I stood in front of the next door, the dim flicker of torchlight barely revealing the outlines of what lay beyond. The weight of the last trial still hung in the air, thick and suffocating. I had walked through the versions of myself—the successful detective, the broken man, and a few others that blurred together in my mind. But the deeper I went into this place, the more I realized something—this trial wasn't just about surviving.
It was about facing every part of me.
Every regret. Every choice I'd made. Every person I'd failed.
The door creaked open in response to my approach, as if it had been waiting for me.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever awaited on the other side. The room beyond was vast, but unlike the other trials, this one was different. This one felt alive.
It wasn't just a test. It was a battlefield.
As I stepped forward, the air seemed to shift. The space around me rippled like a mirage, the walls warping and twisting, and I was no longer alone. Figures—shadows of the past—began to materialize in front of me. They were vague at first, only flashes of faces I vaguely recognized. Faces that had once mattered to me. Faces I had let slip away.
But as the shadows solidified, I could see them clearly.
My father, his face grim, eyes full of disappointment.
Lena, my partner, the woman I had trusted with my life, who had eventually walked away from everything because I couldn't let go of my obsession with work.
And then, myself—another version of me, standing tall, confident, filled with the same arrogance I had seen before, but this time, he wasn't alone. There were versions of me here—versions I hadn't even imagined. Each one of them represented a different choice. Different mistakes. Each one of them had lived a life I could've lived.
"Echo," the voice of my father spoke, deep and worn. "You were always running. Running from your past, from your mistakes. You've never stood still long enough to face what you've become."
My eyes narrowed, but I didn't respond. I couldn't. The weight of his words hit too close to home.
Another version of me, this time the arrogant, successful detective, stepped forward, smirking. "You could have had it all, Echo. Why waste your time trying to fix what's already broken? You've been here too long. It's time to accept that you'll never escape the past."
"That's what you think," I spat, stepping toward him, my voice hard. "I didn't get this far just to lose to ghosts. All of you... you're just pieces of a puzzle I'm solving."
As I spoke, I felt a shift in the air. The room began to crack, the walls splintering with dark energy. Each version of me—each face—advanced toward me, their shadows stretching across the room like dark hands reaching for my throat.
And then, with a sudden flash, the figures all converged, merging into one massive entity that loomed above me. Its eyes were hollow, empty, yet I saw fragments of my own past in them—my guilt, my rage, my pain. It was the embodiment of everything I had fought to forget. Everything I had avoided.
"Do you truly believe you can defeat me?" The voice echoed, the same voice I had heard in my own mind for years. The voice of failure. The voice of doubt.
I gritted my teeth. This wasn't just a physical fight. This was about fighting myself. Every fear. Every regret. Every choice I had buried under the weight of my actions.
"You're just a reflection," I growled. "A reflection of who I was, not who I am."
With that, I drew my knife—my only weapon, the tool that had served me through the crash, the hunting, the battles. As the dark version of myself lunged toward me, I dodged, the blade flashing through the air, narrowly missing. But I didn't hesitate. Each strike wasn't just a physical one—it was a mental blow, cutting through the weight of every mistake I had ever made.
"You're wrong," I shouted as I parried the next strike. "I am not a failure. I'm still here."
With a final, powerful move, I drove the blade forward, striking through the dark figure, splitting it in two. The creature let out an agonizing wail, the sound echoing in my skull before it collapsed into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest remnants of smoke.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the room shifted again, the oppressive air dissipating like mist. The faces of the past disappeared, leaving me standing alone in the vast expanse. I felt... different. Lighter, somehow. As if a weight had been lifted, one I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"Well done," the voice said, not one I recognized, but somehow familiar. "You have defeated yourself."
I looked around, still catching my breath. "What now?"
The voice was silent for a moment before replying, "Now you choose. You can leave this place, or you can continue to fight. The truth you seek is not here. It lies beyond the battle."
I took a long, steadying breath. I wasn't done. I couldn't be. This island, these trials—they were just pieces of the puzzle. There was something more waiting for me, something bigger than whatever I had just faced.
I wasn't going to run anymore. Not from my past. Not from myself.
I turned toward the next door, the final door, and stepped forward.