The figure’s taunting words slithered into Karlos’s mind, coiling there like venomous serpents. He tightened his grip on the staff, his fiery aura flaring brighter in defiance. The clearing’s oppressive darkness seemed to recoil slightly from the intensity of his flames, but the figure remained unshaken.

“I’m not your puppet,” Karlos said firmly, though his voice wavered with the sheer weight of the situation.

The mage, still on one knee, forced himself to rise. His face was pale, sweat dripping from his brow as he muttered an incantation. Blue runes began circling his form, weaving into a protective barrier. “Karlos,” Ramagnus said, his voice strained but resolute, “don’t let him manipulate you. Stay focused.”

Godfrey groaned as he ripped off his damaged chest plate, blood staining his tunic beneath. Despite his injuries, the knight rose to his feet, his broadsword held steady. “Mage, focus on shielding the boy. I’ll hold this fiend off as long as I can.”

“No.” Karlos’s voice cut through their planning like a blade. Both the mage and knight turned to him, surprised. “This is my fight.”

The figure let out a low, hollow laugh. “Brave words for someone so out of their depth.” The figure looked around the dungeon and “said a training dungeon? You are at the right level for it to help. So I guess you’ll get an additional gift from me. The figure said with his left hand raising slightly. A violet flame manifests itself in the center of his outstretched palm.

“ Manifest and eradicate Hazy flame.” The Violet flame stretched out in every direction from the figure leaving. It impacted the walls of the dungeon and grew a darker hue of purple. The flames slowly consumed the walls using them as fuel to continue incinerating them.

The figure’s taunting laugh reverberated through the dungeon as violet flames stretched outward from his palm, devouring the walls of the training dungeon with a voracious hunger. The flames shifted and pulsed like a living entity, darkening to a deeper, more sinister purple with each second. Yet, despite their destructive force, they curled protectively around Karlos, Ramagnus, and Godfrey, as if deliberately avoiding them.

Karlos felt the heat radiating from the flames but realized, to his confusion, that they didn’t harm him. The air shimmered with the intensity of the fire, yet it left an odd, hollow chill in its wake. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the dungeon’s structure protested the unnatural assault.

Godfrey snarled, gripping his broadsword tighter. “What is this devilry?!” His battle-worn armor clinked faintly as he shifted his stance, preparing to charge despite his obvious injuries.

Ramagnus, still shrouded in blue runes, studied the violet flames with a furrowed brow. “It’s… controlled destruction,” he murmured, almost in awe. “This fire isn’t meant to kill us—it’s a display. A statement.”

Karlos’s eyes flicked back to the figure, whose silhouette was framed by the unholy inferno. The figure’s aura exuded an unnerving mix of authority and chaos, his body unmoving as the flames did his bidding.

“I told you,” the figure said, his voice low and velvety, carrying an undercurrent of malice. “You’re not ready to face me. But since you insist on defiance, I’ll give you… a demonstration.” He gestured broadly, the flames twisting and writhing in response. They formed spiraling tendrils that danced menacingly around the trio, tracing arcs in the air like serpents poised to strike.

Karlos stepped forward, the staff in his hand igniting with his fire—fierce and bright against the figure’s oppressive flames. “You think this is enough to scare me?” he said, though his voice betrayed the smallest tremor. “All you’re doing is proving how much you want me to give up. I won’t.”

The figure tilted his head slightly, as though amused. “Scare you?” he mused. “No. This isn’t fear, boy. This is a revelation.” With a flick of his wrist, a concentrated stream of violet fire shot past Karlos, narrowly missing his shoulder. It struck the far end of the dungeon, shattering the stone and opening a deep chasm. The violet flames lingered there, eating away at the edges of the gap like acid.

Ramagnus raised a trembling hand. “Karlos! Don’t let him bait you! This power— it's not natural not of this world the dungeons are !”

“ Ahh shut up.” The figure gestured with his hand as the flame transformed into a spear and stabbed the mage in the leg. Splat

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But Karlos didn’t move. Instead, he glared at the figure, his fiery aura surging. “If you’re so strong, why are you holding back?” he shouted. “Why don’t you just finish this?”

The figure’s hollow laugh echoed again. “Holding back?” He extended his hand, and the violet flames coalesced into a massive sphere above him, pulsating ominously. “This is me holding back. But you’re right—it wouldn’t be fair to test you without pushing a little harder.”

The sphere split into dozens of smaller orbs, each crackling with unstable energy. They hovered menacingly, shifting erratically as if waiting for the figure’s command.

Karlos stared at the violet flames, his earlier bravado unraveling as the oppressive orbs hung in the air like tiny harbingers of doom. His hands trembled around the staff, the searing heat of his fire suddenly feeling insignificant. His legs felt like they were made of lead, his body rooted in place by fear he couldn’t push aside.

“I… I don’t…” he stammered, the words catching in his throat as his thoughts raced. This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t some grand adventure. This was death staring him in the face, taunting him, waiting for him to falter. He wasn’t ready for this—how could he be?

Ramagnus groaned, clutching his bleeding leg as the fiery spear embedded in his flesh crackled faintly. “Karlos!” he rasped, his voice cutting through the boy’s spiraling thoughts. “We’re still here! Focus!”

Godfrey bellowed, stepping between Karlos and the figure with a defiant glare. Blood seeped through the rents in his tunic, but his stance was unyielding, his broad shoulders forming an unshakable wall. “Boy, pull yourself together!” he barked. “You’re not alone in this!”

The knight’s words broke through Karlos’s paralysis. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, but he managed to steady himself. He wasn’t alone. Godfrey and Ramagnus were both fighting, even though they were injured and outmatched. If they could stand against this monster, then so could he—no matter how terrified he felt.

“You’re wrong,” Karlos said, his voice weak at first but growing stronger. He tightened his grip on the staff, willing the flames around it to burn brighter, fiercer. “I am afraid. But I’m not going to let that stop me.”

The figure tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he said simply. “Fear is useful. It sharpens the mind. But it won’t save you.”

With a flick of his wrist, the hovering orbs of violet flame hurtled forward. They split apart midair, each one targeting a different point in the room. One streaked toward Karlos, another toward Godfrey, and a third toward the wounded Ramagnus.

The violet flame orb streaked toward Godfrey with unerring precision, faster than even the knight’s trained reflexes could counter. His broadsword was raised, ready to deflect the attack, but the projectile did something unnatural—it phased cleanly through the blade. Godfrey’s breath hitched as the orb halted mere inches from his face, the searing heat causing beads of sweat to form on his brow.

The figure’s low, amused voice cut through the tension. “You’re dead,” he said, as casually as if stating the weather. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, the orb dissipated into harmless embers. He turned his gaze toward Karlos, a crooked grin pulling at the edges of his shadowed features. “One down, one to go.”

Godfrey stumbled back a step, his chest heaving as he processed what had just happened. He wasn’t dead. The figure had spared him, deliberately. A mixture of relief and frustration warred on his face as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Damn him,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s toying with us.”

Ramagnus, still clutching his injured leg, grimaced. “This isn’t a fight. It’s a lesson. He’s making it painfully clear how easily he could end this if he wanted to.”

Karlos’s flames wavered momentarily as he stared at the figure, the meaning of his words sinking in. The figure wasn’t here to kill them—not yet, anyway. He was proving a point, showing Karlos and his companions just how far out of their depth they were. The realization brought a fresh wave of frustration and anger bubbling to the surface, overpowering the fear that had gripped him moments ago.

“Stop playing games!” Karlos shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of defiance and desperation. He slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, his fiery aura reigniting with renewed fervor. “If you’re so powerful, then stop wasting time and fight me for real!”

The figure tilted his head, his grin widening. “And deprive you of the opportunity to grow? How cruel do you think I am?” His tone was mocking, but his words carried an odd undercurrent of sincerity. He gestured again, sending another wave of violet flames spiraling into the air. This time, the tendrils formed an intricate lattice above them, creating a dome-like barrier that sealed off any possible escape.

“This is your trial, Karlos,” the figure continued, his voice echoing ominously within the flame-bound chamber. “Show me your resolve. Prove to me that you’re worth my time. ”

The figure’s grin widened as he raised his hand. A sudden streak of red flashed through the air. Before Karlos could react, something collided with his forehead with the force of a falling boulder.

THWACK!

Karlos didn’t even have time to process what hit him before the sheer weight of the impact sent him stumbling backward. His vision blurred, and a sharp, searing pain spread across his skull. With a dull thud, he toppled backward, landing unceremoniously on the dungeon floor.

The object responsible—a massive, red leather-bound tome—landed beside him with a sound like thunder, its presence as imposing as the figure who had thrown it.

“The tome,” Karlos muttered from his laid-out position, his eyes wide, “is as thick as if every volume of a beloved fantasy series had been combined… and then printed in Braille.” His tone was equal parts awe and horror.

Godfrey, glancing between Karlos’s prone form and the ominous book, grumbled, “What kind of madman weaponizes literature?”

Karlos’s muffled voice groaned from the floor. “Ow… Why is that thing so heavy?” His arms flailed weakly as he tried to push himself up, but the sheer weight of the tome’s insult to his dignity pinned him in place.

The figure’s laughter echoed through the chamber, the sound rich with amusement. “Consider that my gift to you,” he said, gesturing toward the tome. “A training manual, of sorts. If you survive this trial, perhaps you’ll even be able to lift it without embarrassing yourself.”

Karlos, now flat on his back, groaned again. “This is not how training dungeons are supposed to work…” The pain in his forehead throbbed, matching the tempo of his heartbeat.

As Godfrey leaned over to check if Karlos was conscious, the boy’s head lolled to the side, his eyes rolling back. “Yup,” the knight muttered dryly, standing and dusting off his armor. “He’s out cold.”