The wooden door swallowed him in an instant. There was no corridor this time. No glow. No whisper of power humming through his skin. There was only falling.Oliver dropped like a stone through the void. Wind tore at him, invisible but screaming loud in his ears. He tried to breathe, but there was no air, just pressure. Crushing, endless pressure. His heart thudded against his ribs like a drum, and then, snap.The world shifted again.He landed hard, on his feet, somehow, knees bending instinctively, pain flaring in his thighs. He looked around.This time, he stood in a coliseum. Massive. Circular. Walls rose dozens of meters high, layered in jagged stone and flickering runes. High above, spectators made of shadows watched silently from arched seats. They didn’t move. But he felt them, watching, judging.Before he could get his bearings, a System alert flared into view.SECOND TEST: TRIAL OF STRIKERSCondition: Survive.Time Limit: 180 SecondsOpponents: 3x Spectral Striker Units – Tie

Oliver hit the ground hard.The light was gone. Everything was quiet. He didn’t know where he was. The ground under him was cold and smooth, like glass. He stayed on his knees for a while, breathing fast. His chest moved up and down. His hand was shaking. The metal glove on his arm, the gauntlet, still gave off a little light. But it was dim now, like a candle about to go out.He listened. Nothing. Just silence. Thick and heavy.He slowly looked up.All around him was fog. White fog. It was so thick that he couldn’t see far. It swirled and moved like it was alive. He couldn’t see any walls. No sky. No real floor. Just the fog. And the cold air.Then he heard something. Not a sound exactly. More like... whispers. Very soft.He froze. The whispers were everywhere. All around him. They came from near. Then from far away. Some sounded like him. Like his own voice. Others sounded like strangers. Some were men. Some were women. Some were children. Old voices. Young voices. All speaking at

Oliver’s scream was swallowed by the void. Stone shattered around him as the chains dragged him through the wall, not through it, into it. He was falling sideways. The world twisted. Gravity broke. Time snapped like old thread. His body spiraled through smoke and static and bone. Fingers clawed at his skin, not real fingers, but memories in the shape of them.“You let her die.”“You were supposed to burn.”“You chose wrong.”The voices came from inside the wall. Inside him. Oliver gritted his teeth. The wound in his side oozed heat and blood. His gauntlet, now barely more than scorched metal, pulsed with angry red light. It wasn’t dead yet. And neither was he.CRACK.A fracture split across the void. Light bled through it, gold, like the door. But it was closing. The golden door was nearly consumed by fog, and if it sealed before he broke free, he’d be buried in this living prison forever.The chains squeezed tighter. Bones cracked. The Echo’s many arms reached through the rift and

Oliver’s boots tapped softly on the cold black floor. The hallway stretched ahead, long and dark, with walls made of smooth black stone. The torches on the sides flickered slowly, like they were tired. Each flame gave off just enough light to show the next few steps.The air was heavy. Quiet. Too quiet.Oliver kept walking, eyes on the other figure ahead, the figure that looked just like him.His heart beat fast. Thump. Thump. Thump.He tried to speak again, but his voice caught in his throat. The other Oliver, the copy, just stood there, smiling that strange, empty smile. His eyes were dark, like pits. No light in them. No soul.Finally, Oliver found his voice.“Who… are you?”The other Oliver tilted his head slowly, like a puppet moved by strings.“I am you,” he said. “But broken.”The real Oliver took a step back. “That’s not possible. You’re a trick.”The fake one nodded. “Yes. And no.”The torches behind Oliver flickered, then went out. One by one. Darkness crept closer from beh

Oliver didn’t stop running. The cold forest roared behind him like a storm. Branches cracked. Leaves flew. The ground shook. But he didn’t look back. He held the silver dagger tightly in his hand, his fingers frozen around the handle.His legs hurt. His chest burned. But he ran. He didn’t know how long he had been running. The trees had changed. They were no longer black and twisted. Now they were tall and green, with soft moss at their roots and little glowing bugs that floated like tiny stars.The sound of rushing water filled the air. He followed it.Then, through the trees, he saw it, a wide river, dark and fast, flowing like liquid glass. On the riverbank was a wooden dock, and at the end of the dock was a boat.A man stood beside it. He was tall and wore a dark cloak. His face was hidden under a hood. The boat rocked gently on the water, tied to the dock with a thick rope.Oliver slowed down. His feet thudded softly on the mossy ground. He was breathing hard. His shirt stuck to