterproof! You monsters! My mascara is cursed! CURSED! This will haunt you!"
"Aaaa—this shameless guard touching my ass! I can walk on my own, you bastards!"
***
The Temple Master and the Abyssal Elders watched the madness unfold with blank, indifferent eyes — like statues carved from stone, utterly untouched by the screams and pleas echoing through the hall.
The black-robed disciples howled, cried, bargained, and struggled...One after another, they were dragged and hurled into the yawning gate of darkness.
And yet, amid all this chaos, there were two figures who stood apart.
Two boys — standing in eerie calm, detached from the madness like they were watching a faraway play.
Samuel and .....Elias.
From the corner of his eye, Samuel caught sight of Elias.
At first, he thought his so-called friend looked worried — but then he realized... no.
That flicker in Elias's sharp eyes—too bright, too alive. The small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like a child who had just found a locked door... and the key tucked conveniently behind his back.
Samuel exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to sigh louder.
Of course. Of course he would be excited.
Because Elias wasn't the kind of friend who helped you up when you fell. He was the one who leaned down, offered you a hand... just to whisper something cruel before letting go.
So Samuel straightened his spine and turned his gaze ahead, cold and steady.
He would have to guard himself.
Against the elders. Against the trial.
And most of all... against this so-called friend.
'Well,' he thought dryly,
'if you were ranking weirdness... we're both in the top tier.'
It wasn't bravery that made him stand still.
It was simply that he'd had too many shocks.
Too many near-heart attacks.
He had even died once.
Not in the poetic, symbolic sense — in the real, messy, terrifying way. And once you had tasted the end... a little chaos felt almost soothing.
Numbness clung to him like a second skin.
Heavy. Silent. Cold.
Beside him, Elias leaned slightly closer, voice casual.
"Should we scream too?" he asked, almost helpfully.
Samuel glanced around — at the crying, the pleading, the clawing hands — and answered in a soft, deadpan murmur:
"No. Our mouths went dry, ...then first we need to find water... not the cathedral."
Elias nodded, as if Samuel had just proposed the most logical plan in the world.
"True," he said, smiling lazily. "Let's go."
"Yeah," Samuel whispered back.
And without another word, they stepped forward together — two lonely figures walking into the gaping blackness of the gate.
The noise faded behind them, swallowed whole by the endless void.
Only silence remained.
As Samuel crossed the threshold, a single thought drifted through his mind, cold and hollow:
'In the end... it doesn't matter whether you walk or scream. The abyss swallows you just the same.'
And with that quiet resignation, he vanished into the darkness.
***