John stepped into a triangular room and was immediately struck by the dim, flickering light emanating from a brazier suspended from the ceiling. As it illuminated the walls, he noted the rough-hewn stones with jagged edges and uneven surfaces which were lined with moss and lichen, lending the chamber a musty, ancient feel.

In each of the three corners stood imposing stone statues. The statue of a woman to the left had her arms raised in defiance, the one positioned in the corner to the right was crouched and trembling as if in terror, and the statue in the corner directly in front of the entrance was slumped and defeated.

There was an altar in the center of the room that was made of black stone, polished to a high sheen. It was intricately carved with patterns and symbols, the meaning of which had been lost to time. The altar was bare, but its presence conveyed a hidden purpose of this room.

It must be something with the statues, John thought after making a quick observation of the place he was standing in.

The brazier crackled and popped with burning logs, casting flickering shadows across the room. The light was dim, but it served as the sole source of illumination in the chamber, casting a warm glow across the stone surfaces.

Standing in the center of the room, next to the altar, John felt a deep sense of wrongness. The statues seemed to crowd the space around him, their presence looming over him and relaying their experience as if they were alive.

Starting his exploration with the one to the right, John slowly walked closer, paying close attention to anything amiss.

The statue was a haunting depiction of a woman whose body was contorted in fear and her face twisted in a silent scream. The stone was carved in such a way that it seemed as though the figure was about to spring to life, fleeing from some unseen danger.

The woman's eyes were wide with terror, her mouth open in a soundless shriek. Her fingers were splayed wide as if trying to ward off some unseen attacker, while her legs were bent at awkward angles as if ready to flee, and as John gazed at the statue, he couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of unease wash over him.

He didn't know when he stopped walking, but John found himself standing only three feet away, his heart beating like mad, and his eyes as wide as the woman depicted in front of him. Most of his thoughts were scrambled away, leaving only a pure undiluted fear.

It was a very odd feeling. Somewhere deep inside, he could still understand what was happening but his whole body was locked up, and as he stood there, frozen, he started noticing tingling in his legs and black spots forming in front of his eyes.

I… can't… breathe…

That made him panic even more, desperately trying to take at least a small mouthful of air into his terror-stricken lungs.

No! Calm down!

His vision was mostly a mesh of grey and black spots, dancing in front of his eyes, and his head was pounding with an ever-increasing headache. The change came only after he stopped trying to suppress the fear, and instead embraced it.

Fear is not something to squash down, fear is a healthy response to danger and I will embrace it in situations where being afraid is the correct emotion to have, but sometimes all I have to do is show a little courage and the fear will melt away.

As he stood there, still unable to move, he watched the statue in front of him change into a different posture. It was now standing tall with a brave expression, ready to take on the challenges up ahead. John bowed without even knowing why, feeling appreciation for the challenge the woman imparted.

He didn't know when, but he regained his ability to breathe and later also move and he carefully stepped back. The oppressive aura around that statue was gone, leaving behind only a simple carving made out of grey stone.

Uhh…

Able to think clearly, the whole experience was a haze of clouded emotions, but a seed of courage remained firmly lodged somewhere deep inside of him.

Now to face the pitiful one, crouching in the other corner.

The woman's head was bowed low, her shoulders hunched in defeat, and her arms limp at her sides. The stone was carved in such a way that it seemed as though the figure was almost melting into the ground as if she could no longer bear the weight of her own misery.

The woman's face was etched with lines of grief and pain, her eyes downcast and filled with tears. Her expression was one of profound sadness as if she had been abandoned and left to suffer in solitude, and as John slowly walked closer, his own shoulders slumped down and his back hunched under the sense of overwhelming sadness pressing into him.

It was pointless. Everything he had done, everything he had achieved… was pointless. His parents were surely killed already, roaming the streets with unquenchable hunger and empty white skulls in the forms of skeletons. His sister, also dead, was forgotten as everyone left her broken body behind.

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And what was even the point? John asked himself. What was he trying to achieve? He was pushing himself forward to meet with his family, but if they were all dead, should he even bother?

Perhaps, it would be better to give up. Accept the situation for what it was, and let others take the helm. He wasn't suited to being a hero anyway, and…

Maybe I can meet with them in the next life.

Looking at the despairing statue reflecting the same despairing expression, he contemplated pulling out his spear and letting the horror finally…

No! I will not take the coward's way!

For all he knew, everyone could be still alive, waiting for him in their own little communities of survivors. And even if his previous beliefs were true and they passed away…

Despair and sadness are also valid emotions, but I will not let them overwhelm me! There will always be moments to feel them, but then comes another day, and a brighter future waiting to be made.

Accepting the feelings for what they were, he took in a shaky breath and brushed the tears flowing down his cheeks with the back of his hand.

The statue straightened its back, changing its expression into one of hope, looking somewhere far ahead, and the crushing aura of despair lifted around him.

Standing there, John contemplated the previous experience. It was now all dulled and clouded as if it all happened decades ago, but a small seed of hope remained firmly lodged inside of him.

He could understand that his way of sorting through the emotions was faster than should be possible, but perhaps the increase in willpower—the attribute the challenge was centered on—actually helped to keep his emotions more firmly in check. Another important discovery was that his unique card called Unbreakable Mind did not help against pure emotions.

Perhaps to count as a mind-altering effect, it would need to alter the way I think. Not only amplify a raw emotion to a terrifying extreme.

Sighing, he steeled his mind and prepared himself to face the last statue. This one, he left for last, because it was the one he was most afraid of.

The statue stood tall and proud, her features chiseled with fierce determination. Her eyes were narrowed, and her lips parted in a snarl that revealed sharp, pointed teeth. Her hair was carved in wild, untamed locks that cascaded down her back like hungry flames.

Her body was lean and muscular, with bulging veins visible beneath the stone surface. Her arms raised in a defiant gesture, with balled fists ready to strike. The veins in her arms bulged with the effort as if she was about to unleash a powerful attack.

Her expression was one of pure rage, with furrowed brows and a scowl that could strike fear into the heart of any onlooker. The lines etched into her face were deep and dramatic, conveying the intensity of her feelings.

As John approached, he could feel the heat radiating off of it, and that heat ignited the same feelings inside him, twisting his own face and snarl back.

He was filled with searing rage as if all the anger he had ever felt in his life was bubbling to the surface. He wanted to lash out at something, anything, and he felt a powerful urge to strike the statue with his fists.

"Argh!"

Striking the statue would do him no good, but on the other hand if there were his old colleagues here… His snarl twisted into a malicious grin as he imagined beating the fuck out of every single one of them.

"We have family waiting for us and it's Friday, surely you can stay late and…" He imagined his fist striking the side of Jack's face, breaking his jaw, and letting a couple of teeth fly out of his mangled mouth.

"My husband prepared a surprise for me, could you…" A kick to Sam's chest, making his boss's ribs snap like kindling, and burying her into the flimsy carton wall surrounding his tiny cubicle.

Him breaking down his neighbor's doors, grabbing those annoying large speakers, and repeatedly beating the neighbor's head into a pulp with them to make him finally remember not to blast the music after ten pm.

The scenes followed one after another, until all of his rage was spent, and all of his perceived slights paid back with violence, suffering, and pain.

Opening his eyes, the statue in front of him was marked with dozens upon dozens of bloody marks from the strikes of his fists that he unknowingly beat into it. In contrast, it stood straight with a serene expression and an accepting smile on its chiseled face.

The skin covering his fists was torn all the way to the bone, and the only reason he hasn't mangled them was the high Vitality and the help of his cards desperately repairing the mounting injuries.

The anger… He didn't believe this was the correct way to overcome it. It was, however, the feeling he was most afraid of.

As he was growing up, some people used to call him a sociopath because of his dulled emotions and his difficulty to form meaningful human connections, but he never thought of himself as that. He could build good friendships and care for others. However, they were right in the fact he never showed even a shred of care to those who proved unworthy of it.

That was why he always kept a firm hand on his anger. Avoiding conflicts and keeping himself calm in all situations formed a good rule of thumb, and helped him avoid doing something he would later regret.

There was a lack of any new enlightenment after this, but deep down he knew the seed of calmness was something he possessed long before the whole Apocalypse began.

Turning, he looked at the altar in the middle, which was now shining with red, green, and yellow colors forming a triangle shape with a dull spot in the middle.

Walking toward it, he placed his palm in the center and the whole room lit up in a blindingly bright light, and after it died down he found himself standing in the center of the—now well-known—antechamber.

[Congratulations!

You have successfully completed the fourth test in the Rooms of torment.

Your current score: 10 points

23:49:55 remaining]

The scenes he lived through during the time he was overwhelmed with anger were now also clouded, but the feeling of freedom still remained as an ugly reminder of what could happen should his rage rear its ugly head.

Suppressing his discomfort deeper inside, John looked around and thought about which door to pick next.