Not much time had passed since the end of the second trial.

Walking through a golden hallway, a muscular old man made his way down its length. With each step, his muscles rippled beneath his skin, while thick veins moved across the surface like snakes, coiling around his arms as if they were alive.

This man was the Mahavadha of the second trial.

"Mahavadha!" One of the six red-robed executioners, now unmasked, trailed closely behind, incessantly calling for his attention.

The Mahavadha was in no mood to talk. Ignoring the calls, he flexed his right arm.

A vein in his arm began to pulsate, accelerating rapidly from his shoulder downward. It spiraled with unimaginable speed, bulging as it coiled around his wrist. His arm trembled as a continuous coil of veins surged with energy, flowing into him.

Once enough had gathered, the Mahavadha lifted his arm and, with a sharp yanking motion, pulled at the air as if tearing open a door.

A rift in space opened before him, revealing an office-like room. At the back, a window offered a view of a hellish landscape filled with volcanoes and large pits of lava.

The room was unbearably hot; as he walked, steam rose from his feet, sizzling with every step he took.

"Mahavadha, sir, may I please have a moment?" The executioner pressed forward, unwilling to be dismissed.

The Mahavadha glanced at him with palpable disinterest. Without a word, he attempted to seal the rift behind him, intent on shutting out the nuisance. But before it fully closed, the executioner slipped past the Mahavadha's towering arms and entered the room beside him.

The Mahavadha turned, his eyes blazing like molten fire. "What is the meaning of this, Ciwa?"

Ciwa bowed his head apologetically, his awkward posture betraying his fear and discomfort in addressing his superior.

"Oh, great and mighty Mahavadha! Your relentless dedication to building mass is an inspiration to us all," Ciwa stammered nervously. "May your body reach sizes beyond the limits of human comprehension!"

The Mahavadha stared at him, arms crossed over his chest, tapping his fingers impatiently as the man spoke, poised to throw him out at a moment's notice.

Your passage effectively conveys the tension and urgency of the scene! Here's a revised version with slight adjustments for clarity and flow:

"Y-Yes, my apologies. I-I will get to the point," Ciwa stammered, frantically trying to quell his superior's impatience.

"It's the High Priests! They want to know more about the children they are selecting. Please, I am just the messenger! Don't blame me for what I was asked to do."

The Mahavadha raised an eyebrow and gripped thin air, causing a clay tablet to materialize that he then gently glided into Ciwa's hands.

"These are the remaining disciples," the Mahavadha said, gesturing to the tablet's contents. "It contains their names, the number of steps they took in the first trial, and their current status in the current trial."

While Ciwa continued to peruse the tablet, the Mahavadha began to open another tear in space, its destination the golden hallways of the church.

"I will tolerate no further interruptions. You are dismissed."

Without looking back, he turned away from Ciwa, expecting him to leave, and strode toward his office chair.

But Ciwa did not leave. Instead, he stood awkwardly near the tear in space, an apologetic smile plastered on his face.

"Don't test my patience any further, Ciwa," the Mahavadha warned.

A bead of sweat trickled down Ciwa's forehead as he quickly tried to explain himself. "Since I am already here, I have a teeny tiny request." He gestured with his hands.

"I will soon attempt to form my molten core. I heard you recently returned from the Cloud Temple and acquired a rather large chunk of sky matter at their yearly grand auction."

"You want my sky matter?" The Mahavadha shot Ciwa a hateful look.

"Just a tiny piece," Ciwa pleaded desperately. "I believe I have something that might peak your interest."

Reaching into a bag around his waist, he pulled out a wooden box sealed with a crystal-shaped padlock. Snapping the padlock between his fingers, he sent the box over for the Mahavadha to inspect.

As soon as it landed in his hands, the Mahavadha ripped the lid off its hinges, revealing a black, tear-shaped seed resting on a velvet pillow. "A star grass seed," he muttered, intrigued. Leaning forward in his chair, he scrutinized the seed with a critical eye. "Where did you come across such a rare thing?" he asked Ciwa.

"I found this treasure while hiking the mountain trails behind the city of Trall," Ciwa cautiously explained.

"I had hoped to grow it myself one day, but the resources to do so are far beyond my reach, and over time, its germination potential has weakened. I believe this treasure would be better used in your hands."

"In the mountains of Trall, you found this seed?" A look of disbelief flashed across the Mahavadha's face as he brought the seed even closer, within an inch of his eye.

The seed had a reflective, glossy coat. He brought it up to his nose, inhaling its earthy aroma.

"Wherever you got it from, it seems to be genuine." The Mahavadha offered light praise.

An eager, excited look appeared on Ciwa's face.

But the Mahavadha suddenly sat up in his chair, a realization dawning on him. He quickly tossed the seed onto his desk, but it was too late. In midair, the seed transformed, now resembling a black sewing needle, and with a flash of dark light, it burrowed into the tip of one of the Mahavadha's fingers.

Enraged, he tried to rise from his seat, but found himself unable to muster any strength. The destructive needle tore through his veins, unraveling them from within. As streams of blood erupted from his body.

"Ciwa... why..." the Mahavadha croaked.

He slumped back in his chair, his final breath escaping his throat.

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

Ciwa stared at the Mahavadha's lifeless body, feeling a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Several moments passed in silence before a blue light flickered in his gaze, and a sinister smile crept across his face.

"Pitiful master..." Ciwa shook his head. "Blinded by your obsession with the climb, you failed to see the waves lapping at the shore, eroding the land beneath you and destroying the shelter of the people you claimed to protect."

"We are all suffering—our lives, monotonous and dreary torture."

"While you sat elevated above us, lost in your delusions of fulfillment, we remained at the shore, our hopes and dreams washed away by the relentless tide."

"It is your obliviousness to this decay that has led to your undoing."

Ciwa cast a long, unwavering stare at the Mahavadha's motionless face.

"The Peak of Existence will be reached, and the era of ascent will soon end."

"The demons know this truth better than anyone."

"They have foreseen the great change that will soon be upon us and have warned of its arrival."

"I have seen it too... I have seen what lies beyond the future... what is coming to replace us..."

A solemn but fearful expression darkened Ciwa's eyes. He cleared his throat, pushing away the fear that haunted his thoughts.

"The great obsolescence is coming. No matter how strong you are, it will arrive—without warning, and with no escape."

"There is no salvation for us."

"The climb has lost all its meaning, and your death will mark the beginning of this new era."

Ciwa stepped closer, waving his hand in front of the Mahavadha's vacant eyes, one final check to confirm his demise. Seeing no movement, he began rummaging through his bags, preparing for the next step in his grand plan.

"Now which bag did I put those damn things in..." he muttered, frustration evident in his voice as he searched.

Ciwa's actions were audacious. Even those who knew him well could never have imagined him capable of devising such a sinister plot. He took a deep breath, aware that what he was in the middle of attempting was nothing short of brazen—especially considering who his target had been.

It is hard to describe how incredibly momentous killing the Mahavadha truly was. Known for his unfathomable strength, the Mahavadha stood at the pinnacle of the world's most powerful experts, like an untouchable god.

Feared for his near-limitless divine techniques, none dared to challenge him directly.

This was not only due to his immense ability; the Mahavadha was just obscenely ruthless, slaughtering anyone who dared to approach a level of strength comparable to his.

This continuous massacre of many of the world's top experts created an insurmountable gap between the Mahavadha and those beneath him.

Yet, despite his overbearing demeanor, the Mahavadha was not always a figure of hatred. For much of the ten thousand years of his rule, he brought prosperity to those who stayed beneath his dominion.

Hidden behind his violent and unforgiving demeanor was a generous and pragmatic leader, who showed genuine kindness and care to those deemed worthy of it.

But the only absolute truth in life is that things won't stay the same. Just as an immovable rock can be worn down by the wind or unstoppable rain can be absorbed by the earth, the new will become the old and the old will become obsolete.

The Mahavadha was no exception. Caught in the flux of it all, the once great strength of his, the love and charitability he showed to his people, was now his greatest flaw.

And it was this vulnerability that Ciwa had so ruthlessly exploited.

The assassination attempt, the culmination of a painstaking four-hundred-year plan, had finally come to life. During those long years, Ciwa had endured countless hardships and setbacks, driven by an unwavering desire for revenge. He made meticulous preparations, evaded suspicion, and climbed the ranks until he attained the respected position of Elder Priest. With great patience, and leveraging his newfound status, along with the Mahavadha's unwavering trust in his highest-ranking disciples, Ciwa had finally managed to catch the Mahavadha alone and off guard.

His plan had worked flawlessly.

The Mahavadha was truly dead. Ciwa had done it. The mighty figure's flesh and blood lay exposed on the sizzling hot office floor. The hardest part was over.

But Ciwa knew better than to grow overconfident; even in death, the Mahavadha might have left behind contingencies that could turn the tables and lead to his downfall.

For a long time, Ciwa had theorized that the Mahavadha possessed the legendary resurrection stone—a relic rumored to grant a second chance at life if soaked in the blood of a recently deceased person.

Ciwa was determined not to let that happen. He had prepared for all potential dangers, bringing with him many strange and profound items. Finally, he pulled out the objects he sought from his bag—a black tube and an ornately etched cup. The ominous aura of the two objects seemed to stir the blood that lay inside the room.

Using the tube like a straw, he crouched down and gently dipped one end into the pool of blood, sucking small amounts of Mahavadha's blood into his mouth before spitting it into the cup beside him.

The process was painstakingly slow. The Mahavadha's blood was unnaturally dense, making even a small amount feel impossibly heavy as it entered his mouth.

As he worked, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, which he quickly wiped away. Trepidation wracked his mind as he frantically tried to assess whether he had miscalculated anything.

But everything seemed normal. The Mahavadha's body remained completely still, unmoving since he had collapsed.

Despite Ciwa's vigilance, the Mahavadha's schemes were still in motion, concealed in plain sight, waiting to unfold.

Hidden within the Mahavadha's blood, tiny microscopic fragments of golden rock floated, blending seamlessly with their surroundings. Encased in airtight protective shells, they initially couldn't interact with anything around them.

However, once exposed to the outside air, the protective shells began to dissolve. Now able to move freely within the blood, the fragments started locating one another, slowly clumping together.

Before Ciwa could notice what was happening, it was already too late.

The tiny golden fragments coalesced rapidly, drawn together like magnets, forming an egg-sized golden rock within the large pool of blood on the floor.

Now visible, Ciwa stared at the stone, his anxiety mounting as all the Mahavadha's blood in the room began to stir and tremble.

In an instant, the blood funneled violently into the rock, forming a massive whirlpool.

The cup and straw exploded in a burst of black smoke as the blood was forcefully sucked into the swirling vortex at the heart of the room.

Ciwa collapsed to the floor, clutching his jaw in agony as blood was violently pulled from his mouth, draining him. Paralyzed with fear, he could only watch, dreading what was about to unfold.

The bloody whirlpool finally ceased, leaving behind a human-sized golden egg.

A sharp crack rang out as the top of the egg burst open, revealing a naked Mahavadha, reborn within. His eyes burned with fury as boundless as the universe itself, locking onto Ciwa.

With a single clap of his hands, Ciwa's body crumpled like paper, his flesh and blood compressed into a small, grape-sized sphere.

The Mahavadha emerged from inside the golden egg and calmly walked over to claim what remained of Ciwa.

As he examined the red sphere in his palm, tears began to leak down his face.

"Ciwa, you poor, foolish child... My church has given you so much love and room to grow, yet you threw it all away for what?"

He dried his eyes with his free hand before glancing at his main body, which still appeared in a dreadful state. With another clasp of his hands, his body transformed into a second red sphere. With a wave, the new sphere floated into his palm.

Squeezing the retrieved red ball between his fingers, a black needle emerged from within. Drawing a cube with his free hand, he trapped the needle within the confined space. Getting closer, he began to study the quarantined needle.

"Interesting... This needle seems to possess some demonic property."

"Whoever made this must possess quite the talent to fool my keen eyes," the Mahavadha mused, scratching his beard. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind, and his expression darkened with anger. He grasped the cube in his hand, squeezing it until the confined space could take no more, and it exploded with a loud bang.

"Damn it all! Of all people, how could I be impressed by some second-rate demonic treasure?" he cursed, his voice laced with frustration. In a fit of rage, he tossed the two red spheres into his mouth, crunching them loudly between his teeth. "When did I become so weak?"

As the spheres cracked between his teeth, his frustration faded, replaced by a cold, unwavering determination.

"It seems another demon of change has been brought into this world," he muttered coldly to himself. "Bring it on! I fear no change; I look forward to seeing what dares stand in the way of my ascent."

Savoring the taste of the red spheres, he licked his lips. "Oh, Ciwa... If only you'd lived another two thousand years. Perhaps then I could've used this snack as a catalyst for my attempt to reach critical mass."

He let out a long sigh, clasping his hands together in a brief moment of prayer. "For your efforts in showing me my own shortcomings, I dedicate this training session to you. May you finally rest in peace, Ciwa."

As he finished, a white mist began to emanate from his stomach. Seeing the mist, he quickly strode toward the back window. With a swift movement technique, he passed through the wall and descended into the magma pool below, disappearing amid the plumes of lava.