“Evil truly knows no bounds,” DeSean said, taking in the horrific grandeur of his latest test.

There had been a wooden flight of stairs behind him. Now it was covered by a muted beige carpet. The walls here were yellowish-white. Between the walls were cubicles, and each cubicle contained a desk, computer, printer, and everything else you’d find in an office setting.

It was a maze here and not a completely silent one. Somewhere among the countless cubicles was a printer doing its job without rest. From another angle, DeSean heard a phone ringing constantly. In the distance was someone typing obnoxiously, even though the office looked empty of workers.

Worst yet, he heard faint voices. They were close but hushed. The voices were laughing. Sometimes, they were crying. No matter where he turned, he couldn’t find the source of the voices. When he tried to Focus his hearing, the voices faded until they were unintelligible babble.

DeSean subdued a shudder. He hated offices. They were lifeless places made from the blood and tears of white-collar workers that sold their souls to corporations. It was unfortunate that the Marine Corps, despite its lustrous military history and martial capabilities, was another corporate entity in a sense.

War was a racket.

“What do you want from me now?” DeSean asked.

The Heavenly Lords and Ladies would prefer for you to die.

All the office sounds fell silent except for the ghostly whispers.

“You know what,” DeSean said. “I’m going to live just to spite them.” And he meant that more than he’d ever felt before.

The ghostly whispers grew louder, but their words remained unintelligible to DeSean. Their voices raised into a roaring crescendo that blew over his body, whirling loose papers and small items in a frenzy. Then the garbling ghosts screamed like banshees, hurting his ears.

A cubicle crunched into itself and sank down to DeSean’s left. It disappeared into a perfect twelve-by-twelve square where a pit of pure white light waited. Looking at it burned his eyes, granting him a sudden vision of what this latest game entailed.

“You guys are the worst,” the Marine said as he hobbled away from the fallen tile.

Somewhere out of his vision, another section of the office crunched and dropped away. It didn’t take him long to realize there were twelve-second intervals between office sections falling into the white void. He needed to find an exit quickly.

But no matter where he turned, the path led to more cubicles and dead ends. He turned into a small kitchenette as a section of the floor dropped with a crunch behind him. He cussed, saw no way out, then shimmied around the drop to leave the kitchenette and continue his search.

Hours passed like this, and DeSean came closer and closer to falling as the office collapsed into the void around him. He got really good at avoiding his death throughout. The crunching sound when the floor started to fall was enough of a warning to dive for safety.

But his horrid condition tormented him with each near-death dodge. His breath came out ragged. Sweat poured down the contours, cuts, and bruises along his flesh. He entered a restroom once and caught sight of his appearance. His image was a nightmare made into flesh, the sculpture of a man pushed to his limits and beyond.

The whispers grew louder the more his stamina started to wane. Worse yet, the voices began to become more intelligible. They were feminine voices. Some were like claws on chalkboards. Others were dark, sweet, and inviting. But they all called for him to stop and quit and fall into the white void.

“Suck my dick,” DeSean rasped, gasping for air. He stopped to catch his breath after running past another near-drop. The twelve-second count was ingrained into him at this point. If the floor fell away from his feet, he’d—

The floor crunched at eleven seconds instead of twelve. His stomach lurched up as he started to fall down. He pushed his fraying Focus to its limits and lunged for the edge. He barely caught it, leaving him hanging above the void.

The endless white expanse singed his skin. It made him grunt with pain as he exerted his Strength to lift himself with one arm.

The ghosts wailed against him. Screeching harpies. Howling banshees. Barking bitches. No matter if he could see them, he felt their rage and animosity storm against him. His arm burned. His weariness mounted. Try as he might, he couldn’t pull himself up. His body was faltering. All of his Marine training and stat improvements couldn’t get over this last hurdle.

The floor to his right disappeared into the void after only ten seconds. The voices quieted while DeSean hung by four fingers. Again, he tried to pull himself up. The ghosts rallied against him again, thwarting him. Then the floor to his left disappeared into the void after eight seconds.

He listened for the song of darkness and couldn’t grasp it. He attempted to summon his imps, but the spell failed him. His Focus was heavily disrupted, and his mana depth was shallow. He’d been through too—

The floor behind him dropped next. He was practically isolated now. DeSean sighed as his burning arm started to lose its grip.

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Do you wish to be saved from the taint of chaos?

DeSean examined the System Notification and came to an interesting conclusion. It had been driving him to this desperate point from the start. It was like Bootcamp all over again. Strip a man from every possible means of defiance and make him compliant to your wishes.

“So this is the measure of the Lord of Light and Order,” DeSean said, chuckling darkly. “You don’t bring order. You steal a man’s freedom, his beliefs, and force your order. You’re a fucking charlatan, and this bullshit offends me.”

Do you wish to be saved—

DeSean took a big breath. He bucked up, pulling with all his strength to get his chin over the edge. The ghosts screamed against him. But once he had his chin planted, he rested some of his weight on his neck. From there, he swung his legs up and scrambled against the gale-force wind.

“I refuse your fake salvation,” DeSean said, rising on shaky legs. “Cut me. Break my bones. Make me bleed plenty. But I won’t back down. I won’t be turned and made your slave.”

He stood tall as he barked out his words mightily. “The name’s DeSean Dante Solomon, and I’m anarchy in the flesh.”

The ghostly chorus reached a new volume that blasted DeSean’s ears out. A hurricane-force threw him off his feet and sent him sailing over the pitfalls. He slammed against a cubicle wall, smashed down the desk, and fell into a pile of electronics that toppled over him. He found some peace there. For a second. Then it was torn away by invisible hands.

Dante fought off the grasp of phantoms. He stood against the storming winds. The office fell apart around him, hundreds of cubicles flying in pieces from one end of the floor to the other. Numerous items swirled into a cyclone that hid a strangely humanoid shape inside of it. Soon after, the mid-office twister fell apart and revealed a tall golem made from office supplies and—

“Uninspired,” DeSean muttered.

You must defeat the—

“I don’t care,” DeSean said. “Where’s the exit? I think I’m done with your trial. I’ve proven more than enough.”

You can’t leave the trial until you meet the System’s requirements.

“I don’t need your approval,” DeSean said, feeling strangely confident. “This trial is a load of bullshit, and you know it.”

The golem swatted wreckage out of its way, hopping nimbly from floating tile to floating tile to reach DeSean. It raised an arm made of copiers and desk towers with keyboards as fingers.

“I’m not playing this game anymore,” DeSean said. “You never told me the requirements. So, I’m going to refuse.”

The office golem struck down, its knobby fist plummeting with all its might for DeSean’s face.

The Marine stood his ground and gave it a thousand-yard stare.

The fist phased through DeSean. The monster came to a stop behind the Marine. The monitors that made up its face flickered on and displayed a confused emoji. Then the entire creature dropped into dust.

“That’s the trick behind the entire trial,” DeSean said. “You’re taking figments of my imagination and throwing them at me. Since what you’re taking comes from me, I’m still the ultimate master here.”

He’d proved that point at the start when he turned one arm to dust because he was disabled in the real world. That was not because of the System. That was by his own design, his consciousness making a change to reflect the truth.

“Got anything else to say for yourself?” DeSean asked.

The System Notification didn’t update, but the office rearranged itself for the last time. DeSean felt noxious as the floor shuffled around and created a walking lane. At the end were three golden doors with crimson inlays and giant placards fixed above the entrances. He started reading from left to right.

Diabolist Captain

“Huh, sounds menacing,” DeSean said.

Chaos Summoner

“Would that allow me to summon more than just demons?” DeSean wondered aloud. His curiosity was growing.

Dark Magician

“Aye, that’s a blast from the past,” DeSean said, thinking back to a childhood card game. There was a certain famous card given that name.

All of these sounded interesting to DeSean. Chances were, once he passed through the doors, he might not have an option to back out and try a different path.

But something didn’t feel right with him.

DeSean stroked his chin. “Nah. None of these really, really, speak to me. I’d gone through way too much bullshit for just these.” He could feel it in his core, too. There was more to his Main Path Selection.

Letting himself fall into a tired whimsy, DeSean turned away from the doors and started wandering. The office shifted to give him a place to walk wherever he went. He didn’t know where his feet were taking him, but he didn’t feel like he was in a rush. It would be a shame to choose a door without getting a peek at—

Oh, look, there were more!

Princess Trainer

DeSean chuckled. “What? I gotta catch them all?”

Demoness Enchanter

“We’re going in the wrong direction, guys.”

Angel Harasser

“Yeah, that’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I don’t harass. I kill.”

DeSean wandered further, finding more doors. They weren’t all gold with fancy inlays, either. Some looked like your everyday closet.

Corpse Maker

Mud Soldier

Blood Anarchist

Realm Invader

DeSean took about ten minutes to think about this one. A path focused on invading realms sounded badass, but he needed means to defend his realm first. The door was warped darkness shaped into an eye-hurting entrance.

Deathless Fiend

Village Marauder

Dark Sheep

Hidden Wolf

Raid Master

Fortress Defender

Ambush Fighter

Ravaging Marksman

“Oh, that’s another tempting one,” DeSean said, eyeing the Marksman label. The door was framed between lines of rifles pointed up. They weren’t modern rifles either. Hell, they weren’t rifles DeSean had ever seen before. Fantasy rifles? Whoa.

DeSean stared until he realized he was more than a marksman. He had various avenues of magic. Honestly, the further he walked, the more he veered away from what he’d grown into, returning him to his roots. But his roots didn’t feel like they were enough for him anymore.

With a sigh, DeSean found himself revisiting the original three golden doors. Still, he was left unsatisfied with this Selection. It was an unreasonable feeling, honestly. The choices between Diabolist Captain, Chaos Summoner, and Dark Magician were plenty enough.

“But still….” DeSean trailed off as a spark of brilliance came to his mind. “I need an elevator.”

Nothing happened.

“Don’t play with me. I’m the boss of this place. Take me to the top floor.”

The office groaned and trembled around him. The ceiling exploded, and an elevator lift crashed down in front of him. It was black as night with throbbing maroon veins covering its surface.

Half-buried in the rubble was a placard sticking out.

DeSean pulled it free and smacked off some dust. He held it up into the light.

“Oh, hell yeah. This is it.”

His Selection was complete.