章節 17: Ghosts Of The Past
Troy felt the disorienting pull of teleportation drag at his body, his vision shifting from darkness to blinding light. He stumbled, his feet hitting solid ground as the new room came into focus. He was standing in an open, circular arena, the floor beneath him smooth and cold like polished stone. The air here was different, charged with tension. There were no walls, only a vast, empty horizon that stretched on forever, shimmering faintly as if made of glass.
His body ached from the last fight, bruises forming beneath his torn clothes, his muscles screaming with exhaustion. But there was no time to rest. No time to even think. The trial was relentless, and he had to be as well.
Across the arena, a figure materialized, and Troy's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't another monster, wasn't an alien or some creature from Base 1. It was a human.
The figure was cloaked in shadow, their face obscured, but the way they moved was unmistakable—fluid, precise, deadly. They carried themselves with the grace of a predator, their stance low and balanced, ready to strike at any moment. Troy felt his heart begin to race. This was different. This wasn't a beast that relied on brute strength. This was someone who knew how to fight, how to kill.
A human? Troy's thoughts raced. He didn't understand. Was this a part of the trial? Another challenger like him?
The voice of the spirit echoed in his head, cold and detached. "Increased difficulty activated. You are now challenging the top contenders of the past."
The past? Troy's eyes widened. He looked at the figure again, noting the confidence in their posture, the absolute control they exuded. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Whoever this was, they had been here before. They had passed this trial once.
He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Who are they?" he asked, the words directed at the spirit, though his gaze never left the figure across the arena.
The voice responded, emotionless as always. "These are the echoes of past challengers. They were all real ascenders. Real ascenders are those who have risen without the aid of technology. These people are like you."
Troy's breath caught in his throat. Real ascenders. People who, like him, had pushed through the boundaries of Base 0 on their own, without the crutch of neurosync tech. The fact that this trial had identified him as a real ascender, and chosen to pit him against these champions, was both terrifying and exhilarating. These weren't just any opponents. These were people like him, but further along the path. People who had made it, who had survived and grown stronger. If he wanted to be one of them, he had to prove himself worthy.
The figure moved, their silhouette shifting with a fluid grace, and Troy snapped back into focus. This wasn't the time for doubt or hesitation. His opponent was already moving, and he had to be ready.
The assassin struck without warning, their body blurring into motion, vanishing from Troy's sight in a flicker of shadow. Troy's heart pounded, his senses screaming at him to move. He spun to the side just in time, the blade of a dagger slicing through the air where his throat had been an instant earlier.
He stumbled back, his eyes wide, trying to track the figure, but they moved too fast—darting in and out of his field of vision, striking from the edges, never staying still long enough for him to counter. Troy could feel his pulse quicken, the adrenaline flooding his veins, and he forced himself to focus.
Control. Stay in control.
The assassin was an expert, their movements precise, almost inhuman in their speed and efficiency. But there was something else—something more. The ether in the air shifted around them, flowing like a current, bending to their will. This wasn't just skill. This was power. The assassin was using their ether, manipulating it to enhance their speed, to vanish from sight, to strike with deadly precision.
Troy gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. He was at a disadvantage. He didn't have the years of training, the refinement that his opponent had. He was new to this world, and the difference in experience was painfully clear. But he couldn't afford to let that stop him. He had to fight. He had to endure.
The assassin appeared again, their blade flashing, and Troy moved, ducking low, his body twisting as he avoided the strike. He felt the ether in his veins, the pulse of energy that had carried him through the last fight, and he reached for it, trying to grasp it, to use it.
Focus. Channel it.
He could feel the energy, raw and unrefined, but it was there. He let it flow through him, sharpening his senses, making his movements quicker, more deliberate. The assassin struck again, and this time, Troy was ready. He stepped into the attack, his hand moving to deflect the blow, his other fist lashing out in a quick, sharp strike.
The assassin twisted away, but Troy saw it—the slight hesitation, the flicker of surprise. He had landed a hit, however small. It was possible. He could do this.
The assassin vanished again, their form blurring into shadow, but Troy didn't let the fear take hold. He kept moving, kept his senses open, feeling the ether in the air, the faint ripples that marked his opponent's presence. He couldn't see them, but he could feel them.
The next strike came from behind, but Troy was already moving, spinning on his heel, his arm lashing out to block. He felt the impact, the assassin's dagger meeting his forearm, and pain flared, sharp and bright. But he didn't flinch. He didn't let it stop him. He pushed through, his other hand shooting forward, catching the assassin across the jaw.
The figure stumbled back, and for the first time, Troy saw their face—a flash of pale skin, eyes wide with shock. They were human, just like him. And they could be beaten.
Troy pressed the advantage, his body moving on instinct, the ether flowing through him, guiding his strikes. The assassin recovered quickly, their movements sharp, but Troy was relentless. He struck again and again, each blow fueled by the pulse of energy in his veins, each step pushing his opponent further back.
He was exhausted, his muscles screaming, his body barely holding together, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. This was his trial, his test. He had to prove himself, to endure, to rise.
The assassin moved to strike again, their blade flashing, but Troy was ready. He caught their wrist, twisting it sharply, and the dagger clattered to the ground. The assassin's eyes widened, and for a moment, Troy saw it—the fear, the realization that they had lost.
With a final surge of ether, Troy pushed them back, his fist striking out, and the assassin fell, their body hitting the ground, the shadows around them dissipating.
Troy stood there, his chest heaving, his vision blurring with exhaustion. The arena was silent, the only sound his own ragged breathing. He had done it. He had faced a real ascender, someone who had once stood where he did, and he had won.
The spirit's voice echoed in his mind, calm and indifferent.
"Trial complete. Preparing next challenge."
Troy closed his eyes, his body trembling, the exhaustion threatening to pull him under. He had survived. He had proven himself. But the trial wasn't over. Not yet.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
I will endure.
The world around him began to shift again, the light fading, the ground dissolving beneath his feet. The next challenge awaited, and Troy would face it, no matter what it took.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票