The battlefield stilled in Michi's mind, though the clashes of his comrades rumbled in the distance. His focus tunneled only to Umbryel, the shadow-born reflection of himself, despair clothed in flesh.
Umbryel's form flickered with black mist, veins glowing violet like fire under skin. His eyes were pits without bottom, sharp and merciless, yet strangely familiar—the same eyes Michi once saw in his mirror during nights of hopelessness.
"You look at me with resolve," Umbryel mocked, voice like jagged glass. "But that resolve is painted on sand. You can't defeat me. I am you—your pain, your guilt, your suffering made manifest. Every blade you lift is still mine."
Michi drew his sword, dagger held low in his other hand, sweat slicking his grip. His breath came steady now. "If you're me, then you already know… I won't back down. Not anymore."
The clash began.
Umbryel struck first, black blade hissing as it cut the air. Michi's sword rose to block, the impact rattling down his arm. Sparks of despair flared, searing at his skin. Umbryel twisted, slashing with monstrous speed. Michi rolled back, his dagger lashing upward to catch the strike. Metal screamed.
Umbryel's grin widened. "Good. You've learned to resist. But resistance is not victory!"
He pushed forward, driving Michi across the cracked floor. Each step cracked stone, every swing of Umbryel's blade left streaks of dark fire that scarred the walls. Michi parried desperately, breath ripping from his chest. Umbryel was stronger—faster—the weight of despair itself behind each blow.
He's overpowering me.
Umbryel's laugh rang. "Remember your failures, Michi. Velina's laughter as she carved you apart. Regina's knife in your back. Your so-called family's hatred. You couldn't save anyone. You couldn't even save yourself!"
Memories slammed into Michi's mind like spikes, his knees nearly buckling. Blood, betrayal, screams—his stomach being cut, his eyes gouged, his father's curses—everything Umbryel said was truth.
But Michi gritted his teeth, pushing forward. His sword blazed with flickering aura. "Yes… I suffered! I broke! But that pain is mine, not yours! I'll carry it—not to fall, but to rise!"
With a roar, he slashed. Umbryel's blade met his, sparks exploding. The force rattled the chamber, and for the first time Umbryel's grin faltered.
"Rise?" Umbryel hissed. "Despair does not lift. It drags down. Let me show you—"
He unleashed a flurry of strikes. Michi's arms screamed with pain, each block numbing his bones. A kick smashed into his ribs, sending him sprawling across the floor. His sword clattered away. Umbryel's shadow loomed, blade raised.
"You are weak, Michi. Always were. And when I end you, despair will own you fully."
The blade came down.
Michi rolled, pain searing his body, and grabbed his fallen dagger. Umbryel's strike gouged stone inches from his head. Michi lunged up, stabbing forward. The dagger pierced Umbryel's shoulder, black ichor spraying like smoke.
Umbryel snarled, eyes flashing. "You dare—"
Michi ripped the blade free, voice raw. "If despair is you—then I'll carve through it! For every scar you gave me, I'll strike back!"
His sword answered his call, hand finding its grip again. He charged.
The clash renewed, faster and heavier. Blade met blade, echoing like thunder. Umbryel's slashes carved black arcs through the air, but Michi's strikes grew sharper, driven by more than rage. His friends fighting around him, his will to live, his choice to bear pain—these wove into each swing.
Umbryel staggered back under the assault. His grin warped into fury. "No! You are despair! You cannot turn me into strength!"
Michi's eyes burned with light, sweat and blood dripping. "I can. Because I'm not running anymore. I'll take despair—and make it mine!"
With a scream, Michi drove his sword into Umbryel's chest. The shadow-being gasped, his black aura shuddering violently.
Umbryel's voice broke, both furious and pleading. "If you kill me—you kill yourself!"
Michi shoved the blade deeper, his dagger plunging alongside it. His voice was steel. "No. I'm freeing myself."
Umbryel howled, body bursting into tendrils of shadow. The ground shook as his form disintegrated, leaving only a spiraling vortex of black light. The weapons in Michi's hands burned away, sucked into the vortex.
From the storm of despair, matter began to take shape. A weapon.
A spear.
Its shaft was black as obsidian, veins of violet pulsing like veins alive. The tip glowed with searing darkness, curved and jagged, made for piercing not just flesh but soul.
The spear floated before Michi, whispering with Umbryel's fading voice: I am you… I am despair… wield me, or be consumed.
Michi's trembling hand reached out. His fingers closed around the shaft. The spear pulsed, searing heat running up his arm.
Then, like a serpent striking, the weapon dissolved into liquid shadow and surged into Michi's chest.
He gasped, staggering, hands clawing at his body as the spear embedded itself within. His veins glowed black-violet for an instant, his whole body trembling with unbearable force. He dropped to his knees, choking.
Then silence.
Michi slowly raised his head. His breath steadied. His body burned, yet it was alive—stronger. Within him, he felt it: the despair spear, no longer a separate entity, but a weapon bonded to his soul. A weapon he could summon, a weapon forged from his darkest self.
Melancholy's slow clap echoed again, breaking the silence.
"Well done," he said with a rare hint of satisfaction. "You faced despair. You defeated it. And now… you carry its power as your own."
Michi looked down at his trembling hands, then clenched them into fists. His lips curved, not into a smile, but something harder—resolve.
He whispered, voice hoarse yet steady. "Umbryel… you're mine now."
The chamber shuddered as despair bent, no longer consuming Michi, but bending to his will.
The trial was over.
And Michi had won.