The movement was subtle at first—a flicker in the corner of Viole's vision, a whisper in the darkness that seemed to breathe life into the shadows. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked onto the spot, where the gloom shifted unnaturally. It wasn't just darkness; it was something more, something alive, creeping toward them with a silent, predatory grace.
Toren's growl was the first real sound to break the suffocating silence of the chamber. His claws extended, yellow eyes narrowing as he shifted into a more aggressive stance. "What the hell is that?" he muttered, his voice barely more than a snarl.
Viole didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the shifting shadows, his senses heightened. Whatever this was, it wasn't like the creature they had faced earlier. This felt… ancient, primal. The personalities stirred in the back of his mind, their presence stronger now as if they too sensed the danger closing in around them.
"Stay close," Viole whispered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. His eyes never left the shadows, even as they seemed to deepen and thicken, curling inward like tendrils of smoke.
Seris, standing beside him, gave a short nod. Her smirk had faded, replaced by something more serious, more cautious. She raised her dagger, her sharp eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.
Then, without warning, the shadows exploded.
From the inky blackness, figures emerged—creatures born of the abyss, their forms twisted and indistinct. They moved like smoke, their bodies shifting and curling with unnatural fluidity. Their eyes—hollow, glowing orbs—fixed on the group, hungry and ravenous.
Toren was the first to react. With a feral snarl, he leaped at the nearest creature, his claws slashing through its smoky form. But instead of tearing flesh, his claws passed through the creature as if it were made of air. Toren stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward as the creature swirled around him, wrapping him in its cold, suffocating embrace.
"Damn it!" Seris hissed, darting forward with her dagger raised. She slashed at one of the creatures, but like Toren, her blade passed through it without resistance. The creatures were incorporeal, untouchable.
Viole's pulse raced, his mind scrambling for a solution. The creatures were closing in, surrounding them. He could feel their cold presence, like a chill seeping into his bones, dragging him down into the abyss. His sword was useless against them. Physical attacks wouldn't work.
That's when he felt it—Aamon's presence, stronger than ever.
"You know what to do, Viole," Aamon whispered, his voice calm, confident. "These creatures are nothing but shadows. Call upon me. I'll show you how to deal with them."
Viole's chest tightened. He knew what Aamon wanted—control. The ancient vampire was waiting for his chance to take over, to show his strength. And for a moment, Viole hesitated. The shadows were closing in, and his mind was screaming at him to act.
But this wasn't just a fight for survival. This was another test, and not just of his strength. It was a test of his will, his ability to keep the personalities in check. He couldn't let Aamon take over, not here.
"I don't need you," Viole thought, his teeth gritted as he raised his sword again. But even as he said the words, he knew they weren't entirely true. He couldn't fight these things on his own. Not without their help.
Not without control.
Viole closed his eyes for a split second, forcing his mind to focus. He needed to find the balance—the delicate line between control and power. He could feel the personalities, all of them, pushing at the edges of his consciousness, but he held them at bay. Just enough to draw on their strength without losing himself.
When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with a faint, otherworldly light. Aamon's power surged through him, cold and commanding, but Viole remained in control.
The nearest shadow-creature lunged at him, its hollow eyes glowing with malice. Viole moved with a speed and grace that wasn't entirely his own, sidestepping the creature's attack. He swung his sword, but this time, the blade hummed with energy—an aura of dark, vampiric power that Aamon had lent him.
The sword cut through the creature's smoky form, and this time, the blade met resistance. The creature let out a screeching hiss as it dissolved into nothing, its form unraveling in the air.
Viole didn't stop to think. He moved again, faster now, cutting through the next creature with the same ease. The shadows recoiled, their hollow eyes flickering with what might have been fear.
Seris, seeing what had happened, let out a breathless laugh. "Nice trick," she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow as she slashed at another creature, her dagger now charged with energy.
Toren, recovering from his earlier stumble, growled in frustration. "Could've used that a little sooner, Shivani," he grumbled, but there was a hint of grudging respect in his tone.
Viole ignored the comment, focusing on the task at hand. The creatures were still coming, though fewer now. With each strike, their forms unraveled, dissolving into the air as the group pushed forward toward the altar.
The oppressive weight in the chamber grew heavier with each step, as if the very air was trying to crush them. The glowing symbols on the walls pulsed faster, their light flickering in time with Viole's heartbeat. There was something about this place—something that felt familiar, yet foreign.
They reached the base of the altar, and Viole's eyes locked onto the object resting at the top—a small, obsidian shard, glowing with a faint, malevolent light. This was the source. He could feel its power radiating through the room, calling to him, pulling him in.
Without thinking, Viole reached out toward the shard, his hand trembling as his fingers brushed against its surface.
The world shifted again.
The moment Viole's fingers touched the obsidian shard, the world around him seemed to warp and twist. A wave of cold, malevolent energy surged through his body, seeping into his bones like ice. His vision blurred, and for a moment, everything went dark.
Then, suddenly, he was somewhere else.
He stood in a vast, empty space—similar to the void he had seen before, but darker, heavier, with the oppressive weight of ancient power pressing down on him. The air here was thick with shadows, moving like living things, whispering just at the edge of his hearing. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through the emptiness.
In the distance, a figure loomed, tall and cloaked in shadow. It was not human, but something far older, far more dangerous. Its form shifted and twisted, its face obscured by a swirling darkness, but its eyes—two glowing orbs of crimson—locked onto Viole with an intensity that made his blood run cold.
The figure spoke, its voice low and thunderous, like the grinding of stone. "You are not ready."
The words echoed through the void, shaking the very ground beneath Viole's feet. He could feel the weight of the figure's gaze pressing down on him, as if it was trying to crush him, to make him submit.
But Viole stood his ground. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow, but he didn't falter. He had come too far, faced too many challenges, to back down now.
"I'm not afraid of you," Viole said, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at the edges of his mind.
The figure's form shifted, and Viole could feel its amusement, a cold, mocking sensation that prickled at the back of his neck. "Fear has nothing to do with it, child. You are weak. Unworthy of the power you seek."
Viole's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn't going to let this thing break him. He had fought his whole life to prove his strength, to prove that he could control the power inside him. He wasn't going to let some ancient, faceless entity tell him otherwise.
"Try me," Viole growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The figure's eyes flashed, and for a brief moment, the shadows around it surged, swirling like a storm. Then, with a low, rumbling laugh, the figure began to fade, its form dissolving into the darkness.
"We shall see," it said, its voice echoing as it disappeared completely, leaving Viole alone in the void.
The world snapped back into focus, and Viole found himself standing once again at the base of the altar. His fingers were still resting on the obsidian shard, its surface cold and smooth beneath his touch. The oppressive weight in the room had lifted slightly, though the tension still lingered in the air like an unspoken threat.
He pulled his hand back slowly, his heart still racing from the encounter. He didn't know what that thing was—or what it wanted—but he could feel its presence lingering in the back of his mind, watching, waiting.
Seris and Toren had barely noticed his momentary lapse, both of them still focused on the shadows that continued to swirl around the chamber. The silent boy, however, was watching Viole intently, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Are you okay?" Seris asked, her voice breaking through the thick tension.
Viole nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure if he meant it. "Yeah. I'm fine." His voice sounded hollow, even to him, but there was no time to dwell on it now.
The creatures were still coming, though their numbers were thinning. The energy from the shard had somehow bolstered him, and he could feel a renewed strength surging through his body. A small part of him—a part that wasn't entirely his own—revelled in the feeling. Aamon, ever ambitious, stirred within him, his regal voice whispering promises of more power, more control.
"This is just the beginning, Viole," Aamon purred. "Embrace it. Let me guide you."
But Viole pushed the voice down, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had to maintain control. The power of the shard was dangerous, intoxicating, and if he let it consume him, he knew he'd lose himself to it. And to Aamon.
"We need to end this," Viole said, his voice sharp and decisive. "There's something about that shard—it's the source. We need to destroy it."
Toren scoffed, glancing at the obsidian shard with a raised brow. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that? It doesn't look like it's going to go down easy."
Viole wasn't entirely sure, but he knew one thing: the shard was connected to the creatures, to the shadows that swirled around them. If they didn't deal with it, the trial wouldn't end. And neither would the danger.
Seris studied the shard for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing. "He's right," she said finally. "That thing is radiating power. We need to shut it down, or we'll be trapped here."
Without hesitation, Viole stepped forward, his sword drawn, the faint glow of vampiric energy still pulsing along the blade. He approached the altar cautiously, his gaze fixed on the shard. The closer he got, the stronger the pull became—a deep, magnetic force that tugged at the edges of his mind.
He raised his sword, his muscles tensing as he prepared to strike.
But just as his blade was about to come down on the shard, the ground beneath his feet began to shake violently, and the air was filled with a deafening roar. The shadows in the chamber surged, swirling around the altar like a storm, and from within the darkness, something massive began to rise.
It was the same force that had been watching him, the same presence that had spoken to him in the void. It was no longer content to remain in the shadows. Now, it was coming for him.
The ground cracked beneath the altar, and the creature emerged—a towering, amorphous mass of shadow and darkness, its glowing eyes fixed on Viole with a cold, predatory hunger. The energy radiating from it was overwhelming, suffocating, and for a moment, Viole's legs almost buckled beneath the weight of it.
The others scrambled backward, their eyes wide with fear and shock.
"What the hell is that?" Toren growled, his voice filled with a mix of awe and terror.
Viole didn't answer. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing as the creature loomed over him, its form shifting and twisting like smoke. It was the embodiment of everything he feared—an ancient force, a predator born from the abyss.
And it wanted him.
The creature's eyes glowed brighter, and Viole could feel its cold, insidious presence creeping into his mind. It was trying to take control, trying to make him submit. He could feel the personalities stirring in response, their voices rising in unison as they fought back against the intruding force.
Clark was the first to react, his voice hissing in Viole's mind like venom. "Don't let it win. It's weaker than it seems. Break it, Viole. Make it suffer."
Desmond, ever playful, chimed in with a manic giggle. "Oooooh, it's a big one! Let's tear it apart and see what's inside!"
But it was Aamon who cut through the noise, his voice cold and commanding. "This is your moment, Viole. Prove your strength. Show this creature who you really are. Or die."
Viole's grip tightened on his sword. The personalities were pushing him, urging him to act, to strike, to destroy. But he knew he couldn't do it alone. He needed their power. He needed them.
With a deep breath, Viole closed his eyes and reached inward, pulling on the strength of the personalities—just enough to harness their power, without losing himself in the process.
When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with an unnatural light.
The creature lunged, its massive form bearing down on him, but Viole didn't flinch. He moved with the grace and speed of a vampire, dodging the creature's attack with ease. His sword gleamed as he struck, the blade slicing through the shadows with a flash of dark energy.
The creature screeched, its form unraveling as Viole's blade cut through it. But it wasn't enough. The creature reformed, its eyes burning brighter, its hunger more intense.
Viole grit his teeth, his muscles straining as he pushed harder, faster, his strikes coming in a flurry of motion. The creature writhed and twisted, its form flickering in and out of existence, but it wouldn't die. Not yet.
The ground shook again, and Viole stumbled, his sword slipping from his grasp. The creature seized the opportunity, lunging at him with a roar.
And then, everything went black.
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