The air in the chamber grew heavier as the walls trembled, the mummified priests whispering ancient words that thrummed with dark power. Glyphs flickered along the stone, twisting into shapes that crawled beneath the skin and settled in the mind like an infection.

Alastor, Selene, and Aurora stood at the threshold of a new passage—the entrance to the priests' trial.

"This isn’t just a test of strength," Aurora muttered, scanning the symbols through her interface. "They’re pulling something deeper out of us—our memories, our fears. This trial will break us from the inside."

Alastor clenched his fists. He knew it had to be done. The priests wouldn’t allow anyone to access the key to severing the loop without first proving themselves. This trial wasn’t just another puzzle or obstacle—it was a confrontation with the darkest corners of their souls. And if they failed, they’d become part of the curse, bound to the tombs forever.

The stone beneath their feet rumbled, and a strange fog rolled into the chamber—thick and suffocating. It swallowed the light, plunging everything into darkness. Then, without warning, the world shifted.

----------------------------------------

The Trial

Alastor blinked and found himself alone, standing in a broken, decaying world that stretched out in all directions. The sky above was a twisted, swirling vortex of black and red clouds, and the ground beneath him was cracked and barren, littered with the ruins of cities.

Everywhere he looked, the world was falling apart, consumed by rot and time, as if the very fabric of reality had given up. And at the center of it all stood the Pyramid, its towering shape rising like a black obelisk into the stormy sky. It pulsed with dark energy, feeding on every death, every rebirth—a machine that powered eternity through endless suffering.

Alastor felt his stomach twist. This was no ordinary vision. It was a glimpse of the future—a future where the loop had not been broken, where the Pyramid still ruled, unchallenged and absolute.

A shadow moved in the distance, and Alastor froze. Someone was walking toward him through the ruins.

It was himself.

But this version of Alastor was different—cold, hollow, and unrecognizable. His eyes glowed with the same eerie fire that burned in Lucius Cipher’s gaze, and his body was draped in dark robes adorned with shifting glyphs—the mark of a man who had mastered the loop and become its god.

Alastor stared at his future self, feeling the weight of countless lifetimes pressing down on him, as though the very air carried the burden of endless existence. This was what Lucius wanted for him. To climb the Pyramid, to ascend beyond mortality, to wield control over life and death—and in doing so, to become just like Lucius.

The future Alastor smiled—a slow, empty grin that held no warmth, no humanity. "You fought so hard to break free," the vision whispered, "but this is what waits for you at the top."

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Alastor took a step back, his pulse racing. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "That’s not who I am."

The future version of himself tilted his head, studying him with unsettling calm. "Not yet. But you will be." The vision gestured toward the decaying world around them, where the ruins stretched out as far as the eye could see. "Every loop you break, every enemy you kill—it only brings you closer to this. The only way to defeat Lucius is to become what he is."

Alastor’s heart pounded, a knot tightening in his chest. He could feel the scarab thrumming against his wrist, the dark energy inside it pulsing with temptation. The vision was right. Every death, every trial had sharpened him, molding him into something more—but at what cost?

"You think you can escape the loop," the vision whispered, stepping closer. "But there is no escape. You’ll fight and fight, die and rise again, and in the end, you’ll sit on the throne you swore to destroy. The loop will make you a god—and gods do not break chains. They forge them."

Alastor felt his breath catch. This was his fear made manifest—the fear that the loop had already claimed too much of him. That no matter how hard he fought, every death, every choice, was pulling him further into the darkness. Lucius hadn’t just prepared the path for him—he had shaped Alastor to walk it.

"Look around," the vision whispered, spreading his arms wide to the decaying world. "This is your future, Alastor. The only way to win... is to become me."

Alastor stared into the empty, glowing eyes of his future self and felt the weight of the truth settle over him like a shroud. The loop wasn’t just a prison—it was a path to power. And the only way to fight the Pyramid was to risk becoming everything he hated.

"No," Alastor whispered, his fists trembling at his sides. "I won’t become you."

The future Alastor’s smile deepened, dark and mocking. "You don’t have a choice. This is what you’ll become."

Alastor closed his eyes, forcing the fear to release its grip on him. He had lived through endless betrayals, fought battles that left him broken, died deaths that shattered his soul—but he hadn’t given up yet. He wouldn’t let the fear of what might come dictate who he was. Not anymore.

When he opened his eyes again, the future version of himself loomed closer, his hollow gaze burning with certainty. "You’ll see," the vision whispered. "The loop always wins."

But this time, Alastor didn’t back away. He took a step forward, defiance burning in his chest. "Maybe it always wins," he growled. "But not with me."

The vision faltered, the edges of its form flickering like a glitch in a broken system. Alastor’s resolve was stronger now—stronger than the fear the loop had planted in him.

"Get out of my way," Alastor snarled, the scarab humming with energy beneath his skin. "I’ll find my own way through this—and I won’t become you."

The future version of himself smiled one last time, as if amused by the defiance, and then vanished into the mist.

----------------------------------------

The Tombs

The fog lifted, and the real world snapped back into focus. Alastor stumbled slightly, gasping for breath, but the weight of the vision was already fading. He had faced his fear—and won.

Beside him, Selene and Aurora stirred, blinking as the trial released them from its grip. They had faced their own fears—silent battles fought in the shadows of their minds. But whatever they had seen, they didn’t speak of it.

Selene glanced at Alastor, her expression guarded. "You good?"

Alastor nodded, though his mind still echoed with the hollow words of his future self. This is what you’ll become.

He clenched his fists, forcing the memory away. "Let’s keep moving," he muttered. "We’re not done yet."

Aurora adjusted her interface, scanning the walls for any remaining traps. "That was just the beginning," she said quietly. "There’s more waiting ahead."

Alastor gave a grim nod. The trial was over, but the war was far from won.

"Then let’s finish it," he said, his voice low and steady. "Before the future catches up with us."