Chương 4: 3.5 The First Test 2
Caelus's legs wobbled beneath him as the dust settled. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching from the fight, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the pain—at least for now. He stood over his alternate self, staring down at the still form, unsure what to feel. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, but the sense of victory he had expected didn't come.
Instead, there was silence. The eerie quiet of a world suspended in an uneasy calm.
The alternate Caelus didn't move. His once imposing presence now lay crumbled on the ground, covered in dust and debris. The version of himself that had been so filled with power, with anger and pride, had been reduced to this—defeated and broken.
Caelus swallowed, his throat dry. He had won. He had taken control of the earth, mastered the power that had once seemed so unattainable. But as he looked down at the fallen version of himself, a thought gnawed at the edges of his mind: what had he really won?
"Is this what it's going to be like?" Caelus muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. "Is this what it means to ascend the Tesseract?"
A soft wind swept through the battlefield, carrying with it the scent of earth and ash. The land around him, once vibrant and teeming with life, now seemed cold and desolate. The beauty of the world had been marred by the violence of their battle, the lush greenery torn apart, the ground scarred by their clash of power.
Caelus let out a slow breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. The power he had gained was undeniable—he could feel it pulsing within him, the connection to the earth as strong as ever. But with that power came something else, something darker. He could feel the remnants of his alternate self's emotions lingering in his mind, the echoes of anger, frustration, and pain bleeding into his thoughts.
He clenched his fists, trying to shake off the feeling, but it stuck to him like a shadow, ever-present and inescapable. This wasn't just about gaining strength. Every victory came with a cost, and now, for the first time, Caelus began to understand what the Arbiter had meant. The power wasn't just a gift—it was a burden. A piece of each alternate self he defeated would stay with him, their emotions, their struggles, becoming a part of his own.
Was this the price of ascension?
Caelus knelt beside the fallen body of his alternate self, studying the man's face. It was like looking into a mirror, but the reflection was distorted—hardened by years of conflict, by sacrifices Caelus could only begin to imagine. This version of himself had lived a life filled with pain, with the weight of power pressing down on him day after day. And now, that weight had been passed to Caelus.
The ground beneath him pulsed softly, a reminder of the connection he now shared with the earth. He could feel it, deep in his bones—the power, the responsibility, the pain. It was all there, woven into the very fabric of his being.
For a moment, Caelus closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the feeling. He let the earth's energy flow through him, steady and constant, grounding him. There was a strange comfort in the connection, a sense of belonging that he hadn't expected. The earth was alive, and it responded to him in a way that was almost… familiar. It was as if the land itself recognized him, accepted him as its master.
But with that power came a deep, gnawing emptiness. The cost of victory weighed heavily on his mind. Was this how it would be in every battle? Would he have to strip away pieces of himself, of his humanity, to gain more power?
His alternate self had been right. This wasn't about just taking power. It was about the sacrifices that came with it. Each victory would chip away at who he was, leaving behind a version of himself that was harder, colder, more distant.
Was he prepared for that?
As he stood, the faint sound of footsteps broke the silence. Caelus turned, his gaze falling on the familiar figure of the Arbiter, who stood at the edge of the battlefield, his cloak billowing softly in the wind.
"You've done well," the Arbiter said, his voice calm and measured. "You've passed the first test."
Caelus didn't respond immediately. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind still reeling from the fight. "Is this what it's always going to be like?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Every time I win, I lose a part of myself."
The Arbiter's gaze was unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood, but his tone was steady. "Each victory brings you closer to your true self," he said. "But yes, the power you gain comes with a price. The more you ascend, the more you will be forced to confront the parts of yourself you'd rather avoid."
Caelus clenched his fists, the weight of the Arbiter's words settling over him like a lead blanket. "And if I refuse? If I don't want to keep losing myself?"
The Arbiter tilted his head slightly. "Then you will remain as you are, trapped in the loop of your old reality, forever repeating the same moments. But I think you already know that's not an option for you, Caelus."
Caelus exhaled slowly, his chest tight with a mix of fear and frustration. The Arbiter was right. There was no going back. Not after everything he had seen, after everything he had felt. He had to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.
But the thought of losing himself, of becoming someone he didn't recognize, gnawed at him. The version of himself he had just defeated—he could feel the man's bitterness, his anger, his pain. Caelus didn't want to become like that. He didn't want to lose his humanity in the pursuit of power.
"I'm not like him," Caelus said quietly, more to himself than to the Arbiter. "I won't let this power change me."
The Arbiter didn't respond, but there was something in his gaze—a quiet understanding, perhaps, or maybe a silent warning. Caelus couldn't be sure.
"What happens now?" Caelus asked, his voice firmer this time.
The Arbiter's lips curved into a faint smile. "Now, you rest. You've completed the first step, but there are many more ahead. Each reality you visit will present new challenges, new versions of yourself to face. And each one will be harder than the last."
Caelus nodded, though the weight of the task ahead felt heavier than ever. He had barely survived the first test, and the thought of facing more versions of himself—each stronger, each more dangerous—was daunting. But he had no choice. He couldn't go back. The path forward was the only option left.
"Rest here for now," the Arbiter said, gesturing to the still battlefield. "You'll need your strength for what comes next."
Caelus hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. He watched as the Arbiter turned and walked away, his form slowly fading into the mist that seemed to cling to the edges of the Tesseract. When he was gone, Caelus sank to the ground, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building throughout the fight.
The connection to the earth still hummed softly within him, a constant reminder of the power he had gained. But the power felt heavy now, like a weight pressing down on his chest. It wasn't just about strength or control—it was about responsibility. And the more he ascended, the more responsibility he would have to bear.
Caelus closed his eyes, letting the sound of the wind and the steady pulse of the earth lull him into a restless sleep. His mind churned with thoughts of the battles to come, of the versions of himself he would have to face. But through it all, one thought lingered, haunting him in the quiet of the Tesseract.
How much of himself would be left by the time he reached the top?
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