The arena darkened—and from below, twisted shapes coalesced into full nightmares: Mirage Krakens with tendrils of glass, Sting Wyrms that wept acid, and drowned warriors with broken tridents and coral-ridden armor. These weren’t beasts—these were cursed memories born of forgotten deaths.
Marina stood bloodied, skin glistening with cuts and mist, her eyes now gleaming with deep violet. She breathed in slow.
Each kill fed her Blackmist. The decay intensified. Her aura deepened.
But so did her wounds.
This chapter is updated by Novel~Fire. (n)et
Her ribs ached. Her ankle throbbed. And her skin—it was peeling in places where her own corruption brushed too close.
Then came the one that silenced even the water itself.
A Death Stinger. Jet-black, eel-like, its body sleek and silent, its bladed snout a soul-cutter—feared not for its size, but for the countless it had slain in Mirio’s trials. It was silent death, perfected.
And now it set its eyes on her.
She flinched just in time—a hair-width slash marking her cheek, flesh already numbing from the venom. She recoiled, unleashing a whip of Blackmist to ensnare—but the Stinger spun, its tail moving faster than her eyes could track. It cracked across her side like a thunderclap.
She hit the ground hard. Mist scattered.
Pain exploded in her ribs. She tasted iron.
The Guardian’s voice echoed from above—calm, cruel, eternal:
"Only true hardship unlocks the next seal. Stand, or fade into the reef of the forgotten."
She spat blood. Her hand trembled against the stone.
Her core throbbed. Blackmist roiled around her like a living tide. The water near her feet turned dark—filthy with rot and silent fury. Her body glowed dimly now, mist coiling from every wound, feeding on her pain, transmuting it into raw erosion.
The Stinger struck again.
This time, it found nothing.
Marina moved like vapor—low, fast, formless. She slid beneath it, her hand rising in a graceful arc. A spike of Blackmist jetted from her palm, piercing upward through its underside, drilling through cartilage and brain. No screech followed. Just violent spasms and stillness.
She gasped, blackened steam rising from her back. Her arms trembled.
But her eyes... they blazed.
More creatures formed in the dark distance, dozens, hundreds—some real, some illusion, all lethal.
Marina whispered into the decaying tide, "Then I’ll reach a thousand. Even if I dissolve with them."
And she dove headfirst into the next wave—Blackmist blooming behind her like a goddamn storm.
The moment her feet left the ground, Marina launched into the wave of monsters with zero hesitation.
The first creature lunged—mandibles wide. She ducked under, drove a spike of Blackmist through its jaw, and moved on without looking back.
Another brute came at her, four arms swinging. She rolled beneath its strike, formed a spear from condensed mist, and rammed it through its gut. It dropped. She didn’t stop.
A pack of bonehounds charged next. She hit the first in the neck with a burst of Blackmist, then kicked off its corpse and spun mid-air, slicing through the next two. The rest tried to surround her. She detonated a mist field, cutting them down.
More enemies came—larger ones. Horned beasts, armored lizards, winged predators. She kept moving. Every strike was fast, direct, and lethal. She used her environment—walls, corpses, even broken limbs—to keep her momentum.
Claws scraped her side. A tail slammed into her back. She rolled, stood, killed two more. Her breath was short, her grip unsteady, but she kept going.
They came in endless waves.
She used spears, blades, whips—all formed from Blackmist. Her hands bled from overuse, her legs shook, but she didn’t slow down.
She stopped counting injuries.
Flesh torn, ribs cracked, vision blurry—she kept moving. Her attacks were simple. Strike, step, stab. No wasted movement.
She was soaked in blood. Her own and theirs. She kept killing.
She couldn’t speak. Only breathe. Hit. Kill.
A massive beast—twenty feet tall—charged her. She didn’t dodge. She jumped. Drove a spike through its eye. Rode it to the ground.
Her arms were heavy. She used knees, elbows, even her teeth to finish kills when her weapons faltered.
More came. Bigger. Faster.
She slipped once. Took a hit to the stomach. Almost dropped. Stabbed the creature from the ground. Got back up.
Every part of her screamed to stop. But she moved forward.
More beasts. More blood.
She reached one thousand kills exactly.
The final creature fell, its body dissolving into the floor.
She stood in the center of the arena, barely breathing, arms hanging limp, her body shaking from exhaustion. But she was still standing.
The trial was complete.
As her body beagn to vanish from here as she closed her eyes.
Marina blinked awake at the long stone table, steam rising from the plates before her. Her skin was slick with half-dried sweat and blood from the last trial, her hair still damp as if she’d barely escaped drowning—which, in a way, she had. The scent of grilled meats, fresh breads, and spiced root vegetables hung in the air like incense, an anchor to the living world.
Asher, lazily chewing on something skewered and roasted, looked at her sidelong. "If you’re conscious, you can use your tail to pick up your spoon," he said with a faint smirk, eyes half-lidded. "Food’s not gonna feed itself."
Marina, bleary and half-slumped, groaned and slowly reached for her utensils. "You’re enjoying this too much..."
Veyra chuckled softly as she elegantly sliced through her meal, not a speck of blood visible on her despite the battles she had once faced. Catherine leaned forward slightly, curiosity alight in her violet eyes.
"What are your trials about?" Catherine asked, resting her chin in her palm as she regarded Marina. "They seem... brutal."
Marina took a slow breath and didn’t respond right away. Her fork paused in midair, then continued to her mouth. After swallowing, she set it down and let out a long sigh.
"Yeah, they are brutal. Honestly, I thought I’d just have to answer some riddles, sing a few songs, maybe seduce a spirit or two—like a true Siren. But instead? I’m fighting monstrous creatures that kill millions every cycle just on Mirorn alone. And then they told me I had to survive ten waves, each filled with a hundred different kinds of monsters."
She exhaled again and leaned back slightly. "You know, I used to think my strength was in seduction and illusion. That’s what we Sirens are good at, right? But now... now I’m shaping my inner bedrock. This Blackmist—it’s no longer just a trick or temptation. It’s becoming a weapon. A combat force."
She glanced at the others. "The trials feel like a reflection of myself. Less about who I pretended to be... and more about what I can really become."
Her voice softened as she looked down at her plate, pushing some food aside with her fork. "I’ll probably have to fight again soon. So I’m just trying to enjoy this meal... while my tongue still works and my body isn’t torn apart."
She didn’t speak again, eyes heavy, head resting lazily against the chair as if every breath was precious before the next storm.
The others didn’t disturb her.
Even Veyra, usually sharp-tongued, kept quiet, glancing at Marina from time to time with a thoughtful gaze. Freya just smiled faintly, sipping from a cold fruit drink, while Catherine passed Marina a plate of soft rolls without a word. Valeris had leaned back with his arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded, simply watching the steam curl into the air like ghosts fading into silence.
Asher, though resting, kept one eye open—half out of habit, half because he could feel the pressure mounting again. Something unseen was shifting.
An hour passed in this strange stillness. Even with laughter now and then, with gentle warmth and lazy drifting in the hot spring pool, an unspoken tension hung in the air. As if the realm itself held its breath.
A deep vibration, low and resonant, rolled through the seabed beneath them like a summoned heartbeat. The soulfire torches flickered. The mist parted, and a new current slithered in—colder, heavier.
She didn’t even need to be told. Her black-mist-lined eyes fluttered open, her hand trailing across the table’s edge as she rose. The air around her had changed. As if her body had already recognized what was coming before her mind could name it.
The third trial had begun.
A shimmering doorway of water and glass bloomed at the far end of the pool—far deeper than the others, like a chasm wrapped in silk. It pulsed with an eerie, siren-like song, far too low to hear, but felt in the bones. Without hesitation, Marina stepped toward it, black mist coiling behind her like a quiet shadow.
As she passed by the others, Asher finally spoke. "Best of luck"
She cracked a small grin but didn’t turn back. "Thank you"