Alastor stood at the edge of a vast underground chamber, his breath echoing softly against the stone walls. The air was thick with ancient dust, and the cold silence seemed to weigh down on him, pressing into his chest like an unseen hand. In front of him, the chamber stretched into darkness, broken only by the faint glow of torches mounted on the walls, their flames flickering as though the very air was alive with movement.

Nyx had led him here, to a place that was hidden far below the city, buried deep beneath layers of concrete and forgotten history. The deeper they had descended, the stronger the pull had become—the pull of the Pyramid, the weight of its secrets pressing against his mind. He had felt it long before they reached the chamber, a subtle hum in his bones, as though the very earth beneath him thrummed with the energy of the past.

"This is where it begins," Nyx said quietly, standing beside him, her voice barely a whisper. Her face was unreadable in the dim light, but her eyes gleamed with something darker than excitement—something far more dangerous. "The trials."

Alastor nodded, his jaw tight. He had known from the start that climbing the Assassination Pyramid wouldn’t be as simple as just unlocking ancient codes or collecting knowledge. The Pyramid valued one thing above all else—death. Those who ascended its ranks didn’t do so with intellect alone. They did so by confronting their own mortality, by proving they could face death and rise again.

He had already died twice since entering this deadly game, but the trials were different. They weren’t random encounters with assassins or carefully orchestrated attacks. They were deliberate tests, designed to strip him of every protection he had built around himself—both physically and mentally.

"The Pyramid doesn’t let just anyone in," Nyx continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "The trials are meant to push you to your limits. They’ll break you down, force you to confront every weakness, every fear. And if you survive, they’ll rebuild you—stronger, deadlier. But make no mistake, Alastor… most don’t survive."

"I didn’t come this far to fail now," Alastor said, his voice steady despite the knot of tension coiling in his chest.

Nyx gave him a small, dangerous smile. "Good. Because the Pyramid doesn’t care about what you want. It only cares about what you’re willing to sacrifice."

She stepped forward, leading him toward the center of the chamber, where a large stone platform rose from the ground, surrounded by symbols—hieroglyphs etched into the stone, glowing faintly in the dim light. The symbols danced across his vision, familiar and yet still out of reach, their meanings teasing him like a forgotten dream.

"The first trial," Nyx said, stopping at the edge of the platform. "It's always the same for those who want to ascend: Confront the self."

Alastor raised an eyebrow. "That’s vague."

"It’s meant to be," she replied, her eyes narrowing. "The Pyramid doesn’t hand out answers. You’ll find them—or you won’t. Either way, this will push you to your edge. And when you break… the question is whether you’ll come back stronger or not at all."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Alastor looked around the chamber, his gaze tracing the walls and the symbols, trying to piece together what would come next. He had faced death twice already, had been reborn through the loop, but this felt different. There was a finality to the trial that lingered in the air, as though each breath he took was drawing him closer to an abyss from which there might be no return.

"Step onto the platform," Nyx instructed, her voice calm. "Once you do, the trial begins. There’s no turning back."

Alastor hesitated for only a second. He had come this far—there was no room for doubt. He took a step forward, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him like a shroud. The stone beneath his feet felt impossibly cold as he stepped onto the platform, and as soon as his boots touched the etched surface, the air around him shifted.

The torches lining the walls flickered violently, their flames dancing higher as shadows stretched out across the chamber. The hieroglyphs on the platform began to glow brighter, their light pulsing in time with his heartbeat, creating a rhythm that thrummed through his entire body.

Then, out of the silence, a voice echoed through the chamber, deep and resonant, as if it came from the very stones themselves.

"Let the first trial begin."

The words hung in the air like a command from a god, and as the sound reverberated through the chamber, the shadows around him shifted, coiling and twisting like living creatures. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and the air thickened with the weight of something old—something powerful that lurked just beyond the edges of his perception.

Alastor felt his pulse quicken, his hand instinctively reaching for the bracelet still strapped to his wrist, its hieroglyphs glowing faintly in the dark. The symbols shifted beneath his touch, their meanings becoming more elusive the harder he tried to grasp them. The Pyramid was watching him, testing him.

"Confront the self," Nyx had said. But what did that mean? His mind raced, trying to anticipate what the trial would demand of him, but even as he searched for answers, the shadows began to close in.

The chamber seemed to darken further, the light from the torches dimming until all that remained was the faint glow of the symbols beneath his feet. And then, from within the shifting darkness, shapes began to form. Figures. Figures that Alastor recognized all too well.

His own reflection.

Multiple versions of himself stepped out from the shadows, each one a perfect replica, their eyes cold and unfeeling. They moved with precision, surrounding him, their faces twisted into expressions of disdain and judgment. These were not merely reflections—they were manifestations of every failure, every flaw, every weakness he had tried to bury.

Alastor stood still, his jaw clenched, watching as his mirrored selves circled him like predators. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but deep down, he knew what this trial was. It wasn’t about strength or skill. It was about facing the parts of himself he had spent a lifetime avoiding—the parts that were weak, fearful, vulnerable.

The shadows closed in further, and the voices of his reflections whispered in unison.

"You will fail. You are not strong enough. You are not worthy."

The words cut through him like knives, each one aimed at the core of his identity. His hands curled into fists as the reflections advanced, their voices growing louder, more insistent.

But he wouldn’t break. He had come too far. He had already faced death, and now he would face himself.

Alastor took a step forward, meeting the gaze of his nearest reflection. "I’m not afraid of you," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. "Not anymore."

The reflections paused, their eyes narrowing as if considering his words. And then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, they began to dissolve back into the shadows, their forms dissipating like smoke.

The chamber grew still once more, and the glow from the hieroglyphs began to fade. But as the last of the shadows retreated, Alastor felt something stir within him—a newfound sense of clarity, a strength he hadn’t realized he possessed.

He had survived the first trial. But it was only the beginning.