The champions materialized in a dimension that defied reality—endless white stretching in all directions, broken only by floating geometric shapes that pulsed with ethereal light. Eren, Lira, Fenghuang, and Nova walked forward, their footsteps echoing in impossible ways, each sound rippling through the void like stones dropped in still water.

Above them, the Nexus Core manifested as a massive sphere of swirling energy, its surface a kaleidoscope of shifting colors that hurt to look at directly. Its voice resonated through their minds, ancient and inexorable:

[WELCOME, CHAMPIONS. YOUR FINAL TRIALS AWAIT.]

Jin appeared beside them in a flash of light, nodding grimly to Eren. Their eyes met briefly—a silent acknowledgment of what was to come. The five champions stood before the Core as it continued, its voice threading through their thoughts like ice:

[EACH OF YOU MUST FACE YOUR GREATEST FEARS, YOUR DEEPEST REGRETS. BEYOND THESE DOORS LIE YOUR INDIVIDUAL TRIALS. SUCCEED OR FAIL, THE CHOICE IS YOURS.]

Five doorways materialized—each a towering arch of rippling energy, each humming with a different frequency that seemed to call to its chosen champion. One by one, they stepped through their designated doors, disappearing into the unknown like moths drawn to flame.

Eren stood alone before his portal, its surface writhing with dark energy that seemed to reach for him with hungry tendrils. Taking a breath that felt like his last, he stepped through.

The moment Eren crossed the threshold, suffocating darkness engulfed him—a darkness so complete it felt alive, pressing against his skin like cold silk. When his vision cleared, he found himself in a vast, circular chamber within the void. Alone. Always alone. The silence pressed against his eardrums like a physical weight.

The walls pulsed with nightmarish visions—fragments of past regressions he couldn't quite remember, like trying to recall a dream while still dreaming. The screams of his people dying echoed from somewhere far away, yet somehow inside his own head. The fall of his kingdom played out in fragments of fire and shadow. Training sessions with Azar replayed themselves, each one feeling like it had happened a thousand times, yet somehow always fresh in its brutality.

"Where... where am I?" His voice echoed in the emptiness, coming back to him wrong, distorted, like it belonged to someone else.

The visions intensified, bleeding into reality until he could no longer tell what was memory and what was happening now. He saw himself dying again and again, each death more vivid than the last. Saw Azar teaching him the same sword forms until his arms shook and his hands bled. Saw his castle burning, the stones themselves screaming as they melted. Saw shadows devouring everyone he'd ever known, their faces twisted in terror as darkness consumed them from within.

"This isn't real," he whispered, but the words felt hollow, rehearsed, like lines from a play he'd performed countless times. "This can't be real."

But it was. And somewhere deep inside, buried under layers of trauma and denial, he knew he'd been here before. Many times. Too many times.

[System Alert: Participant 1274 — Eren Valestrix] Warning: Mental stability decreasing. Implementing containment protocols.

Searing pain erupted through Eren's body as electricity coursed through him, making his muscles dance like puppet strings. He fell to his knees, convulsing, but the physical agony was nothing—nothing—compared to the mental anguish that consumed him like a hungry flame.

The chamber walls flickered, reality bending like hot glass, and suddenly he was back in the training grounds with Azar. His mentor's stern face watched as Eren practiced combat forms, pushing himself beyond exhaustion, beyond reason, beyond sanity itself. Sweat mixed with blood as his calloused hands gripped the sword's hilt.

The visions intensified, overlapping now, bleeding into each other like watercolors in rain. He saw himself dying again and again, each death somehow both familiar and shocking. Saw Azar teaching him the same sword forms until the movements were carved into his soul. Saw his castle burning in a thousand different ways, each one somehow worse than the last. Saw shadows devouring everyone he'd ever known, their screams a symphony he knew by heart.

"Again," Azar commanded, his voice echoing across time and space. "The fate of our world depends on your strength, Eren. You must be ready." The words rang hollow now, a cruel joke repeated too many times.

The scene shifted violently, reality tearing like wet paper. Eren stood atop the castle walls, watching in horror as shadow creatures poured from the sky like black rain. Guards fell screaming as darkness consumed them, their armor melting like wax, their flesh dissolving like sugar in water. He ran through corridors lined with bodies, desperately searching for survivors he knew he wouldn't find.

"I can change this," he whispered, the words becoming a mantra, a prayer, a curse. "This time will be different."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

But it never was. It never could be. The pattern was carved too deep, the cycle too perfect in its cruelty.

With each regression, new memories surfaced—past lives, failed attempts, countless deaths. He saw himself as a knight charging into battle, a mage casting spells of protection, a wanderer searching for answers, each time trying to prevent the catastrophe that always came, that always would come.

The castle fell a thousand times, each fall unique in its horror. His friends died a thousand deaths, each one finding new ways to break what was left of his heart. Each cycle, he tried something new, his desperation growing with each attempt:

Warning his father earlier, watching disbelief turn to terror in those royal eyes. Evacuating the city, only to hear the screams of those who couldn't escape in time. Seeking ancient weapons that crumbled to dust in his hands. Trying to ascend to divinity, only for it to be taken.

Nothing worked. Nothing could work. The shadows always came, patient as entropy. Everyone always died, their faces forever frozen in expressions of betrayal—why didn't you save us, Eren? Why weren't you strong enough?

His mind began to splinter like glass under too much pressure. Past and present blurred together in a nauseating kaleidoscope of trauma, each memory cutting deeper than any blade. Eren clutched his head, screaming as centuries of memories crashed through his consciousness:

The first time he held a sword, the weight foreign yet familiar. The taste of ash as his kingdom burned, different yet always the same. The weight of a crown he once wore, heavy with the responsibility he could never fulfill. The feeling of his heart stopping, again and again and again, each death a new lesson in failure.

"Make it stop!" he begged, tears streaming down his face, their salt burning like acid. "I can't—I can't bear it anymore!"

The shadows emerged from the walls wearing the faces of the dead—his people, his warriors, all gone, all judging. Their empty eyes held no forgiveness, no understanding, only the weight of his failures.

[System Alert: Critical psychological deterioration detected] Warning: Participant exhibiting signs of severe trauma response Implementing shock treatment level 3

Electricity coursed through his body, but the pain was meaningless now, a drop in an ocean of agony. His mind reeled against the torrent of resurfacing memories:

His mother's smile before the shadows took her, her face distorting as darkness filled her mouth. Training with Azar, determination burning in his young eyes before time and failure dulled them. His father's laugh during happier days, before the war, before the fall, before everything. Iris's final words, different each time but always ending in death, a thousand goodbyes never enough. The weight of his father's body as he carried him from battlefield after battlefield, heavier with each regression.

The shadows emerged from the chamber's walls—twisted versions of everyone he'd ever loved and lost. They attacked without mercy, wearing the faces of his failures across a thousand lifetimes. Their touches left frost on his skin, their whispers filled his mind with static.

He fought back, his enchanted blade singing through the air, but each strike felt heavier than the last. The weight of countless lives, countless failures, pressed down on him, suffocating, unbearable. His arms moved through forms he'd practiced for centuries, muscle memory outlasting sanity.

The first time he'd entered this chamber, fresh and foolish. The hundredth time, hope already dying. Each death, a lesson unlearned. Each rebirth in the void, a punishment disguised as opportunity. Each failure, a stone in the mountain of his despair.

"Stop," he begged, clutching his head as reality itself seemed to bend around him. "I can't—I can't remember all of this!"

[System Alert: Warning] Participant showing signs of suicidal ideation Implementing maximum containment protocols DO NOT take your own life

But it was too late. The weight of countless regressions, countless failures, crushed down on him like a collapsing star. With trembling hands, he raised his blade, its edge catching what little light remained in the void.

"I'm sorry, Azar," he whispered, his voice breaking on his mentor's name. "I'm not strong enough. I never was."

The blade plunged deep, and for a moment—just a moment—there was peace.

Darkness.

Then light.

Eren stood before the Nexus Core, the void stretching endlessly around him. A doorway materialized—familiar, terrifying, inevitable.

No memory of how he got here, though his body trembled with phantom pain. No memory of what lay beyond, though his soul screamed in recognition. Only an overwhelming sense of dread, as familiar as his own heartbeat.

[WELCOME, CHAMPION. YOUR TRIAL AWAITS.]

"No," he whispered, but his feet moved forward anyway, puppeted by forces he couldn't understand. "Please, no."

The cycle began again.

With each regression, his mind fractured further. Memories blurred together like wet paint:

Training with Azar, the sword forms becoming prayers. The fall of his kingdom, each stone a separate tragedy. The void, his true home now. The blade, his only friend. The death, his only release. The return, his eternal punishment.

Again. And again. And again.

Forever.

Until, in the depths of his thousandth death—or was it his millionth?—a different kind of light began to shine.

Not the harsh glare of the void, but something softer, warmer, ancient. Through the fractures of his broken mind, through the endless cycle of torment, something stirred in the darkness.

Something that had been waiting for him to break just enough to see the truth beyond the pain.