The chamber erupted into chaos.
"No! Please!"
"Father…!"
"Why..? Why did you—"
"I LOVE YOU! PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME."
Students who'd just awakened from their illusion-induced stupor began screaming, some clawing at their faces as if trying to peel away another layer of deception.
"H-hik… hik…"
"No way, no way, no way, no way. I… I grew old with my wife."
"I fought wars in there! You bastards! I lost my wife and children—!"
"Please don't let this be real…"
Others curled into fetal positions, rocking back and forth while muttering incoherently.
"Make it stop!" A girl to my right shrieked, her fingers digging into her scalp until tiny beads of blood appeared.
"How do I know this is real? How do I know YOU'RE real?"
I tried to stand, but my legs felt like they were made of lead. The stone floor beneath me seemed to pulse with malevolent energy, sending waves of doubt crashing through my mind.
"What if I'm still trapped?" a boy sobbed. "What if I never left home? What if I'm dying in my bed right now?"
The questions echoed my own spiraling thoughts.
"Shit… Shit, shit, shit."
My heart hammered against my ribs as I struggled to separate reality from fiction. Had I ever truly been an author? Had I really died and been reincarnated? Or was that just another layer of the illusion?
Which world did I exist in, again? This one? The other one?
Did I suffer through a totally different life as the others around me had?
"Gods…"
I pressed my palms against the cold stone, trying to ground myself.
The moment my skin made contact, a fresh surge of doubt flooded through me.
The thoughts grew exponentially worse.
Was I… even thinking right now? Or was something else writing me into existence? A hand that transcended fate and dimensions to force me into this DAMN WORLD OF SUFFERING?!
HUH?!
TELL ME.
TELL ME. TELL ME. TELL ME. TELL ME. TELL ME. TELL ME.
TELL ME.TELL ME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELL ME.
TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELL ME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELL ME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELL ME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELL ME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.TELLME.
TELL ME THIS IS REAL.
Please…
—Crack.
Something shifted within me. I felt it just then. A cold bout of sheer unbearable predatory intent. The desire to kill and consume.
It bubbled up from somewhere beyond my body.
"…Ah,"
It was my shadow.
—Ding!
[> WIL: B-Rank (48/243) [Hidden: D-Rank (13/27) -> A-Rank (534/729)]
…Well shit?
That… I see. That made sense. Suddenly the world became a little bit clearer.
Though it didn't bear the same clarity as before, I could at least force the doubts back.
—And think naturally.
I tore my hands off of the stone floor. The doubts weakened. That blasted psychological projection waned.
Then, I lifted my body.
—Ah.
It felt like ascending from the depths of hell.
I understood the mechanism — the doubts increased the more one wallowed in despair. The more one refused to stand tall…
The more terrifying the crisis became.
The floor wasn't just stone—it was enchanted, specifically designed to amplify our uncertainty until it consumed us.
Professor Brhaisse watched impassively as students broke down around her. This wasn't just an exam—it was psychological torture.
"Stop fighting it," she advised with a chuckle, her voice cutting through the cacophony of despair. "The more you resist, the stronger it becomes."
As if that would help.
Bitch.
I gritted my teeth, focusing on the insignia on my hand. That had to be real. It had to be.
"Willpower," I muttered to myself. "It's about motherfucking willpower."
The floor's enchantment seemed to sense my resistance, doubling down on its assault. Visions flashed before my eyes—my sister at my deathbed, the novel I'd written, the Shadow Demon I'd become—all of it called into question.
Was any of it real? Was I real?
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my [WIL] attribute. If there was ever a time I needed it, it was now.
My shadow already helped. All that I had to do now was…
Walk forward.
Damn it legs.
WALK. FORWARD.
PLEASE.
* * *
Arcine was a mess.
A total psychological mess.
However…
—Step.
—Step.
—Step.
Like a lumbering giant — like Atlas, who held up the sky in Greek Mythology.
A man on the verge of zombification, cursed with knowing that his family was behind him.
A dying mother carrying her newborn child.
Although Arcine could not match the willpower of such beings…
He was close.
Pretty close.
But it was enough. Enough to pull up one foot after the other. Dragging his weight one step at a time.
—Step.
—Step.
—Step.
The doubts continued to claw at him like dark hands pulling down. If he fell once more, he would drown.
Nothing would be able to pull him out.
After all, such was the bane of a transmigrator. Doubting reality? A common troupe.
Now, it bit at his heels like ravenous wolves.
And yet.
—Step.
—Step.
—Step.
It was a march towards the final oasis.
—Thud.
And he made it to the end.
…Along with the others. Bloody, bruised, gasping for air.
Some had crawled their way to the end, biting their lips until it bled. Crying out yet pulling themselves forward nonetheless.
Those left behind vanished into thin air.
Rescued moments before their own deaths.
Their fate was a wiped memory of Shyveon's exams. All they would see would be their failure — a recording of their cries.
It was a necessary psychological magic. Otherwise, they would be scarred for life.
As for Arcine…
And the others who passed…
They would not have such a luxury.
Now, they would have to live with those scars. Scars that would make them stronger. More resilient.
More unyielding.
Even if the world was an illusion, to have the strength to continue, was nothing short of heroic.
Such was the ideals that Shyveon upheld. The reason why humanity still survived with such grandeur until today.
This was the indomitable human spirit.
An undying flame.