Mason stepped onto the narrow, winding path that appeared after the defeat of the Mistborne. The fog, now dissipating, no longer seemed as oppressive, but the weight of what lay ahead still pressed heavily on him. His breath came in steady, controlled bursts as he continued down the path, each footstep carrying him deeper into the unknown. The forest was no longer a place of peace; it had become a battlefield of wills, and Mason could feel it in his bones.
He could still feel the heat of the battle with the Mistborne coursing through him, the adrenaline still thrumming beneath his skin. But there was no time to linger. He knew that in the world of trials, the challenges would never stop coming. Each one was designed to break him down, push him to his limits, and force him to adapt.
But Mason wasn't afraid. In fact, he was more determined than ever. He had come too far to let the unknown control him now. He would fight—no matter what came next.
As he moved deeper into the forest, the trees began to thin, revealing a vast clearing up ahead. The sky above had turned a strange shade of purple, the color of twilight. For a moment, it almost felt like the world had frozen in time. Everything was still, the air thick with anticipation, as if something was about to happen.
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed through the ground, vibrating in Mason's chest. His eyes widened as he looked around, scanning the clearing for any sign of movement. The rumble came again, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of something massive shifting through the underbrush.
Mason's senses went on high alert. Not another Mistborne, he thought, the thought crossing his mind like a flash of lightning. No, this was different. The ground trembled beneath him again, and he instinctively dropped into a low stance, ready for whatever was coming.
The trees around the clearing began to shake, their trunks creaking under pressure. Then, out of the shadows, a massive figure emerged, towering over Mason. It was a beast, no doubt about it, but unlike anything he had seen before. Its body was enormous, rippling with muscle, and its eyes were an unnatural shade of glowing blue. Its long claws scraped against the ground as it moved, sending sparks flying as if it were walking on stone.
The creature let out a deafening roar, shaking the ground beneath Mason's feet. It was covered in thick, armored plates, the skin beneath it a deep, obsidian black. The creature's mouth opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth, each one capable of tearing through steel. Its presence was overwhelming, and Mason felt a knot form in his stomach.
This thing… It's nothing like the Mistborne, Mason thought, his mind racing. He had faced powerful enemies before, but this—this creature was on a different level. The system had to have sensed it too, yet no warning came. Was this part of the trial, or was he simply unlucky?
Whatever the reason, Mason had no intention of backing down. He clenched his fists and drew his dagger, the familiar weight of the weapon now offering him a sliver of comfort. But he knew that the dagger alone wouldn't be enough for a creature like this.
I need to think, Mason told himself. I've been through worse than this before. I just need to use my head.
The creature let out another roar, a violent wave of sound that sent a shockwave through the air. The ground cracked beneath Mason's feet, and he barely managed to keep his balance. He could feel the heat radiating off the creature's body, an intense pressure building around them.
But Mason didn't panic. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing. Don't let it overwhelm you. Stay calm. Analyze the situation.
The creature charged, moving at an incredible speed for its size. Mason barely had time to react. He dove to the side, rolling out of the way just as the beast's claws slashed through the air, narrowly missing him. The force of the strike sent a gust of wind that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Mason's mind raced. The creature was fast, far faster than he had anticipated. It was also incredibly strong, each of its strikes capable of leveling entire trees with a single blow. He couldn't take it head-on. He needed a strategy.
Its speed is impressive, he thought, studying the way the creature moved. But I can use that against it.
Mason rolled to his feet and bolted to the side, narrowly avoiding another slash from the beast. He darted behind a large boulder, trying to put some distance between them. He needed to think of a way to tire it out, to exploit its weaknesses. But this thing seemed relentless, never stopping to catch its breath.
The creature paused for a moment, as if sensing that Mason had escaped its immediate range. Its glowing eyes narrowed, and it sniffed the air, the deep, guttural growl rumbling from its throat. It seemed to be aware that Mason wasn't going to make this easy for it.
Mason took a deep breath, weighing his options. The beast was big, but it wasn't invincible. He had faced larger creatures before, and he had learned that no matter how powerful something was, there was always a way to defeat it. He just needed to find the right approach.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. The creature's armor—those thick, armored plates—had to have weaknesses. It wasn't indestructible, and Mason knew that if he could find a vulnerable spot, he could exploit it. But where?
The creature took another step forward, growling as it prepared to strike again. Mason didn't hesitate. He darted out from behind the boulder, charging straight at the beast. He could hear its heavy footsteps pounding the ground, feel the wind gusting as it swung its massive claws toward him.
Just as the creature's claws came crashing down, Mason leaped into the air, twisting his body and narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. His eyes locked onto the creature's throat, and he knew this was his moment. He aimed for the weak spot—the exposed area beneath its armored plates, the soft flesh just above its chest.
With a surge of strength, Mason drove the dagger forward, plunging it into the creature's exposed throat. The blade sank deep, the force of the strike sending a violent shudder through the beast's body.
The creature let out a guttural scream of pain, its body convulsing as it staggered backward. Mason didn't let up. He twisted the dagger, pulling it out and driving it back in again. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering across the ground and Mason's arms, but he didn't care. He kept attacking, relentless, refusing to stop until the creature fell.
With one final roar, the creature collapsed, its massive form crumpling to the ground. Mason staggered back, panting heavily, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His arms were trembling, but the victory was sweet.
I did it. I really did it.
The creature's body began to dissolve, its form fading into mist and shadows, leaving only the faintest traces of its presence behind.
Mason stood there for a moment, catching his breath, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He had won—barely. But it had been a hard-fought victory, one that left him more drained than he expected.
As the mist cleared, the path ahead began to reveal itself once more. But Mason didn't feel the rush of triumph that he expected. Instead, he felt something else—something darker, something more ominous.
The trial was far from over.
Mason stood still, watching the last remnants of the beast dissolve into the fog. His chest heaved with every breath, the weight of the battle still lingering in his limbs. The rush of adrenaline was starting to fade, leaving behind an eerie calm. He could feel his pulse slowing, the quiet of the forest around him pressing in on all sides. But that calmness didn't settle the unease in his gut.
The creature had been powerful. Too powerful. And it wasn't the first time Mason had faced such a monstrous foe. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this wasn't just a random encounter—it was part of the trial. This wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
So this is what I'm up against, Mason thought, staring at the dissipating fog. This is the world I've been thrust into. Powerful, dangerous, and unforgiving.
The system had granted him powers, abilities that were supposed to make him stronger, but it hadn't prepared him for the weight of constant combat. He could feel the edge of his power, but it wasn't enough. Not yet. Not for what was coming.
The path ahead stretched out before him, dark and uncertain. Every step felt like a step toward something bigger—something he wasn't sure he was ready for. But there was no turning back now. His fate was tied to this trial, and the only way out was through.
I can't stop now, Mason thought, tightening his grip on his dagger. There's no retreat in this world. Only forward.
As if to mock his thoughts, the trees around him began to stir. The wind picked up, causing the leaves to rustle, the sound of movement becoming almost deafening. The air felt thick with an unnatural energy, the kind that he had come to recognize as the herald of something more.
Out of the mist emerged a new figure—a silhouette that seemed to shift with the shadows. Mason's eyes narrowed, his instincts screaming at him to be ready. This time, he didn't wait for the creature to make the first move. He dashed forward, his footfalls light on the ground as he charged toward the figure.
The silhouette solidified into a humanoid shape, its form tall and lean, dressed in dark robes that fluttered like smoke in the wind. It didn't seem particularly threatening at first glance, but Mason wasn't fooled. The air around it shimmered with the same kind of energy he had felt when facing the Mistborne.
Another trial, he thought grimly. Another challenge.
The figure didn't speak, but Mason felt its gaze on him, cold and calculating. There was no question in his mind that this being was far more dangerous than the last. The creature had been mindless, a brute that relied solely on its raw power. But this—this was something different. Something more cerebral.
Mason hesitated, trying to assess his opponent. The figure raised one hand, and the air around it seemed to ripple, bending like heat waves in the desert. A sharp, piercing sensation shot through Mason's chest as if the very presence of this being was enough to invade his thoughts, his mind.
What is this? Mason thought, feeling an unfamiliar pressure building in his skull. It's like it's… inside me.
He shook his head, trying to push the sensation aside, but the pressure only grew stronger. This wasn't a battle of physical strength—it was a battle of wills. And Mason could already feel his resolve starting to crack.
The figure's mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile, though there was no warmth in it. Its voice was soft, but it echoed in Mason's mind, as if it had bypassed his ears entirely.
"You're strong," it said, the words not coming from its lips but directly from his thoughts. "But strength alone is not enough to survive this world. Not even close."
Mason's heart skipped a beat. It's reading my mind? He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to regain his composure. He couldn't let the creature get inside his head. He had to remain focused.
The figure took a step forward, the ground beneath its feet darkening with each movement. It was as if the shadows themselves followed it, responding to its every command.
"You're not prepared," the figure continued, its voice dripping with disdain. "This world isn't for the faint of heart. You will break long before you can ever hope to conquer it."
Shut up, Mason thought fiercely, pushing the voice out of his head. I'm not like the others. I won't break.
Without warning, the figure raised its hand, and the very air around Mason seemed to distort, twisting into sharp, jagged shapes that aimed directly at him. His instincts kicked in before he could process the attack, and he leaped to the side, barely avoiding the shards of air that slashed through the space where he had been standing.
But it wasn't enough. More shards appeared, materializing from thin air, speeding toward him with a terrifying velocity.
This isn't good, Mason thought, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the danger in every movement of the figure, the intent to kill lurking just beneath the surface.
Mason took a deep breath, calming his mind. Focus. There has to be a way to break through this.
He could feel the energy in the air, the sharp tang of power that the figure wielded. It wasn't like the raw strength of the Mistborne or the brute force of physical combat. This was something more refined, more calculated. It was the kind of power that didn't rely on muscle—it relied on manipulation. Control.
Mason's eyes narrowed as he studied the figure's movements. It wasn't attacking indiscriminately; it was controlling the flow of battle, testing him. But what was it testing?
Patience? Mason thought, watching the creature closely. Maybe it wants me to lose my cool.
The shards of air continued to strike at him, but now he was ready. He didn't dodge blindly; instead, he moved with precision, each step calculated. He deflected one shard with his dagger, using the weapon's edge to redirect its trajectory, and then rolled out of the way as two more came at him from different angles.
It was a game. A deadly one, but a game nonetheless.
Mason's lips curled into a smile. I've got you now.
He pressed forward, his movements becoming more fluid as he adapted to the figure's attacks. Every time the creature made a move, Mason countered, using his agility to avoid and then strike back.
For the first time, the figure's expression shifted. The smile faded, replaced by a subtle frown. The more Mason dodged and countered, the more the figure seemed to lose its composure.
"You're… more than I expected," the figure said, its voice growing colder. "But don't think for a second that this will be easy."
Mason didn't respond. He wasn't here to talk. He was here to win.
With a sudden burst of speed, Mason lunged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. His dagger gleamed in the dim light as he thrust it toward the figure's chest. The creature barely managed to raise its arm in time to block the strike, but the force behind the attack pushed it back several feet.
The figure's expression darkened, and the air around it grew heavier, the temperature dropping as if the very atmosphere had turned hostile. It raised both arms now, and Mason could feel the power building in the air, a force that was almost suffocating.
I can't keep dodging forever, Mason realized, his mind racing. I have to finish this.
He planted his feet, preparing for the final move. The figure's power was formidable, but it wasn't invincible. Mason knew the one thing the creature had overlooked—its own arrogance.
With everything he had left, Mason surged forward, using the last of his strength to land a decisive blow.
The wind howled through the ancient trees as Mason stood in the wake of the confrontation, his dagger dripping with the ephemeral residue of his enemy's essence. The figure had not bled; it had unraveled, its form collapsing into a void-like vapor that was sucked back into the earth. Mason's chest heaved, each breath ragged and raw, but his stance remained firm. His body ached, shoulders trembling slightly under the pressure of fatigue and lingering tension, but his eyes were sharp.
He didn't feel victorious. He felt sharpened.
It was testing me, he thought, blinking the sweat from his lashes. Not just physically—mentally. That thing was inside my thoughts. It wanted to unravel me before it ever raised a hand.
The system's silence afterward had been more unsettling than comforting. No chime of level progression. No pop-up declaring success or new abilities. Just the dying whisper of the forest and the weight of survival pressing down on his spine.
But then, just as he turned to start moving forward, something changed.
A deep tone rang out in the air. Not sound—resonance. It vibrated in his chest cavity, like a drum struck in his ribcage. It wasn't painful, but it rooted him to the spot, forced his body into stillness.
Then came the light.
A soft blue glow rose beneath his feet, lines etching into the ground like a circuit being traced by invisible fingers. They spread outward in a perfect circle, forming patterns and glyphs that pulsed with a quiet, solemn energy. Mason tensed, eyes darting around, but no threat emerged. It wasn't another ambush. This… this felt different.
Am I being marked?
Then, the interface finally opened before him, clean and clinical, lines of white text hanging in the air.
***
[Class Trial Passed – Shadow-Touched Initiate Confirmed][Skill Gained: Shadow Veil (Passive) – Slight resistance to mental intrusion. Enhanced perception in low-light environments. Evasion rate slightly increased when undetected.]
[Skill Gained: Step Through (Active) – Temporarily phase through thin matter or cover short distances (cooldown: 60 seconds)]
[Path Alignment: Divergent – The system has acknowledged your deviation from standard tier advancement. You are now classified under: Hidden Path – Abyss Walker (Initiate).]
[Tier Ascension Requirement Updated: Must complete a Major Class Challenge to continue progression.]
***
Mason exhaled slowly, reading through the new entries twice to be sure. The skills themselves were useful—more than useful, especially the ability to phase through barriers or space. But it was the final line that caught his attention, a cold weight dropping into his gut.
Divergent? Hidden Path? This isn't normal progression. It's something else entirely. I've already stepped off the main route.
It wasn't entirely surprising. He had felt the system shifting, responding to how he fought, how he thought. There had never been a mentor, never a guiding hand. Everything was trial and error, and every step felt like a gamble. He didn't know what an "Abyss Walker" was, but the name alone implied it wasn't something others frequently chose—or survived.
So be it, he thought, clenching his jaw. If I'm on my own path, then I'll own every step of it.
The forest around him remained quiet, the dark canopy above letting in slivers of moonlight that danced across the blood-specked earth. He needed to move. The trials didn't pause for recovery, and even though his physical wounds were shallow, his mind was another matter.
Mason moved forward, deeper into the woods. His body moved with more fluidity now, the passive enhancements kicking in even without conscious effort. His steps were quieter, his senses sharper. He could hear the subtle rustle of small creatures moving in the underbrush, the distant flap of wings somewhere overhead. His footing was steadier, his path more deliberate.
About half an hour passed before he spotted it: a faint amber glow through the thicket. It didn't flicker like firelight. It pulsed—mechanically, consistently.
He approached slowly, crouched low, and parted the brush with his dagger. In the small clearing ahead was a structure, half-buried in the roots of a massive tree. It looked like an obelisk, but weathered, cracked by age, and carved with ancient symbols glowing softly.
Another relic?
No sooner had the thought entered his mind than the interface bloomed before him once more.
***
[Anomaly Detected – Relic of the Old System]
[Interaction Possible – Relic functions as a Class Nexus Node. Would you like to initiate synchronization?]
[Note: Nexus Nodes are rare anchors scattered across the known regions. Synchronizing provides temporary sanctuary, minor health regeneration, and acts as a respawn point should death occur.]
***
The implications of the last line hit him hardest. A place to return to—an anchor in a world built on constant loss and transience. That kind of stability was priceless.
"Yes," he said aloud, his voice hoarse but steady. "Synchronize."
The obelisk pulsed once. Then again. The light spread across the clearing in a wave of gentle warmth, and Mason felt it roll through his limbs, soothing the aches and dulling the edge of his exhaustion. For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt a sliver of safety.
Not trust. Not hope. Just safety. Temporary, but real.
He sat with his back against the base of the relic, letting his body relax into the cushion of moss-covered earth. His dagger rested across his knees, and for a moment, he allowed his eyes to close.
Not to sleep. Not yet. Just to think.
This world is built like a machine—layered, systemized, calculated. But it has flaws. I can feel them. Loopholes. Aberrations.
He had no intention of staying at the bottom. That much had already been decided the day he woke up in that ruined village. But power without direction was dangerous. He would need more than just strength. He would need allies, strategy, and information.
I need to start learning the lay of the land. Who's strong, who's not. Who's cocky, who's watching me. I can't fight shadows forever.
Already, he had begun to remember the faces of other adventurers he passed briefly in the distance during his trial—most just blurs of movement, but some had stood out. One in particular: a tall man clad in golden gear, his aura burning so bright it left a haze in the air around him. The arrogance on his face was impossible to miss.
He didn't look at me. Not once. Like I wasn't even worth the glance. That's the kind of guy who thinks he owns the system. I'll have to watch him.
And then there were the others—the quiet ones who didn't show off, who moved like predators through the world. He'd seen a girl with a crimson scarf, her blade slicing through enemies with such fluidity it was like dance. She had looked at him—just once. A glance across the battlefield. But in that moment, he felt something unspoken: recognition.
Not friend. Not enemy. Just… understanding. She's survived. She's different.
He didn't know their names yet. He didn't need to. But the web of connections had already begun forming in his mind, a map of rivals, unknown threats, and potential allies.
Mason exhaled, eyes opening to the glow of the relic.
Rest's over.
He rose to his feet, blade in hand, and turned his gaze north. The path forked there, the terrain beginning to rise, indicating the shift in region. The next challenge wouldn't be just survival. It would be navigation—through territory ruled by stronger beings, possibly factions, and, if he was unlucky, the first confrontation with another awakened.
He was no longer at the bottom.
But the climb had only begun.