The distorted figures of my parents lunged at me, their once-warm presence now replaced by a malevolent aura. I braced myself, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. My fists clenched tightly as I drew on the last reserves of my willpower.

"This isn't real," I muttered to myself. "It's a test. I have to get through this."

The creatures that had once resembled my parents attacked in unison. My father swung his carving knife, the blade glinting with an unnatural light, while my mother lunged with claw-like hands. Their movements were eerily synchronized, like puppets controlled by the same string.

I dodged the knife, stepping to the side with the Phantom Prowl Steps. My movements were fluid, my body moving almost on instinct. As my mother's claws swiped toward my face, I countered with a swift Flame Fist Technique, flames bursting from my hands and forcing her back. The fire illuminated their twisted faces, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on the warped dreamscape.

"Jiro!" they hissed in unison, their voices layered with an otherworldly echo. "Why fight us? We're your family!"

"No," I growled, stepping back into a defensive stance. "My family would never try to hold me back. They would want me to move forward, to fight for what's right."

The figures snarled, their forms flickering like static. The world around us twisted further, the cozy bahay kubo morphing into a nightmarish void filled with floating fragments of memories. I saw flashes of my real parents' smiles, their laughter, and the warmth of their love, but these images were distorted, tainted by the darkness that surrounded me.

I leapt forward, unleashing a combination of Phantom Prowl Steps and Flame Fist strikes. My fists burned with fiery energy as I aimed at the figures' chests, trying to break through their defenses. They countered with a ferocity that matched my own, their attacks relentless and fueled by some deep-seated malice.

Despite my determination, the fight was wearing me down. My movements slowed, my breath came in ragged gasps. Each strike felt heavier, each dodge more sluggish. The figures seemed to feed on my despair, their attacks growing more powerful as my resolve wavered.

But then, amidst the chaos, a memory surfaced, a real memory. My mother, cradling me as a child, whispering words of encouragement. My father, teaching me how to stand up after a fall. Their voices, their love, their true essence filled my mind.

"You're not them!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the void. "You're nothing but lies!"

Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I combined the Phantom Prowl Steps and the Flame Fist Technique into the Shadow Flame Spiral. Flames swirled around me as I moved with precision and speed, creating a vortex of fiery energy. The flames engulfed the twisted figures, their screams piercing the void as their forms disintegrated into ash.

As the last remnants of the nightmare faded, the world around me began to shift. The oppressive darkness lifted, replaced by a soft, golden light. I found myself standing in the same dreamscape, but it felt different, calmer, more peaceful. In the distance, I saw the faint outlines of my real parents, their forms bathed in warm light.

"Jiro," my mother's voice echoed gently. "We're proud of you. Keep moving forward."

My father nodded, his smile full of pride. "You carry our love with you, always."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Tears welled up in my eyes as their forms began to fade. "Thank you," I whispered. "I'll make you proud."

The light grew brighter, engulfing me completely. When it faded, I found myself back in the chamber of the second trial. Emilia and Jose were still unconscious, the ancient garment draped across my arm. My heart was heavy, but my resolve was stronger than ever.

The next trial awaited, and I was ready.

As I woke from the trial-induced nightmare, I had no time to catch my breath. The chamber's air grew heavier, thick with the rancid smell of decay. Doors on the far side of the room creaked open, and shadows emerged, figures shambling forward, their movements unnatural and jerky. The stench hit me like a physical force, making my stomach churn.

"Zombies," I muttered under my breath, recalling the urban legends whispered about this place. Stories of the restless dead which those who had lost their way and became trapped in this cursed labyrinth. A bite would doom you to join their ranks.

Jose and Emilia were still unconscious, their faces pale from the trials. I had to buy them time, to keep the undead from getting anywhere near them. My hand instinctively reached for the ancient garment draped over my arm, the prize from the previous trial. I focused, willing it to change form.

The fabric shimmered, responding to my thoughts. Threads of golden light extended and solidified, forming a gleaming blade in my hand. A sword, perfect for keeping the zombies at bay.

The first of the creatures lunged at me, its milky eyes vacant and its mouth hanging open, exposing rotted teeth. I sidestepped, using Phantom Prowl Steps to evade its grasp, and slashed downward with my new weapon. The blade cut cleanly through its neck, the body collapsing in a heap of decayed flesh.

More emerged from the darkness, their groans growing louder, echoing through the chamber. Their sheer numbers were overwhelming, but I couldn't let fear take hold. My focus narrowed.

I lunged into the horde, using a combination of Flame Fist strikes and precise swordsmanship. The blade's golden glow seared through the undead flesh, each swing accompanied by bursts of flame. The stench grew worse as I hacked through them, the acrid smell of burning decay filling the room.

"Stay back!" I shouted, glancing over my shoulder at my unconscious friends. "I won't let you get to them!"

The zombies showed no signs of slowing. Every time one fell, two more would stagger forward. My movements grew desperate, the fight becoming a chaotic dance of survival. But I had to hold on. I had to protect them.

Emilia's Nightmare

While I fought to keep the undead at bay, Emilia was trapped in her own dream, a haunting reminder of her burdens.

In her mind, she stood in a grand hall, the walls adorned with banners bearing the sigil of King Arthur. The air was thick with tension as rows of armored knights and noblemen stared down at her, their gazes filled with doubt and disdain.

"You're a girl," one of the lords sneered. "What can you possibly hope to achieve as the descendant of King Arthur?"

Another voice chimed in, cruel and dismissive. "The bloodline ends with you. There's no way a woman can carry the weight of this legacy."

Emilia's fists clenched, her body trembling with both anger and the sting of their words. She had spent her entire life under this weight, constantly being underestimated, constantly proving herself. But no matter how many victories she achieved, the shadow of doubt never disappeared.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. She was standing in the tomb of King Arthur, the sacred resting place of the legendary king. The air was heavy with an otherworldly presence. The ancient stone sarcophagus lay before her, its surface etched with symbols of honor and strength.

"Why can't they see my worth?" Emilia whispered, her voice cracking. "Why can't they believe in me the way I believe in myself?"

As if in response, the tomb began to glow. The symbols on its surface lit up with an ethereal blue light, and a voice echoed in her mind.

"You seek guidance," the voice said, calm and resonant. "But guidance comes at a price."

Before Emilia could react, the blue light intensified, engulfing her. The air turned cold, and whispers filled her ears, accusatory and venomous.

"Unworthy!"

"A disgrace to the bloodline!"

"You'll never be more than a shadow of the king!"

She clutched her head, falling to her knees as the whispers grew louder, overwhelming her senses. The tomb shattered, and from its broken pieces emerged a figure, a nightmare version of King Arthur. His once-noble visage was twisted and cruel, his eyes glowing with malice.

"You are not worthy of my legacy," the nightmare Arthur said, his voice cutting like a blade. "You will only bring ruin."

Emilia staggered back, fear gripping her heart. She tried to summon her courage, to fight back against the apparition, but it was as if the weight of her lineage was crushing her.

"Am I really unworthy?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

The nightmare Arthur raised his sword, its blade crackling with dark energy. "Prove to me you deserve to carry my bloodline!" he roared, lunging toward her.

Back to Reality

In the real world, I was barely holding my ground against the relentless horde. My breaths were shallow, my arms heavy from the constant swinging of my blade.

"Emilia, Jose…" I murmured, glancing back at them. "Please… wake up."

Emilia stirred slightly, her brow furrowed as if she were fighting her own battle. I could only hope that whatever nightmare she was facing, she would find the strength to overcome it.

A particularly large zombie lunged at me, its rotted arms reaching for my throat. I sidestepped and drove my blade through its chest, flames erupting and reducing it to ash.

"Come on," I whispered to myself, gritting my teeth. "I can do this."

But deep down, I knew I couldn't hold out much longer. The horde showed no signs of thinning, and my strength was rapidly fading. Yet, despite the odds, I refused to give up.

I had to protect them.