The flesh swarm moved like a tidal wave of crimson hunger.
They swam through every gap they could find
through cracks in walls,
through broken windows,
through shattered decorative frames,
through hairline fractures in the palace floors.
Tiny ones reshaped to squeeze through microscopic holes,
larger ones distorted themselves into flat worm-like ribbons,
others melted into liquid flesh to pour through impossible spaces.
All with one purpose.
Find the human.
Find the intruder.
Find the heartbeat that dared to defy their ocean.
And the human they wanted was Kai.
The palace itself seemed offended by the crawling invasion, yet it could not stop them. They moved like disease through arteries, slithering up halls, spiraling down mirrored staircases, sliding across floors like living paint.
They were coming.
Every pulse of their movement screamed hunger.
Every flap of their boneless fins shrieked malice.
Every echo of their wriggling bodies sang the promise of dissolution.
And below the Palace, within the chamber, Kai was still pinned.
That weight,
that pressure of existence,
that force crushing him into the cracking floor.
It was increasing again.
His lungs were tightening.
His ribs were bending.
His thoughts were narrowing.
He could not scream.
He could not breathe.
He could barely remain conscious.
The Guardian still stood silent, expressionless, observing him from above.
But then,
Something unexpected.
A reaction.
The Guardian tilted its head slightly, as though something caught its attention something impossible something it had not witnessed in thousands of cycles.
Because one of the hand-bands on Kai's wrist began to move.
The chains that had been dormant suddenly slithered, wrapping a fraction tighter not upward, not outward, not aggressive just curling around his arm like defensive instinct.
The moment the chain completed its motion.
The crushing pressure vanished.
Instantly.
Like someone had cut reality itself.
Kai's body gasped for breath without him intending to. Air rushed into his lungs so violently he coughed. His limbs shook, his muscles quivered, his entire frame spasmed, desperate to adjust to the sudden absence of force.
He had no idea what had happened.
no idea what that chain did,
no idea why it worked.
But he didn't question it.
He just moved.
He rolled away from the cracked ground, bracing weakly against the mirror surface, and staggered to his feet before the pressure could return. He didn't know if it would. He didn't know if it could. He only knew he had a chance to run.
The Guardian did not pursue him.
It did not shift its feet.
It did not adjust its posture.
It did not attack.
It simply watched him.
Silently.
Curiously.
Almost knowingly.
Kai left the room.
The door of mirrored essence sealed behind him.
He leaned against the wall just outside, chest heaving, lungs burning, ribs aching like iron rods pressed against bone.
He could still feel that moment—the weight, the break, the release. It was carved into his nerves.
Meanwhile,
Above the flesh ocean, the figures still stood.
The third figure remained motionless, hovering atop the flesh waters without ever touching them as though there were two worlds and he existed only in the higher one.
But the blue-haired staff-wielder stepped forward again.
He was climbing.
Upward.
Not by flying, not by using essence, but by walking on air, step by step, like invisible stairs existed beneath his feet.
Anyone watching would believe he was hallucinating because it looked like he climbed emptiness itself.
The two cloaked figures followed calmly, their movements synchronized, silent, patient.
They ascended.
Step by step.
Toward the palace.
Toward truth.
Toward the mirror.
Meanwhile.
Kai finally caught enough breath to focus. He glanced down at the hand-band. It no longer moved, but it pulsed faintly, like a third heartbeat in his wrist. He eyed the other band on his other hand the one belonging to Vigil.
He did not understand them.
He only understood they were no longer accessories they were living artifacts.
And they had instincts.
Fear is coming.
He felt it.
His hand-band trembled slightly, warning him.
He didn't need to see anything. He didn't need to use his Crimson Eyes. He could feel the direction.
The ocean of flesh wasn't attacking him from above anymore.
It was invading below.
So he drew his flaming dagger.
He didn't draw it for bravery.
He didn't draw it for hope.
He drew it because he knew death was coming.
And then he saw it.
The swarm.
Thousands of fleshy swimmers rushing toward him through the palace corridors like a river of glistening raw muscle and snapping mouths.
He looked at the mirror door again.
He didn't want to go back in.
The Guardian had nearly crushed him.
But compared to being eaten alive, the Guardian felt like a polite option.
So he stepped into the mirror room again.
And nothing happened.
No pressure.
No force.
The Guardian stood still watchful, reflective, intelligent.
The fish stopped, too.
They reached the doorway and simply could not enter.
Their bodies slammed against the border like there was an invisible wall. They writhed, screeched, clawed, bit, slammed, tore at nothing but they could not pass.
Like the Guardian had drawn a boundary.
Kai exhaled, tension releasing from his shoulders.
He walked deeper into the hall, past the altar.
The altar… the water-like altar.
A surface that looked liquid, but was solid, but flowed, but held.
Symbols surrounded it, forming some kind of invocation.
Kai could not read them.
He needed to activate his eyes.
So he did.
His vision sharpened.
The symbols rearranged in his understanding, shifting meaning, forming comprehension.
He understood one thing only:
Blood.
He didn't hesitate.
He pressed the dagger against his palm and let blood drip onto the altar.
The altar reacted instantly.
It glowed, absorbing his blood like dry earth swallowing rain.
A pain stabbed through him sharp, piercing, visceral.
Then vanished.
Gone.
Just as quickly as it came.
He barely had time to breathe before the Guardian reacted.
The mirror being, silent until now, suddenly moved.
Not a step.
Not a strike.
Not a push.
It attacked.
It launched, striking Kai with force beyond comprehension, and he flew like a rag of flesh, slammed into the wall hard enough to dent the mirror surface.
He felt his ribs scream.
He felt his breath escape.
He felt the edges of unconsciousness calling like black mist.
But he remained awake.
Barely.
The Guardian was no longer curious.
It was active.
Alive.
And Kai didn't know if that was good or catastrophic.
But whatever was about to happen next, it would happen inside this sacred room.
And outside,
The flesh swarm continued tearing through the palace halls like disease incarnate.
The three figures continued ascending the invisible staircase like gods stalking reality.
And the mirror world continued shuddering like a dying artery.
The Trial of the Gods was no longer a trial.
It had become a war of existence.