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The battlefield shook with the roar of armies and the clamor of booted feet. Kory led the charge, running in front of the army, brandishing his war hammer – before he had acquired Krak’il’to – his body alight with the surge of mana through the internal spells that only he could use. His skin – like steel. His muscles – larger than the largest body builder could acquire. His mind? Gone. Lost to the battle frenzy, another signature Berserker internal spell. He crashed into the enemy front line, the combination of body hardening and internal spells making him an unstoppable juggernaut.

He breathed deeply and inhaled the scent of blood. The cloying, iron taste coating his tongue as the battle-fog lay thick on his mind. But as the combat slowed, and the battle came to a conclusion…the Berserker’s internal spell would fade. The one that made him capable of atrocities beyond measure. But the aftermath…

Kory jolted awake in the hospital bed, gasping for air as his chest heaved. He could taste the metallic tang of blood. The fuck was that? He thought. He had not dreamed since arriving on Ghomar – Thomas had theorized it was part of the Berserker core, to keep his memories of violence at bay to allow him to retain his sanity. He was soaked through with sweat, and was breathing rapidly, feeling his heart rate increasing higher and higher. The fuck is this?

Jacobson rolled out of the bed next to him, putting down some book about some medicine-bullshit. “Boss, are you okay?”

Kory tried to respond but couldn’t. He was in full-blown fight-mode. Almost against his will, his arm jolted up and grabbed Jacobson by the neck, twisting it with a sickening, crunching snap.

A moment later, he processed what he had done. Trembling, he pulled his hand back. What the fuck?!

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Ben ran into the hospital. Fucking Kory, he thought. We never should’ve taken him in. The man was trouble, and now he’d murdered someone? He stormed through the place, his heavy tread letting all know to get out of the way.

He got into the trauma ward and saw the corpse of Kory’s companion on the bed next to him. Kory was holding his sides, rocking back and forth, a hollow look in his eyes. Ben recognized it immediately. Fucking hell, Kory. He kept his distance, and simply waited.

He had dealt with the past. The trauma of war, of conflict, of people killing each other; his classmates and friends being murdered in front of him. He was scarred…but he had healed. Trisha and he confronted their trauma, together, with open and honest talks, deep nights of conversation, and plenty of tears. But this shell of a man in front of him…he never dealt with it. It’s just been stewing and building and building. Jesus Christ, this motherfucker is going to be a bitch to deal with.

Trisha came in behind him and gasped momentarily before herding her trainees away. She took several steps forward, but Ben put his hand in front of her, “It’s alright,” she whispered to him.

Ben just looked at her and shook his head, “He’s dangerous. Don’t get close.”

She looked at the broken man and shook her head, “Fine. I leave it to you.”

Ben nodded as she left with her trainees. He walked up and gripped Kory around the wrists – firmly. The Berserker hero’s unfocused eyes narrowed and stared at Ben as his chest heaved. He growled and acted feral – but Ben held him firm. “Calm. The. Fuck. Down.” Ben ordered.

Kory continued to struggle, but in his post-surgery state, and without being empowered by internal spells like Ben was at that moment…he was no match. He sobbed and went limp. “I’m…I’m…”

Ben kept a hold on his wrists and squeezed them just enough to get Kory to look up at him, with pleading eyes. “You just had your first episode. PTSD attack.” Kory just nodded numbly as Ben continued, and he slowly loosened his grasp. “People either stay still, fight, or run. You fought.”

Kory looked over at Jacobson’s corpse, his eyes still open, and his head lolling to the side as his neck stuck out at an unnatural angle. “I…” He looked at Ben with watering eyes, the tears streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…”

“You should be. Time for some fucking hard truths.”

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Lyn got up the mountain in a few hours. The exertion was good for her, and she felt her mana core whirl within her torso. An indication that her Scout core was…the best way she could describe it was ‘satisfied’. She turned out to look out upon the Valley of the Volcano. Even a few hundred feet from the summit, she could see across the mainland of Ghomar until the horizon eventually faded to the distance. She was high up, Shiverburn Summit was easily the height of Mount Everest, and yet Lyn didn’t feel the thinning oxygen at all.

Trudging up through the ice and snow, she eventually felt the heat. Shiverburn Summit was so named because it was a volcano but was high up enough that the ice never melted. She crested the edge of the caldera and peered down through the fumes and smoke. The bubbling, roiling magma within the summit resonated with the Destroyer core within her, and she could feel her own mana bubbling up in response. Her heartbeat seemed to rise and fall with the bubbling surge inside, and she could swear the magma was synchronizing with the ebb and flow. She raised her palm, “Retho nin / a trenno bo / ennír.”

The mana surged down her mana channel and she felt the magma in front of her respond to her will, parting and making a hole from the edge of where she stood to an obsidian doorway fifty feet below the lip of the volcano. She slid down the slope and read the words in her head. This door marks the dungeon of Raevan, god of Destruction. Threat within – Trial of the Destroyer. Reward – Raevan’s Legacy.

The obsidian circle was horizontal in orientation, and the purple film over it appeared to be like any other dungeon entrance. Alright, Lyn thought. The dungeon of the first Destroyer. She had not expected to find this. Every dungeon she had seen in the past was made by one of the Elenthians. No one else could have accessed this. At least, no one – not even Misty – could do lava spells. Taking a deep breath she dropped through the aperture, releasing the spell behind her as the lava surged where she once stood.

She landed with her knees bent, Cataclysm’s hilt in her hand, and looked around the chamber she had landed in. Just like every other dungeon she had been inside; it was a rectangular room with crevices that rivulets of lava streamed down. The rectangular pedestal did not have a groove sized for a humanoid hand – it had holes. Five holes. She lifted her clawed grip and found the tips easily sliding into the block. She heard a loud click, and the walls of the room fell away as the block descended.

She stood, alone, on a massive, grassy field. And her heart jumped to her throat. In front of her…was her. Old her. Past summoning her. Wielding the artifact spear, surrounded by swirling winds that carved the grass around her. Muscles enhanced and weapon alight with green mana. “I am Lyn Rivers! Scout hero!” the duplicate shouted.

Defeat yourself? No, that’s not the challenge. Lyn knew what this was. It was right out of a comic book. Defeat your evil self. But…old me wasn’t evil. Maybe it wasn’t that. Perhaps…it was to deal with the past? Fighting herself?

“I’ll kill you again, you fucking lizard! And then…everyone will love me! I’ll have glory, fame, everything I’ve ever wanted!”

Yeah, okay, I get it. She knew what this challenge was meant to do. I have to defeat my own desires. Embrace the Destroyer core entirely. Forget about reclaiming lost glory and having the heroes admit what they did…I have to forge a new path. Make new glory. Her empire. Ghomar, under her control. She would be greater than any Demonic Dragon could be. She would unite all people under her rule.

Lyn channeled mana into Cataclysm, and the lava blade brimmed with energy as winds swirled around it, and shards of rock billowed around the blade’s length. "Gothron i gwanno / min enni / na rem in edin nin: / na nin togwath, athano hain thron, gwelu, throneth, a nîn rath; / na nin inath, cirad nin hoth; / na nin inedhil, athano nin thîr a cirad nin; / na nin rhaw, hathol han uin del."

She incanted her internal spell. Her muscles surged in size as her strength, speed, reaction, blood flow rate, mental acuity, and visual aptitude were all enhanced. Additionally, her skin hardened further, covered in a sheen of neon-blue mana. Raising the sword, she pointed it at the old version of herself. “I am Lyn Rivers, Destroyer. I will make my mark on this world and burn my legacy into eternity.”

The doppelganger incanted a spell under their breath, and Destroyer Lyn pulled back into a defensive stance, knowing exactly what the old her would do in this situation. Scout Lyn charged forward in the blink of an eye – the spell she had practiced for so long to use against the Demonic Dragon.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Destroyer Lyn side-stepped the blow at the last possible second, pinning the spear to her side and turning with the rush of Scout Lyn’s passage. This caused her to spin around like a top, and Destroyer Lyn brought her mana blade down on the fake-her’s neck.

Only, it wasn’t fake Lyn anymore. The body shifted in the blink of an eye, and a large tower shield caught the blade. In front of her was Ben in his prime. He pushed her back with his tower shield and swung his mace around the side of it. Lyn backed off and parried with her mana-charged blade, the impact sending her skidding to the side.

Ben chuckled and slowly advanced, “I’ll protect everyone from you!”

What’s this trial about? It wasn’t just about killing her old goals and dreams. Was it just having her fight each hero? Preparing her? Lyn pointed her blade at Ben and charged him. He swung his mace, but she ducked the blow and got inside his guard, attempting to stab up at him. He pivoted, and her blow went right past him. At the same time, he pulled his shield-arm in, and began to crush Lyn against his chest. Okay, this is fucking bullshit. Lyn wasn’t harmed – just irritated, and she used some of her escaping breath to cast a spell. “Britho.” Destroy. A single word. Her mana exploded out of all of her mana channels, and the fake-Ben was incinerated.

Fifty feet away, Volio appeared. “You won’t take my Lyn! I love her!”

I got that, you fucking pervert. She grinned. She would enjoy killing him. Running forward, she batted aside several arrows before running him through the chest. Only for it to shift once more, and then she was facing Kory. He brought his hammer down on her, and she barely raised her forearm in time to block it. She felt the snap and crunch as the armor was dented, and her bone broke. She let out a hiss of pain as she amplified the mana blade still embedded in Kory’s torso, burning a large hole as he vanished. Fuck that hurts. “Anor min / nartho hain I daeth nin.” The mana surged within her and flowed to her arm, repairing it as it snapped into place.

Thomas was next, and Lyn wheeled as several spells shot her direction. They were all projectiles, and she dodged them or deflected them with her mana blade. Thomas was pulling inscribed parchment out of his satchel at a rapid pace, channeling mana into the inscriptions as the spell effects manifested. Ice, lightning, fire, wind blades, rocks, metal – all types of spells were fired off at her. Too many for her to deflect. Some impacted her and she could make no headway against the barrage.

“Britho!” she shouted, as a gout of lava shot from her palm and streaked toward Thomas. He pulled out a scroll and a barrier appeared that the lava impacted before sliding down. But she used that opportunity to close the distance – the projectile obscuring this fake Thomas’ vision. She stabbed forward as her blade pierced the bubble and sank into fake-Thomas’ chest. The form vanished.

A Destroyer must be expected to kill heroes, she thought. That’s what this trial is about. The next form appeared – Brad. The Alchemist hero was a dashing young man with a crop of medium-length, jet-black hair. He pulled several vials from his belt and drank them down. His body morphed and spasmed, becoming much larger – until he grew to the size of a two-story house. Of course. That was his go-to potion. He stomped down towards her with a spiked, metal boot, and she dodged to the side, swinging her blade into the ankle and chopping through it cleanly. Acidic blood poured out and coated her body.

“Fuck!” She screamed as she had no body enhancement against acid. She could feel her skin sloughing off of her face. “Anor min / nartho hain I daeth nin.” The regeneration spell kicked in once more and her body reformed. She dashed behind Brad and carved into the ankle of the other leg, bringing him falling down. Jumping onto his back, she planted the blade into the base of his spine and ran forward, dragging it along his body until she burst through his skull. She jumped off and turned to face the shrinking corpse that morphed once more.

She raised her blade but paused. Trisha was standing in front of her, pushing three children behind her, and holding an infant in her arms. “Lyn don’t do this! You can’t!”

Trisha…Lyn shook her head. It’s not real. It’s just a fucking dungeon. She lunged forward, and Trisha rapidly incanted a spell that made an opaque, silver and white barrier. Lyn growled and stabbed her blade into it, pouring even more mana into the blade as it heated and surged further. The barrier popped, and she stabbed forward into Trisha’s torso. She melted away, dropping the infant, and the three children began crying and screaming.

What the hell? Lyn had not expected that at all, and it caught her off guard. The wailing was unnerving, and she stood still, questioning her own conviction at the sight of helpless kids, afraid of death at her hands. Am I really going to have to kill kids? The thought shook her. She wanted to build an empire. People would die as part of that. Even innocents. Maybe even by her own hand. The thought sent chills down her spine.

Something stabbed her in the back, and the children continued their wailing. She couldn’t breathe, and glanced back, seeing Cecily’s face. Her manic grin as she stabbed Lyn twice more, whispering in her sweet and convincing tone. “There’s only one person who can rule Ghomar.”

Lyn couldn’t cast a spell – she had no air to speak it. Fuck! She wheeled around – but Cecily kept a grip on her back and continued wildly stabbing into her – the artifact dagger bypassing her armor and body hardening. Lyn’s sight began to dim. Almost instinctively, she thought the words to the regeneration internal spell. Anor min / nartho hain I daeth nin.

Cecily screamed as lava coated her hand, and Lyn felt the pain recede and could catch her breath once more. She wheeled on the woman and sliced her in half. I just thought a spell. Misty had said that no one could do that – it just didn’t work. But I can? Maybe just the regeneration?

The children crying caught her attention once more. She took a shaky breath. It’s just a trial. They aren’t really kids. She raised her hand and attempted a mental spell once more. Britho. But nothing happened. Okay, so just the regeneration for mental spells. She walked forward and sliced each child, her face grim as she drove her blade into the infant on the ground. All three corpses vanished. She felt sick to her stomach. I’ll never do that in the real world. Never. I just did it to pass this trial. The mana core in her chest bubbled as if it was trying to change her mind, but she pushed that feeling aside. I won’t kill children. Fuck off. The mana core lowered to a simmer. Good.

“Villain! Face me!” She turned. A man was fully equipped in the gold and white armor that marked him as the Paragon. He was bristling with internal and external spells, and Aelor’An’Alar shimmered golden in his grip. “I’m James Marshall! Paragon hero! I will kill you and save this world!”

Lyn growled, “You stole my glory! You and the rest of these fuckers!” She charged forward and swung her sword down in a horizontal slice. His weapon took the brunt in a vertical block, and he pushed her blade away before stepping forward with an intricate flurry of blows and slices. Lyn was put on the defensive near-immediately. Fucking swords. She willed Cataclysm to shift, and it became the much-more familiar form of her spear.

She used the shaft to deflect his blade, and jabbed forward, catching the spot where the epaulet connected with the shoulder joint. His left arm went limp, but he switched which hand was holding the sword and continued the assault.

He roared out and the blade ignited with holy fury. He carved at her in an arc that she ducked under – the blade passing so close it seared her skin and burned some of her hair. She reached out and gripped the back of his wrist, trying to take the weapon. But touching him scorched her flesh – through the gauntlet part of his armor – and she had to back away as he tried to hit her with the backswing. She attempted several jabs, but he deflected them all.

Raising her palm, she muttered her go-to damage spell. “Britho.”

The lava blasted outward, and James shouted, “Thalos!” A shimmering force field popped into existence around him, and the lava splashed harmlessly against it.

But his sight was impaired. Lyn backed away, gaining distance. Let’s see if you can handle this. “En ethiel an le / thalion min / govanno nanui / a malthen sui gweal / brad sui gilgalad / a dagnir nan govadhren.” The mana within her torso – almost depleted at this point from sustaining the blade, her internal spells, and the regeneration – whipped up in a cool spring breeze before infusing her body. She shot forward like a bolt of lightning and sank her spear into James’ skull – popping his barrier instantly. He dissolved just like the rest. Panting, she looked around. That leaves-

"En ethiel an le / thalion min / an adhano na nin ir / En aníra pân / en-i anorath / a ai i-lûgad / a brad naith / nan en-ngor / britho hain pân / a glanno hain en-lín od i ambar." Lyn wheeled and saw the person she was the least looking forward to fighting in this fucked up challenge. Misty was standing on the far end of the field, easily five-hundred feet away. A surging mass of every single elementalism spell-type surged above her in an enormous sphere that could easily decimate an army.

Lyn put Cataclysm away and took a deep breath, pulling all the mana from the amulet. Sorry Misty. Fake Misty. "En ethiel an le / thalion min / an adhano na nin ir / En aníra i thalion / en-Brithon min enni / an losto a gadar / ai." Maybe I shouldn’t have done that noun. Instead of saying something like ‘her foe’, she had instinctively said ‘everything’.

She felt the mana burst forth in all directions, exploding from her like an artificial volcano. An eruption that consumed everything within sight and raced towards Misty. She launched her spell at Lyn – but even with every single elementalism spell-type merged into a blast of pure magical might…the power of the Destroyer was relentless. It consumed the spells in their entirety before flowing over Misty as well, her scream echoing in Lyn’s ears.

Lyn froze. She heard that scream before, and hearing it instantly brought her back to that memory. They were in a tavern, enjoying a little breather between travel, and went to their separate rooms for the night. She had screamed like that a few hours into the night, and Lyn burst into her room to find her under assault. She killed the two men instantly, but that scream haunted her – repressed until this moment. The memories were vivid, and she remembered Misty crying and embracing her despite her blood-covered form. Seeing the assault triggered memories of her past as well, and she put a hand to her face, weeping as the horrific visions assaulted her mind.

The green plains vanished, and the room reappeared around her. Orbs of light floated above her, and the shift brought her out of the temporary shock. It’s just a dungeon, Lyn reminded herself. And Misty survived. You kept her safe. She shook her head, pushing back the memory once more, as she entered the next chamber.