Blood seeped between Alex's fingers.
It dripped steadily onto the stone floor, forming a jagged trail behind him as he staggered down a corridor cloaked in shadow. The pain from the fresh wound across his ribs throbbed with every heartbeat, but he forced himself forward, unwilling to fall—not yet. Not while the echoes still whispered.
The last trial had been unlike the others. It hadn't been a test of strength or insight—it had been a slaughter.
The Horror System had torn him from the reflective quiet of the Hall of Mirrors and plunged him into a battlefield known only as "The Red Hollow." There had been no warnings, no guidance. Only sudden darkness, then the sound of dozens of other candidates screaming as monsters emerged from the mist to rip them apart.
Alex had fought. Not just to survive, but to protect. A boy—young, no older than sixteen—had clung to him in fear, blood already staining his shirt from a gash to his neck. His name had been Keir.
Had been.
Alex grit his teeth and stumbled into a small antechamber. It was quiet here, removed from the carnage. His breathing came ragged and harsh. He slumped against the wall, letting his head fall back. The adrenaline had faded. Now only exhaustion and the biting sting of his wound remained.
A soft chime echoed around the chamber.
Words formed in the air before him, glowing in eerie red light:
Trial Complete: The Red Hollow.
Survivors: 3
Warning: Echo Event Imminent.
Prepare for resonance…
Alex squinted. "Echo Event?"
The walls pulsed once, like a heartbeat—and then the chamber trembled.
A low hum rose from the floor, traveling up Alex's spine like a thousand invisible insects crawling beneath his skin. The sigils etched in the stone around him began to glow, casting flickering shadows. A cold presence filled the room, ancient and heavy. Something was watching him again—not with curiosity, but with hunger.
A voice—familiar, and yet not—slid into his mind.
"You left him. You let him die."
Alex's heart clenched. He closed his eyes, but the image was already there. Keir, eyes wide, blood pouring from his throat as the mist swallowed him. The way his fingers had reached out. The silent plea. Alex had hesitated. For just a moment. One second.
And the boy was gone.
"You're no savior," the voice whispered, its tone acidic and cruel. "You fight to feed your ego. You let the weak perish to climb higher. Your strength is built on graves."
Alex pressed his palms to his temples, trembling. The room twisted around him, the shadows rising and morphing into figures—dozens of them. All the faces of those who had died in the Red Hollow. Keir's face among them.
Blood poured from their eyes like tears.
"No," Alex whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
"Intent does not cleanse blood," the voice hissed. "Only more blood does."
Suddenly, one of the shadowed figures surged forward.
Alex leapt to his feet, gritting his teeth through the pain. His right arm reacted instinctively, summoning the blade forged from the Horror System's energy—dark steel laced with crimson veins of corrupted power. The shadow-figure attacked with a scream like splitting bone.
Steel met shadow. The impact sent Alex sliding backward, nearly knocking him to the ground. He lunged again, spinning and slashing through two more shades that lunged from the walls.
They didn't bleed—but they shrieked as they were torn apart, leaving behind trails of echoing whispers that drifted into the air like smoke.
More came.
A dozen. Then more.
Alex moved like a man possessed. Every swing of his blade felt like it drained a little more of his soul, but he kept going, drawing on the darkness inside him—the power he had begun to accept ever since his first trial. He struck with precision and fury, cutting through nightmare after nightmare.
But then he saw her.
In the corner of the room, one of the shadows didn't move. It didn't attack.
It simply stood there.
She was small—fragile. Brown curls matted with blood. Pale arms wrapped around a stuffed bear missing one eye.
Alex's hand dropped slightly.
"…Sophie?"
The shadow-child tilted her head. Her mouth opened slowly. A thin stream of blood trickled from her lips.
"You said you'd come back," she whispered.
Alex stumbled backward. "No… you're not real."
The shadow stepped forward.
"You promised," she said again, voice cracking. "But you never came. You forgot me, Alex. Just like the others."
The walls convulsed.
Blood rained from the ceiling, spattering the floor in loud, wet slaps. The glow of the sigils flared—red, then black. The other shadowy figures turned to Sophie, bowing their heads in reverence. Her eyes shone like molten iron as she stared at him.
"I am the price," she said.
Alex collapsed to his knees.
The blade clattered beside him, and for a long moment, he simply breathed. Ragged. Hollow. Defeated.
Then something inside him shifted.
A memory.
Sophie—laughing beside him on a swing set.
Keir—begging him to fight, even after being wounded.
All of them, real people. Not ghosts. Not guilt.
They had mattered.
He wasn't going to run anymore.
Alex reached out—not for his blade, but inward. Toward that deep, pulsing core of power that the Horror System had been teasing since the beginning. He had always used it with restraint. With fear.
But now… now he claimed it.
A roar erupted from his chest. Shadows recoiled. The blood that had coated the floor evaporated in an instant as a dome of darkness burst outward from Alex's body—smooth, pure, controlled.
The child-shadow flickered.
"I remember you," Alex said softly, rising to his feet. "But you're not her. You're just the echo of my pain. And I'm done letting guilt be my leash."
His blade snapped back into his hand, transformed. Sleeker. Hungrier. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and as he slashed through the final shadow—Sophie's included—the room fell silent.
The whispers faded.
Only a soft chime remained.
Echo Event Concluded.
Psychological Resistance Increased.
Ability Gained: Echostep
– Allows brief traversal through shadow-memory space. Usable during combat or evasion.
Alex stood alone again.
But he was different now.
He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and looked ahead—toward the next corridor, where another sigil burned with cold blue fire. The system was watching. Always watching.
But he was ready.
The abyss would whisper.
And he would roar back.