The students, save for the five who had already endured this place, stared up at the imp in frozen silence. The air still held the faint mist of blood from the boy whose head had burst like an overripe fruit, his corpse crumpled awkwardly on the cold stone floor. His lifeless hand twitched once, involuntarily, as if even his body hadn't yet realized he was dead.
No one dared speak.
Then, the imp clapped his tiny hands together with a sharp snap that echoed through the gray chamber.
"Now," the imp said, his voice impossibly loud and silky smooth, as if whispering directly into every student's ear, "I suppose you're ready for me to explain a few things."
He drifted lazily above them, reclining in midair as though resting atop an invisible throne.
"You are currently standing in the Sacred Trials, a test created by my master, the ruler of all planes. Each of you was selected as a champion—some knowingly, others quite unknowingly—by your race, your nation, your world."
The imp paused, letting his gaze drift over their faces. Most were pale, mouths slightly agape. One girl had dropped to her knees, quietly weeping. Another stood locked in place, fists clenched, lips trembling with fury.
"And now," the imp continued, "you will proceed through the trials to determine who among you is worthy of /̷̖̞̌͆͝*̴̢̥͓̖̇͛)̸̮͑ͅ^̶̝̼̃̓̄͋̚%̷͔̪̌͘#̸̤̝̩̻͚͒͂͛…"
The imp's voice distorted as he spoke the unpronounceable word—if it was even a word. It came out like a garbled static, laced with the sound of wind shrieking through broken glass. Several students winced and clutched their ears. A few bled from the nose.
"…and which races shall be cleansed in the Purge."
That word hit like a hammer. Reed felt a chill crawl up his spine. The Purge?
As if reading their thoughts, the imp elaborated. "Ah, the Purge. A simple cleansing, really. The removal of all those unworthy of the blessings you call magic. For you see, what you call mana, magic, arcana—they are but diluted remnants of my lord's essence. A flicker of his being, filtered down into something your tiny minds can grasp without combusting."
The imp grinned, and his black horn shimmered faintly with violet energy.
"You've built civilizations around it, haven't you? Academies, religions, titles. And yet, not one of you understands it. Not truly. You wield fire and ice, light anddarkness, but it is not yours. It never was."
Marek made a sound beside Reed, like a quiet exhale of disbelief. Reed, lying near the wall with his arms wrapped around his legs, stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't look at the imp anymore. His mind was spiraling, trying to comprehend the implication.
"In the weeks—or perhaps months or years—that follow, you may grow stronger. You may even earn the right to speak my master's name, or to gain a glimpse of /̷̖̞̌͆͝*̴̢̥͓̖̇͛…"
Again, the audio shredded. This time, several students doubled over.
"But for now," the imp said, "rest. Tomorrow, your trials begin. And remember—may the grace of /̷͉̞̭͚͋*̵̛̹̼̗̀̎͠)̵̧̳̹͉͒̽^̷̭̈̀̔%̴̥̈́͛#̵̮̍̉̀"̷̯̭̾̔͂̈:̴̯̠͍͗͊̍͠… be ever with you."
With that, the imp vanished in a burst of thick, purple smoke. The echo of his departure lingered like a distant scream heard through a crack in the world.
Silence reclaimed the chamber. It was deafening.
After a few moments, the same black-haired boy who had first spoken—the one covered in dirt and wrapped in a torn blanket—stepped forward. His face was haggard, dark circles under his eyes, his body thin and worn.
"Listen up," he said, his voice gravelly and low, like it hadn't been used in weeks. "That thing wasn't lying. We've been in here for what feels like months. Time works strangely in this place. And every time the imp shows up, we get one day to prepare before we're thrown into hell."
His eyes drifted across the fresh faces in the room.
"You all still have that look," he muttered, almost sadly. "Like you think there's a way out. That someone will come get you. That this is a dream."
He paused. No one answered.
"Let me be clear," he said. "This place doesn't care about your dreams. The 'warm-ups' we've faced so far were filled with monsters that could rip a person in half without blinking. Poisonous wildlife. Flesh-eating flowers. Moving shadows."
Some of the students shivered.
"The mana in the air here is thick, thicker than anything you've trained in. You'll recover faster, sure—but that also means everything else here is stronger too. Don't let your guard down. And if you see anything that talks, run."
The grimy student turned, walked back to the corner where the other four older survivors sat, and collapsed onto a bedroll with a groan.
The newer students remained frozen in place for several seconds. Then, slowly, they began to move.
Tents were set up, sleeping bags unrolled, camp supplies distributed. The concrete floor did not lend itself well to comfort, but no one complained. Some clustered near the five older survivors, desperate for any sense of security. Others kept to their friends, forming silent huddles in corners.
A few just sat and stared at the wall.
Reed lay on his back with his hands folded over his chest. Beside him were Marek, who hadn't spoken a word since the imp appeared, and Lannis, who sat with her arms around her knees, gaze unfocused.
The gray walls of the room had darkened slightly, as if imitating nightfall. No sun, no sky—just a dimming of the space that told their bodies it was time to rest. The silence was unbearable.
"This isn't what we signed up for," Marek finally said, his voice a whisper.
No one answered.