The sun rose over the dense forest, casting long rays of light through the towering pine trees. Erik stirred from his sleep, but something wasn’t right. The usual morning sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves were absent. Instead, the air was filled with a deafening, rumbling noise.

Berndhart.

Erik blinked groggily, then shot a look over at the massive figure sprawled out by the fire, his cloak half pulled over his face, his chest rising and falling in time with the thunderous snores. The sound was so loud it seemed to shake the ground itself, reverberating through the stillness of the forest.

Vesper sat nearby, rubbing her temples as she glanced at Erik. “He’s going to wake up the dead at this rate,” she muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused. “If we don’t wake him up, someone else is going to come looking for whatever monster is making that sound.”

Just as Erik opened his mouth to respond, a new noise shattered the comical silence. Hoofbeats. Lots of them.

The sound echoed through the trees, growing louder with each passing moment. Erik scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for the sword at his side.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Vesper muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the tree line.

Berndhart, still oblivious, snored on.

***

Commander Trainer Ardric rode at the head of the group, his sharp gaze fixed on the path ahead. His armor, while lighter than the trainees behind him, gleamed in the early morning light. He was a man of few words but exuded a quiet authority. Behind him rode his four students, each wearing the distinct purple and gold armor of paladin trainees.

One of the trainees, a stern young man with a rigid posture, gripped the reins of his horse tightly, his eyes scanning for danger. To his right, a much smaller trainee, nearly dwarf-sized and barely able to keep his helmet on straight, was fumbling with his sword hilt. The smallest, was clearly nervous but determined to prove himself.

On the far side of the group, a woman with a bright smile and a quick wit kept her tone light, despite the tension. She joked with the others, making occasional quips about how they’d have to "slay the great beast" once they found whatever was making the noise.

“Sounds like a demon,” the stern young man said grimly, as if every noise that wasn’t human was automatically some kind of threat.

“I’ve never heard a demon like that,” the drwaf muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The women laughed. “Maybe it’s not a demon—maybe it’s just a giant with a nose problem.”

Instructor Ardric shot them all a look. “Focus. Whatever it is, we approach with caution. It’s likely a beast or worse, and we’re not taking chances.”

The horses moved forward with purpose, their hooves thudding against the forest floor as the paladins speculated what lay ahead. In their minds, the possibilities ranged from twisted creatures to malformed demonic beasts. None of them expected what came next.

***

Vesper’s hand tightened on her sword hilt as the hoofbeats drew nearer. She stood, her eyes narrowing. “Stay here,” she said to Erik, her voice low but commanding.

Before Erik could respond, Vesper launched herself forward with startling speed, heading directly for the riders who were now visible through the trees. She burst from the tree line just as the horses cleared the last stretch of the trail.

The paladin trainees barely had time to react before Vesper attacked. She darted straight for the instructor, her sword flashing in the morning light. Ardric barely raised his own weapon in time to parry the blow, the force of her strike reverberating up his arm.

The trainees were frozen in shock, their eyes wide. Before they could move, Vesper pivoted, sweeping the stern one off his horse with a sharp strike to his legs, sending him tumbling to the ground. The dwarf made an awkward attempt to draw his weapon, but Vesper’s quick footwork had him disarmed in an instant, his sword clattering to the ground. The jokster, usually quick with a joke, stood dumbfounded, watching her fellow trainees fall like they were nothing.

The clash of steel between Vesper and Ardric rang out as they circled each other. Blow after blow, the two warriors exchanged strikes, each one more ferocious than the last. Ardric’s heavy blade was met with Vesper’s finesse, the force of each parry leaving indents in the ground beneath their feet.

Erik and Berndhart, now awake and watching from the camp, were just as stunned as the paladin trainees.

“What the hell is going on?” Erik muttered, gripping his sword but unsure if he should intervene.

Berndhart merely shrugged, taking another swig from his bottle of Viking Blood and watching with mild interest.

Back at the fight, Vesper suddenly shifted her stance. She dropped into a low, grounded position, her blade held in a way that was instantly recognizable to the trainees.

“That technique...” the stern young man muttered from the ground, still trying to regain his composure. “That’s... that’s our technique! The one the commander taught us.”

The joksters eyes widened. “What the hell? How does she know that?”

Ardric smirked as he recognized the change in Vesper’s movements. He met her strike with a fierce grin, his muscles straining as they locked swords, their blades grinding together with a screech of metal.

They pushed off each other, both breathing heavily, their faces flushed from the exertion. Ardric’s smirk widened into a full grin. “You’re as relentless as ever, Vesper.”

Vesper’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “And you’ve gotten slower, Ardric. Didn’t think age would catch up with you that fast.”

The trainees’ mouths dropped open in unison, completely bewildered.

“You know each other?” the stern one blurted out, his voice a mix of confusion and awe.

Ardric sheathed his sword, laughing as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “I should have known it was you making all that ruckus, Vesper.”

Vesper gave him a look, her eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t the one snoring loud enough to wake the whole temple.”

“Fair enough,” Ardric said with a chuckle, nodding toward Berndhart, who gave a friendly wave, still seated comfortably by the fire.

The tension in the air began to dissolve, but the lingering confusion in the eyes of the trainees remained. They had been ready to fight a demon, only to discover they’d walked straight into an unexpected reunion between old friends.

Vesper stretched her arms, the adrenaline fading. “Well, you’re still better than your trainees,” she teased, nodding at the bewildered group behind Ardric.

Ardric glanced back at them, his expression softening. “They’ve got potential,” he said. “But they still have a lot to learn.”

The jokster finally regained her composure, her usual grin returning. “You two could’ve given us a heads-up before trying to kill each other. Thalia is this trainees name” as she reached down to pull up the dwarf, and with a strained introduction “and this one is ren”, having wiped the dirt of her armor, she pointed backwards without looking saying “and the one with the resting angry face is Lysander.” Who let out a sigh and closed his eyes nodding to the left and right in defiance of the description.

Vesper chuckled. “Pleasure to meet you all. And where’s the fun in letting you know that an attack is coming?”

Erik shook his head, finally understanding that this wasn’t just a random encounter. This was something deeper—a connection from Vesper’s past. And judging by the way Ardric had fought, he knew there was much more to Vesper’s story than she’d shared so far.

As the sun rose higher, the group settled into an uneasy peace heading towards the temple, the trainees relegated to the back of the group sulking in their defeat left. The conversation between Vesper and Ardric continued at the front of the group, with Vesper walking beside Ardric who held onto the reigns of his horse. With Erik and Berndhart only offered the occasional suggestions of what they might eat for breakfast

“Maybe eggs and bacon? Or some hearty porridge?” Berndhart mused aloud, his tone nonchalant. Leaving Erik to glance down at his own food pouch leaving much to be desired from dried fish.

The conversation between Vesper and Ardric gained Eriks curiosity as he moved closer to listen into the details. Erik learned that Ardric had once been a junior instructor during Vesper’s training days. Now, he was the commander of the quick-response force, a prestigious role that also involved leading raids and training new paladins—a senior position that spoke volumes about his skill.

“Back when I was just a trainee, Ardric here was the strictest of them all,” Vesper said with a smirk, looking backwards at Erik having heard him approach, teasing the commander. “But it looks like you’ve moved up in the world.”

Ardric chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of nostalgia and pride. “I had good trainees to work with, though I never imagined you’d come back after all this time.”

As they continued their march through the forest toward the temple, the atmosphere grew slightly more serious. The temple loomed in the distance, its ancient structure half-hidden among the tall pines. When they arrived at the base of the grand entrance, Erik felt the weight of its history pressing down on him—the battles, the corruption, and the purification that had all shaped this place.

Ardric turned to Vesper, his expression shifting to something more formal. “You know the rules, Vesper. You’ve been here before. Anyone entering the temple must take the Trial of Purity.”

Vesper nodded, her face hardening with determination. “I remember. The trial must be completed.”

Erik, standing nearby, felt a chill run down his spine. “Trial of Purity?”

"The Trial of Purity," Ardric began, turning to face Erik and Berndhart, "is not just a tradition. It’s a necessity. This temple... it’s different. Its very nature tests those who enter. The spiritual pressure inside weighs on anyone who’s unprepared. Only those who can endure the trial will be able to withstand what lies within these walls."

Erik glanced at the temple, feeling that weight already, even from outside. He furrowed his brow, curiosity rising. "But why the waterfall? What does that have to do with what’s in there?"

Ardric nodded, as though expecting the question. "The waterfall is a test of focus and endurance. Imagine the cold water pouring down on you for hours, your body slowly freezing, your muscles seizing up, and all you have is a dull sword and a whetstone. You sharpen that blade under those conditions, and it takes everything you have to maintain your concentration. The mind rebels against the cold, the pain, the exhaustion. That’s what the temple does—it pushes against your spirit, your very soul. If you can’t handle sharpening a sword under a waterfall, you’ll never survive in there."

Erik swallowed, understanding now. The trial wasn’t about sharpening a blade—it was about survival and focus in the face of extreme adversity. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he knew he had no other choice.

"Only those who succeed can enter," Ardric continued, "because the temple itself... it has a way of wearing you down, even if you don’t realize it at first. The unprepared... they don’t last long."

Erik nodded, but he could feel the unease creeping into him. He looked over at Berndhart, who seemed entirely unbothered by the conversation. The big man was adjusting his cloak, looking around with mild curiosity, but not much more.

"Doesn’t sound too bad," Berndhart finally said, shrugging. "Just a bit of cold water and a dull blade. I’ve been through worse."

Erik snorted at Berndhart’s indifference. "You don’t think much of it, huh?"

Berndhart smiled, his teeth flashing. "I’ve seen worse trials. Though, I’ll pass on sharpening any more swords. Not my thing."

Ardric turned to Berndhart, raising an eyebrow. "And who are you, exactly? You’re clearly not a trainee, and yet you seem... unfazed by this."

Berndhart tilted his head, his face unreadable beneath his thick beard. "Just a traveler. I go where I’m needed, and right now, I’m with these two."

Ardric’s gaze lingered on Berndhart for a moment longer, clearly unsettled by the man’s calm demeanor in the face of what should have been a daunting challenge. But it was Erik who caught his attention the most. He turned to Erik, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to place a finger on what made him uneasy.

"And you," Ardric said, his tone slightly more guarded now. "You’re not just a normal trainee or traveler, either. There’s something about you... something I can’t quite figure out."

Erik shifted, feeling the weight of Ardric’s scrutiny. He wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing that the demon within him likely triggered Ardric’s wariness, even if the commander didn’t understand it fully.

"I’ve had... experiences," Erik said carefully. "Fought things most people haven’t. I’m just here because I need to figure some things out. I don’t mean any harm, I trained with Vesper for a bit."

Ardric’s expression didn’t soften, but he nodded, accepting the vague answer for now. "The temple will reveal more than just your strength. It has a way of stripping people down to their core. If there’s something you’re hiding, you won’t be able to keep it hidden for long once you’re inside."

Erik clenched his jaw, but before he could respond, Vesper stepped forward, her usual calm replaced by a steely resolve. She had been listening intently, her mind likely on more pressing matters. "Ardric, let’s not waste time. We’ll all take the trial if it means we can get inside."

Ardric met her gaze and then nodded. "Very well, but be prepared. If any of you fail, you won’t make it past the doors of the temple."

Vesper’s expression remained focused, but Erik could see the shift in her stance. Something was weighing on her, and whatever it was, it had her on edge.

As Ardric started to lead the way toward the temple, he leaned in toward Vesper, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "There’s something else, Vesper. We’ve seen more attacks near Ebonfield recently—creatures we thought were demons at first, but they’re... different. We’re still trying to figure out what they are."

Vesper’s eyes darkened, her jaw tightening. "More attacks? What do you mean, ‘different’?"

"Some of them are demon in nature, others are more... corrupted, but not exactly demonic, and they don’t seem to go down easily. Not without divine punishment, and you know how much that takes to perform that. They’re coming in increasing numbers, and we’ve been barely able to keep them at bay. It’s happening more frequently now, and I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse, to the point we wont be able to react quickly enough"

Vesper’s grip on her sword tightened as her expression hardened further. "I need to speak to the Red Queen. The old recruitment temple in Ebonfield was not what it seemed. Something corrupted the very essence, and thats where I met Erik."

Ardric nodded, his face grim. "Yes, yes indeed. But first, we’ll see how your companions fare in the trial. If they pass, we’ll discuss what comes next."

Erik, watching the exchange from a distance, could tell something serious had just passed between the two. He didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation, but he knew it was more than just about entering the temple.

As they moved toward the entrance of the temple, Erik felt a knot forming in his stomach. He was about to undergo a trial that would test not only his strength but his very will. And with the demon inside him, he wasn’t sure what the temple would reveal—or how much control he would be able to maintain.

As Erik and Berndhart approached the roaring waterfall, they saw four separate stone seats, their backs carved into the rocky walls. The two outermost spots were already occupied by silent figures, their heads bowed and their bodies rigid under the relentless force of the water crashing down. The middle two seats remained open, waiting.

The morning sun glinted off a small metal piece protruding from the rock behind the falls. It looked almost decorative, a symbol of some kind, yet its presence felt anything but ornamental. As Erik squinted to get a better look, he recognized a faint engraving of a paladin insignia, partially obscured by the constant spray of water.

Curiosity pricked at him, and as he focused, a system message abruptly flickered into view:

System Notification: Device Detected - Divine Classification. Access Restricted. User Lacks Permission to Engage.

Erik’s brow furrowed at the message. He hadn’t seen that kind of classification before. Before he could even process it, N’Zol stirred within him, his tone laced with irritation and disbelief.

"That... shouldn’t be possible," the demon grumbled. "Hold on, I’ll force an override."

There was a brief, tense pause, and then the demon’s annoyed voice returned, sounding genuinely stumped. "What? Denied again? That device has equal-level clearance to my rights. I’ve never seen this happen. Damn divine constructs and their ridiculous safeguards."

Erik’s confusion deepened. This demonic system was a new concept to him—something born from N’Zol’s influence. The idea that there might be another system, one equally complex and powerful, unsettled him. He’d always thought his demonic connection was singular, a unique affliction. But this new information hinted at something else, something larger.

While these thoughts circled in his mind, Erik began unfastening his gear and stripping down to his undergarments. Berndhart, seemingly unbothered by the noise and the looming challenge, was doing the same, humming a soft tune to himself. He offered no words of reassurance, no pep talk—just the occasional indifferent glance toward Erik’s direction.

They stepped toward the falls, the thunderous sound growing louder. Erik felt a pang of hesitation when another system message appeared:

Warning: Approaching Proximity of Divine Barrier. System Interruptions and Connectivity Issues Anticipated.

Erik’s pulse quickened, but there was no time for second thoughts. He pushed forward, leading with his hand, which he extended cautiously toward the wall of water. The instant his fingers pierced the icy stream, a wave of searing cold shot through him. The demon let out a pained shriek, its voice reverberating in Erik’s head.

"That hurts! I felt that—how? This shouldn’t be possible!" N’Zol’s voice was frantic, tinged with genuine fear. "This isn’t right, Erik. Its not just cold water, Get away from this!"

But Erik gritted his teeth and plunged beneath the waterfall, feeling the relentless force beat down on his shoulders and back. The initial shock of cold almost paralyzed him. It wasn’t just the temperature—though the chill felt like it was cutting into his bones—but the overwhelming pressure, pushing against him like an invisible hand, intent on driving the breath from his lungs.

The demon inside him continued to writhe in discomfort, cursing and pleading. "Erik! Get out of here! This isn’t fair, I can’t—" but the voice faded as Erik forced himself to focus, drowning out the noise.

He had trained under harsh conditions before—rituals and trials meant to awaken magic within his body. Even without magic, he’d learned to endure through sheer will and practiced meditation. He’d been taught to find his center by an old cleric who would visit from time to time. Deep breathing, letting go of the body’s cries, focusing on the pulse of his inner self.

Now, he needed that more than ever.

Erik closed his eyes, letting the harsh cold and relentless pounding fade into the background. Slowly, he let the demonic voice fade and slipped into a trance, each breath deep and measured. He felt the burning cold begin to ease, not because the temperature changed, but because his mind had shifted away from the pain.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t at the waterfall anymore. He stood within his mental space—a vast, dimly lit cavern with water trickling down the walls. The scene was eerily quiet, the air heavy with dampness. In the center of it all was N’Zol, not the intimidating figure Erik usually imagined, but a shivering, huddled form. The demon’s usually sinister aura seemed subdued, almost pitiful.

N’Zol’s connections to Erik’s mind, usually thrumming with dark energy, lay severed, thin, sparking threads of magic dangling uselessly in the waterlogged cavern. He looked up, meeting Erik’s eyes, and for the first time, there was a hint of genuine vulnerability.

"This isn’t fair," N’Zol muttered weakly, his voice lacking its usual malice. "I’m not supposed to be severed like this..."

Erik felt torn. This creature had been a parasite, a malevolent force, yet it had also saved him—kept him alive, even if only out of self-interest. He approached slowly, not entirely sure what he intended to do. He reached out to touch one of the wet walls, only to feel a searing pain race up his arm, as if it were being burned.

He recoiled, cradling his hand, the pain fading into a dull throb. "What is this place?" he murmured, not expecting an answer.

N’Zol shivered again, glancing toward the distant waterfall that marked the edge of Erik’s mindscape. "There’s something up there—an artifact. It’s... divine, obviously it has permeated into your mind. Its purpose is to sever connections and force guardians and their hosts—into a vulnerable state so the host can train. It’s meant to build awareness and resilience, enhancing the bond between the host and their guardian spirit. I didn't realize it also worked on demons."

Erik blinked. "But why would something like that be here? This place was a den of corruption, right?"

The demon chuckled darkly, the sound weak and strained. "Indeed it was. But whoever put that artifact there... they knew what they were doing. Maybe a guardian, or someone like me, that placed it here long ago—perhaps with good intentions, to train the paladins or test their strength. Or maybe it was a cruel joke, a trap to torment those who tried to purify this place with ill intentions." N’Zol shrugged, his expression bitter. "Whoever did it, they had foresight beyond what I’ve seen."

Erik let the information sink in. There was a history here, layers upon layers of intention and deceit, and he had only scratched the surface. The implications of a divine artifact amidst a demon’s stronghold raised questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to.

"Can we use it?" Erik asked quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

N’Zol’s eyes narrowed, and he struggled to his feet. "We can," he admitted reluctantly.

"But it means deepening our connection—letting our essences intertwine further. I’ll regain some control, but you’ll be more... attuned to me. You’ll understand more, hear more, feel more of me. And that’s not something I particularly want, mind you."

Erik took a deep breath, considering the choice before him. The demon hadn’t outright said it, but the implication was clear—using this artifact would create a bond deeper than either of them desired, yet it might also offer the chance to gain control and strengthen Erik’s resilience against what lay ahead.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

N’Zol sighed, shaking his head. "Well? What’s it going to be, Erik?"

Erik looked at the walls, the water streaming down them like the tears of the cavern itself. He knew the risks, and yet, the potential gains outweighed the dangers. He had come this far, and he wasn’t about to turn back now.

"Let’s do it," Erik said finally, his voice resolute.

N’Zol stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

As Erik closed his eyes and embraced the flow of energy, he felt the cavern shift, the water rushing faster, and the walls vibrating with unseen power. He wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, but whatever happened next, he was ready to face it.

Erik’s mindscape spun violently before snapping into a sudden stillness, dropping him onto an old, gnarled stump. He found himself in an open field dotted with strange, iridescent flowers that shimmered in colors not quite natural—rainbow hues that seemed to shift and flicker in the breeze. He stood up, noticing that the stump beneath him was dark, oozing with an oily black ichor that slowly dripped down into the ground, staining the surrounding grass. It was an obvious representation of the demonic taint that had gripped his mind since Ebonfield. Erik looked around, disoriented, when the scene shifted like a half-remembered dream.

He was suddenly transported to a place deeply embedded in his memory—a featureless room, the details hazy, with walls devoid of the finer marks of life. The memory should have been clear, but Erik found only blurred edges, a fog of missing context and lost feelings. It was the last place he had spoken to his father, a memory he had long suppressed. His father stood there, a tall silhouette, but Erik couldn’t make out his face. Just a shadow, a blur of something once dear but now forgotten.

Erik felt the unease building, washing over him in waves as he tried to focus, to see his father’s face. But the scene remained fragmented, hollow, and wrong. He turned, seeing the demon lingering in the corner of his mental space, its form indistinct and amorphous. Erik’s voice quivered with uncertainty.

“What is this?” he demanded, half-afraid of the answer.

The demon shifted, its outline wavering like smoke. “The barriers I erected to protect your mind,” it said, its tone begrudging. “To be effective, I had to remove certain aspects of your memories, your history. This trial seems designed to strip away corruption—real or imagined. This... this is where it all began for you, Erik. The moment when your soul first fractured. This is where I put up the initial barrier.”

Erik’s hesitation was evident as the demon continued to speak. He felt something clawing at his consciousness, pieces of his past pulling at the edges of his awareness. He had always felt off ever since leaving Ebonfield, like a part of him was missing—his emotions distant, his mind on autopilot. He knew the demon had done something, but he hadn’t been able to grasp what.

He turned, meeting the demon’s gaze, and asked with a heavy voice, “Did you do this with any intention aside from helping me?”

The demon’s expression twisted into something like a grin, and it chuckled darkly. “Let me tell you a story, Erik,” it began, its tone taking on an almost sing-song quality.

“A snake was crossing a river, and a scorpion asked it for a ride. The snake, wary of the scorpion’s nature, asked if it would sting. The scorpion assured it had no intention of doing so, promising safety in exchange for food once they crossed. As they reached the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the snake, paralyzing it.” The demon’s voice grew quieter, more mocking. “The snake, with its last breath, asked, ‘Why? You said you wouldn’t.’ The scorpion replied, ‘I am a scorpion. It’s in my nature to sting.’”

The lesson was clear, and the demon didn’t need to spell it out. It was in the demon’s nature to manipulate, to take advantage of whatever situation presented itself. Helping Erik was not out of some misplaced sense of duty; it was self-preservation and the seizing of opportunity.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “So this barrier helped you more than it helped me?”

The demon did not deny it. “You can’t be surprised, Erik,” it said, a touch of regret in its voice. “It was a necessary compromise. And if you’re thinking of removing it now, under the waterfall’s influence...” The demon’s voice trailed off, hesitant.

“Remove it,” Erik demanded, his voice trembling with equal parts anger and desperation.

“No,” the demon said firmly. But even as it spoke, Erik could feel the divine power of the waterfall seeping into his mind, dissolving the barriers one by one; he decided that he had enough of the control of the demon, and he concentrated on letting the water come into him unabated and unresisted. As he released his control, he watched as scenes and memories began to flood back—memories he had buried deep within himself, now breaking free.

He saw his father’s face for the first time in what felt like years, not the blurred shadow he had become accustomed to, but the stern, weary features of the man who had banished him. His father’s voice echoed in the empty room, filled with bitterness and grief almost as if he was corrupted.

The visions shifted, showing the cloaked mage who had imprisoned him, the cold iron of the cage pressing into his skin, the shackles that bound his wrists. He felt the rush of energy as dark rituals flowed into his core, the eldritch priest’s false kindness masking the sinister truth beneath. He remembered the moments of near transformation, the cult’s failed attempt to turn him into an abomination that never fully emerged. And then there was the massacre—the slaughter at the temple and in Ebonfield, the blood that stained his hands, the cries of the dying ringing in his ears.

It was too much. Erik stood paralyzed in the face of it all, the weight of his past crashing down on him like the waterfall above. In the real world, beneath the freezing torrent, Erik began to cry—thick, red tears mixed with dark ichor, streaming from his eyes. Blood poured from his nose, his ears, and the corners of his mouth, pooling at his feet in the frigid water.

The liquid pooled, swirling into a small circle of demonic energy that had been removed from Erik’s body, collecting at the base of the waterfall like a shadow lingering just beneath the surface. Erik’s core reacted instinctively, its primal energy flaring up in self-preservation. The energy rushed through his veins, sealing the demon within and preventing the divine purity from doing further harm.

In his mindscape, Erik saw the walls reform, but now they were clear and transparent, the effects of the purification efforts removing the demonic taint within him, and the resultant primal energy filling the voids left behind—no longer opaque barriers that hid his past, but windows that allowed him to see each memory individually, instead of being overwhelmed by them all at once. The emotional storm that had been raging within him began to subside, and for the first time, Erik felt clarity returning. He turned him mind to remember his father, and friends, his cousin Lucian and the consent fight of battling the Lethri magic less noble. He remembered his name, a dignified House Marlow and his dreams of finding magic once again.

A memory of his father resurfaced—

The room was spartan, its walls bare and unadorned, with a single flickering candle providing a meager light. His father stood by the window, his broad back to Erik, shoulders hunched in a way that spoke of burdens carried in silence. Outside, the rain drummed softly against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm that seemed to echo the unspoken tension between them.

“You’re stronger than you think,” his father had said, voice gruff but steady, as if forcing the words through gritted teeth. There was a hesitation, a pause where the words seemed to die in his throat. His hand reached up to the windowsill, knuckles whitening as he gripped it tightly, as if trying to hold on to something slipping away.

The memory shifted, distorting like ripples in a pond. He could almost feel the warmth of his father’s hand on his shoulder—an uncharacteristic gesture, brief and heavy with meaning. But when Erik tried to hold onto that feeling, it was replaced with a deep bone chill that left bumps on his neck and the smell of sulfur and scents similar to the tainted eldritch temple.

The memories faded as quickly as it had come, and he was left with only questions, echoes of a moment that seemed to define everything and nothing at once. Leaving the open the depths of the wounds that the demon inflicted to create and erase the very foundation of who he was as a person.

He opened his eyes and looked around the field of flowers and saw that the stump that he was sitting on, once completely black, was now only partially darkened, with patches of natural brown color returning to its surface. He breathed deeply, and for the first time, he smelled the faint scent of his mother’s perfume—a memory he had forgotten. The familiar fragrance broke something loose within him, and Erik finally allowed himself to feel his own emotions, releasing years of pent-up sorrow, guilt, and confusion that cascaded down into a singular moment of time.

His mindscape turned gray, rain falling from a sky that held no clouds, with a sparse scent of the salty ocean air. The wind inside his midscape carried the scents heavy with hints of cedar, smoke, and his mother’s perfume, permeating the space. Erik sat on the stump, his face buried in his hands, sobbing openly.

Erik looked up from his hands, taking in a slow breath as the last remnants of his tears dried on his cheeks. The air in his mindscape remained a muted grey, but the heaviness was different now. It was no longer the oppressive weight of doubt and confusion, but the gravity of a decision made. Determination settled in Erik’s heart like a deep-rooted anchor. This wasn’t just a resolve to push forward; it was a declaration of who he would become. The power he had wielded wasn’t truly his—it was borrowed, tainted by the demon’s influence. But that was going to change.

He stood, shaking off the remnants of despair, and steeled himself. He would not rely on demonic energy until he could claim something of his own. It was time to confront the force that had latched onto him, and it was time to forge a new path.

Erik closed his eyes and focused, feeling the presence of the demon lurking in the shadows of his mindscape. He called out to it, his voice unwavering.

“We need to talk,” Erik demanded, his tone commanding and unyielding.

N’Zol emerged from the shadows, a shifting, amorphous shape that took on grotesque forms—sometimes humanoid, other times a twisted mass of scales and limbs. The demon’s eyes glimmered with amusement and malevolence as it approached.

“Talk?” N’Zol sneered. “What could we possibly have to discuss, Erik? Have you not had enough?”

Erik’s jaw tightened, his fingers clenching into fists. “No more borrowed power,” he declared. “I’m done letting you control my strength. If I’m going to use magic, it has to be mine—something I earn, not something given by you.”

The demon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through the grey air. “Is that so?” N’Zol’s form shifted, dark tendrils coiling around him. “You think you can defy me? Take power from me?”

Erik didn’t flinch. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The demon chuckled softly, the sound echoing through Erik’s mental space. “Ah, noble ideals,” N’Zol mused. “But you forget something—power is taken, not earned. You think you can wrestle control from me? After all this time?”

Erik took a steadying breath. He was still trying to process everything he had just experienced, but one thing was clear: he couldn’t go on as he had. He wasn’t going to let the demon’s tainted essence define him. “I’ll take it from you, if that’s what it takes.”

The demon grinned, baring sharp, pointed teeth. “Very well, boy,” it said, its voice dripping with dark glee. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The landscape of Erik’s mindscape shifted and morphed, transforming into an endless grey field punctuated by dark, twisted trees and patches of black ichor. Time moved differently here—what felt like minutes outside of Eriks mindscape could stretch into hours or even days inside. And in this place, Erik began to fight.

They clashed over and over, with Erik wielding weapons that formed from his will—a sword, a spear, and his bare fists—against the demon’s myriad shapes. N’Zol became a shadowy figure with a blade as sharp as night, an eldritch beast with snapping jaws and tendrils, and a monstrous abomination that seemed to defy reason. The pain was real, and each wound felt searing and true. But just as quickly as the injuries formed, they would heal, leaving Erik no time to dwell on the agony.

N’Zol tested Erik relentlessly, exploiting every weakness, every hesitation. When Erik faltered, the demon pressed its advantage, taunting him with visions of his failures and moments of doubt. Yet each time Erik was struck down, he stood up again, more resolute than before. His determination hardened into something unbreakable, like steel forged in the fires of battle.

Weeks passed in this mental arena. Erik honed his combat skills, learning not only to fight the demon but to endure its psychological assaults. It was a test of both body and spirit, and he began to understand that true mastery over his power would require more than just brute strength—it would require control, focus, and resilience.

Throughout this grueling training, Erik sought to tap into the latent magic within him. Each attempt was met with resistance, as if something deep inside had been sealed off. But Erik refused to give up. He dug deeper, pushing past the limitations and the residual mental blocks the demon had placed now filled with primal power. His willpower was tested to its limits, his mind strained by the constant push and pull between their energies.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Erik felt something shift. It was subtle at first—a flicker of energy that wasn’t tainted or corrupted, but pure and primal. He grasped onto it, holding tightly as it grew within him. Slowly, he learned to draw on his primal core, a wellspring of energy that was inherently his. It was different from the demon’s power—raw and unrefined, but pure. It felt like a storm surge ready to crash down and fill the void with raw power. Each attempt at pulling the surge brought the tidal wave one stop closer to release.

With this sensation, Erik discovered he could convert and move the primal energy from his core and into different locations throughout his body — his mind full of primal energy gave sharper insight into the strings of energy that the demon was moving towards, increasing Eriks perception. Moving Primal energy into his chest gave an increase of stamina and physical force. Moving primal energy into his hands gave Erik the very ability to manipulate the latent energy in the very environment he found himself in. It was a delicate balance, and each use of his primal core came at a cost. The energy needed to be replenished, and unlike the demon’s seemingly limitless reservoir, Erik’s primal power was finite and needed careful management. Erik began to circulate the primal energy within instead of releasing it, causing less of an effect within his body but a sustained sensation that allowed him continual use of primal energy, even if it was minuscule.

One thing was clear: he would not touch the demon’s magic unless there was no other choice.

N’Zol watched Erik’s progress with a mix of disdain and grudging respect. “So, you’ve finally found a source of power all your own,” the demon muttered, its voice laced with reluctant approval. “Impressive. But remember, Erik, this power is fragile. It can be taken from you just as easily as it was gained.”

Erik met the demon’s gaze, his eyes hardened with resolve. “It won’t be,” he replied firmly. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Such conviction,” N’Zol mused, its form shifting restlessly. “But be careful, boy. Power changes people. Even yours.”

Erik ignored the warning, his mind already focused on the next steps. He had spent what felt like months in this mental arena, training and learning to master his primal energy. Time had passed differently within his mindscape, but he knew that in the real world, mere minutes had likely gone by since there was no hunger or tiredness. He felt stronger, more centered, and—most importantly—more himself.

The battle between him and the demon had escalated to a fevered pitch. The serene field had transformed into a storm-ravaged wasteland, the once vibrant flowers now withered and crushed beneath their feet. Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, illuminating the grotesque, ever-shifting form of the demon in fleeting bursts of sickly green light.

Erik’s breath came in ragged gasps, but he held his ground, sword gripped tightly in both hands. The demon lunged at him, its twisted limbs morphing into serrated claws and spiked tentacles, each strike intended to tear Erik apart both physically and mentally. But Erik was no longer fighting with wild, reckless swings—each movement was precise, deliberate, as if he were cutting through more than just flesh.

“Do you really think you can beat me, boy?” the demon taunted, its voice slithering into Erik’s thoughts. “You’re nothing without me. I am your strength, your power. Without me, you’re just a lost, frightened child!”

Erik steadied his breathing, focusing on the primal energy coursing through his veins. He ignored the demon’s words, the doubt it tried to sew. He had come too far to let fear control him now. The demon lunged again, its form twisting into a massive, snarling beast with rows of jagged teeth.

This time, Erik didn’t retreat. He stepped forward, meeting the demon head-on. His blade flashed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the two were evenly matched—demon against man, darkness against light. But as the battle raged on, Erik began to see the cracks in the demon’s façade.

Each strike he landed felt more solid, more real, as if he were cutting through not just the demon’s body, but its very essence. The demon’s movements became more frantic, its once-booming voice now laced with something that resembled fear.

“You’re nothing without me!” the demon snarled again, but the words lacked their previous conviction.

“No,” Erik muttered, his voice steady. “I was something before you came into my life. And I’ll be something after.”

With one final surge of determination, Erik channeled the primal energy into his blade, focusing every ounce of his will into the strike. He swung with all his strength, and this time, the blade didn’t just cut—it severed. The demon’s form crumbled, its roar of defiance turning into a wail of disbelief and fury.

“You… can’t…” the demon’s voice faded, its presence within Erik’s mindscape diminishing to a whisper.

Erik stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of the battle lift from his shoulders. He had won—not through sheer strength, but through his refusal to let the demon define him. He was not a vessel, not a pawn in some greater scheme. He was his own person, and this power would belong to him and no one else.

As the demon’s presence faded to a murmur in the back of his mind, Erik felt a new sense of clarity—a resolve forged through pain and struggle. He had taken back control, and though the road ahead remained uncertain, he would face it on his own terms.

As Erik stood in the midst of the grey landscape, he took one last deep breath and allowed the memory of the field of flowers to return. The twisted trees faded, replaced by those delicate, shimmering blooms. The stump in the center was still darkened by ichor, but it was no longer a symbol of defeat—it was a reminder of what he had endured and overcome with a small little sprout in the middle, attempting to push through the darkness that restrained its very essence from expanding;

“I’ll make this power my own,” Erik vowed quietly, both to himself and to the demon that still lingered within.

“We shall see,” N’Zol replied, its voice carrying an edge of dark amusement as it withered into a soft whisper on the wind.

And with that, Erik’s training in the depths of his mindscape came to an end. He was not the same person who had entered that waterfall—he was something new, something forged through pain and perseverance. Erik had found a new source of strength, one that belonged to him alone, and he was ready to face whatever came next.

***

From Erik’s perspective, the intense battles and grueling training within his mindscape seemed to have spanned mere minutes, a brief trial by fire. However, in the reality beyond his mental fortress, three weeks had passed beneath the relentless torrent of the waterfall.

The paladins who had gathered around the waterfall were in various states of awe and concern. Word had spread quickly throughout the temple grounds about the newcomer undergoing the Trial of Purity. Erik’s unmoving form beneath the icy deluge had become the subject of hushed conversations and cautious whispers among the trainees and seasoned paladins alike.

The paladin commander turned his gaze from Erik to the other onlookers, noting the growing unease among the trainees. He could hear their murmurs, the whispers of doubt that spread like a chill breeze through the gathered crowd. It wasn’t common for someone to undergo the Trial of Purity for more than a few hours—eight to ten, at most. For someone to endure it for weeks… it was unprecedented.

One of the more senior paladins, a man with a weathered face and lines that spoke of years of service, muttered quietly to the trainee beside him. “I’ve seen some tough ones take the trial, but two weeks under that waterfall? That’s… unheard of.”

“Is it even possible?” the young trainee asked, her voice trembling with barely concealed apprehension.

“Not unless he’s got something inside of him worth burning out,” the senior paladin replied grimly. “The Trial of Purity isn’t just a test of endurance. It’s meant to cleanse the spirit, to force any corruption to the surface. If he’s lasted this long, it means whatever’s inside him runs deep.”

Another paladin, a woman who had witnessed many trials over the years, crossed her arms tightly. “Those who break under the weight of the trial usually falter within eight hours. If someone lasts beyond that, it’s a sign of either exceptional strength… or deep-seated darkness.”

The paladin commander remained silent, letting their words linger in the air. He knew the truth of it—this trial wasn’t just about withstanding the elements. The waterfall, imbued with the ancient magic of the temple, pressed against the very soul of the candidate. Those who entered were forced to confront whatever lay within them, be it their greatest strength or their darkest secret.

The commander’s eyes narrowed as he studied Erik’s still form. He wondered what secrets this stranger held—and what price he would pay to keep them hidden.

Vesper, despite her experience and understanding of the temple’s customs, was growing increasingly restless. She watched Erik with furrowed brows, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Even Berndhart, who was usually nonchalant about most things, seemed tense, glancing at Erik’s still form more frequently than he would care to admit. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, the muscles in his broad shoulders twitching with unspent energy.

Finally, Vesper turned to the commander, her voice barely masking her impatience. “Commander, it’s been three weeks. Surely that’s long enough. He could die—”

The commander, a stoic man with years etched into the lines of his face, held up a hand to silence her. His eyes never left Erik’s form under the waterfall. “The Red Queen insists that he be left undisturbed,” he repeated, his tone unwavering. “If he is strong enough, he will emerge on his own. If not…”

The rest of the sentence hung heavy in the air, the implications clear.

Berndhart, who had been silent up until now, let out a low, grumbling sigh. “Not to question the wisdom of your Queen or anything,” he began, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm, “but are we all just supposed to stand here and watch the man bleed out under an oversized water hose?”

The paladin commander gave him a sideways glance, and then downwards at the Ichor pith building up at the edges of the waterfall pool, but there was a hint of acknowledgment in his expression. “The purpose of the trial isn’t just to test physical endurance,” he explained, his voice firm. “The temple itself is infused with powerful magic—divine and otherwise. The Trial of Purity is designed to push those who enter to their limits, to cleanse and challenge the spirit.”

Vesper’s gaze flickered between Erik and the commander, her fists tightening at her sides. “So it’s not just about the waterfall,” she said quietly, realization dawning. “It’s about the temple testing his soul.”

The commander nodded slightly. “The unique properties of the temple press against the very essence of those who enter. It’s why we can’t allow anyone to simply walk inside. If he cannot pass this test—if he cannot withstand the pressure—it means he would never survive the deeper trials within the temple walls.”

Berndhart remained silent, his eyes fixed on Erik. He didn’t understand everything about these rituals, but even he could sense that what was happening here went beyond physical endurance. There was something deeply spiritual and intensely challenging about this place—something that even he, with his considerable strength, felt compelled to respect.

Meanwhile, Erik remained oblivious to the passage of time outside and the ever growing audience. To him, it had been an intense but fleeting struggle—a brief eternity of training, of facing his demons both figuratively and literally. But in reality, the paladins who had witnessed this transformation knew that what he had endured was far more than a simple trial of endurance.

Despite her earlier objections, Vesper respected the commander’s adherence to the Red Queen’s command. She knew the woman well enough to trust that her decisions were made with intention, even if those intentions weren’t always immediately clear. And so, she held her ground, despite every instinct urging her to intervene.

The crowd of onlookers continued to grow, paladins and trainees alike drawn by curiosity and reverence. They watched as the blood and ichor continued to flow from Erik, a seemingly endless stream pooling at the base of the waterfall. Some muttered prayers under their breath, others remained silent, and a few exchanged worried glances. It was clear that they were witnessing something extraordinary—something that none of them had seen before.

And in the distance, just beyond the sight of most, the Red Queen herself stood with her arms crossed, her expression inscrutable as she observed the spectacle. She had seen many undergo the Trial of Purity, but this was different. Her eyes were locked on Erik, studying every detail, every sign of struggle and strength.

When the Red Queen turned away, she did so with the certainty that whatever happened next would shape the course of events to come. For better or worse, the Trial of Purity had not only tested Erik, but revealed the depths of his character and resilience to those watching.

As Erik began to stir beneath the waterfall, finally emerging from his inner battle, those watching held their breath—uncertain, yet undeniably changed by what they had witnessed.

Erik stepped out from the torrent of the waterfall, the freezing water still cascading over his shoulders, there was a palpable shift in the air around him. The gathered paladins instinctively held their breath, their eyes widening at the figure emerging from beneath the relentless downpour. Erik's body seemed to radiate a new energy—something more controlled, more centered, and undeniably powerful.

His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The once darkened, ordinary eyes were now transformed—brilliant and fierce. A swirl of deep crimson hinted at the demonic energy within, the color reminiscent of blood moonlight. But interwoven with the red were vibrant hues of blue and green—pure and intense. The bright blue carried the calm intensity of a clear sky, while the green glimmered with the life and vibrance of a deep forest. Together, these colors created an otherworldly effect, almost as if the very essence of nature and chaos clashed and intertwined within his gaze.

It wasn’t just the color that struck onlookers with awe—it was the sharpness, the clarity. Erik’s new eyes seemed to see through the world, piercing through the very fabric of what was real and imagined. There was a sense of depth within them, of something that had been shattered and reforged stronger, more resilient.

Steam rose from Erik’s shoulders as the cold water met the warmth of his renewed aura. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and the pooling blood and ichor at his feet began to disperse, swept away by the flowing stream. The once chaotic energies that swirled within him had now aligned, moving in unison with the heartbeat of the primal energy that surged through his veins.

Erik glanced around, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a newfound keenness. It was as if the world had been muted before and now rang clear, with every sound, every scent, and every shift in light feeling more vibrant and alive. His senses were heightened beyond anything he had ever experienced. Yet, amid this sharp awareness, there was also a sense of balance—a control he had never known.

The demon’s voice, no longer a haunting whisper but a subdued murmur, echoed in the back of Erik’s mind. It spoke, its tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and reluctant admiration.

“Well, you’ve done it, haven’t you?” the demon grumbled. “You’ve finally wrestled some control away from me. Don’t think I’m pleased about this.”

But there was a hint of something else in the demon’s tone—something almost like respect. Erik could sense the demon’s frustration at being so tightly bound, its influence now limited without Erik’s explicit consent. But Erik could also feel the demon’s lingering malevolence, its constant stream of vile thoughts flowing beneath the surface.

“Quiet,” Erik muttered internally, focusing on the demon’s voice. And to his surprise, the stream of words cut off instantly. He could feel the demon seething, but its voice was silenced—a newfound power Erik now held firmly in his grasp.

Erik flexed his fingers, feeling the primal energy circulate without the usual struggle to maintain it. It flowed effortlessly, almost like breathing. It was as if the trial under the waterfall had burned away the impurities and left behind something clear and strong.

Berndhart, who had been watching from the bank, let out a low whistle, his thick brows raising in what looked like genuine awe. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That’s quite the transformation, lad.”

Vesper, who had been observing quietly, took a step forward, her face a mixture of relief and curiosity. Her sharp eyes noticed the swirling colors in Erik’s gaze and the steadiness of his posture. There was something new about him—something even she, a trained paladin, couldn’t quite define. She felt the presence of something old and untamed, yet tempered with purpose.

Erik nodded slightly, acknowledging both of them. His body still ached from the trial, but his spirit felt... different. The primal energy thrummed within him, and though he was stronger, it was more than just physical strength—it was mastery, control over what had once been wild and chaotic.

The paladin commander approached cautiously, his own curiosity battling with a sense of unease. “Who are you, truly?” the commander asked, his voice carrying a weight that demanded an answer. “There is something about you... something unsettling, yet not wholly corrupt.”

Erik turned his gaze toward the commander, the blue and green in his eyes deepening as if peering through layers of reality. He took a moment before responding, weighing his words carefully. “I’m still trying to understand that myself,” Erik said. “But I know this—I won’t be a vessel for something I can’t control. Not anymore.”

The commander studied Erik for a long moment before nodding, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then you have passed the first trial,” he said, his voice laced with approval. “But remember, control is only the first step. Mastery is the true test.”

Erik’s eyes flashed with determination, the swirling colors reflecting his resolve. He understood now—this was only the beginning. There would be more trials, more challenges ahead. But he felt ready, more than he ever had before.

System Notification: Core Integration Complete

System Integrity Stabilized: All primary and secondary connections are stable. Primal Core now functions as the primary source of energy.

System Permissions Updated: Demonic influence requires host’s explicit permission to exert physical control. Speech and internal communication channels are restricted by host’s will.

New Passive Abilities Gained:

Primal Circulation: Allows for continuous and subtle flow of primal energy throughout the host’s body, improving overall resilience and maintaining heightened perception.

Demon’s Insight: Limited ability to perceive some thoughts of the entity within, enhancing the host’s awareness of hidden motives or threats.

Stat Changes:

Strength: +1

Perception: +3

Wisdom: +3

Dexterity: +1

Intelligence: +2

Luck: +1

Demonic Resistance: +5

Eldritch Resistance: +2

System Interference: Connectivity with external demonic influences restricted by a newly established primal barrier.

New Skill Unlocked: Primal Projection - Ability to extend awareness through pure energy to detect demonic and eldritch presences within range, now also includes various energies and mana sources.