With a deafening clash, the two swords collided. Again and again, in a series of metallic flashes, they struck relentlessly.
Maximus and his clone were locked in a fierce duel.
Despite the brutality of their exchanges, they seemed evenly matched. But upon closer inspection, their fighting styles were vastly different.
The clone fought with grace and precision, while Maximus relied mostly on raw strength.
He counted on his speed and quick reflexes to counter the attacks. His movements were more primal, almost beast-like, but he wasn't going all out.
Physically, he far outclassed his opponent. With every blow exchanged, he sought to learn a little more about swordsmanship.
"Every fight will help me compensate for what I lack in technique," he thought.
Back on Earth, he neither had the time nor the patience to find a master to teach him the basics.
If he faced an enemy he knew he could easily defeat, he might as well use the opportunity to train.
"Given how this opponent improves with each exchange, it's clear that those I meet as I climb these steps will become stronger and stronger. There will come a time when my physical abilities won't be enough," he reflected.
Maximus still hadn't figured out how to enhance the star within him. He couldn't boost his constitution nor nourish his body to become more powerful.
He was stuck, unable to grow stronger except through experience or by optimizing his body for combat.
With these thoughts, the fight continued. With each clash, Maximus observed more closely how his opponent wielded his sword.
He learned to make his grip more fluid, to loosen his movements, and to be lighter on his feet.
For what seemed like an eternity, the only sounds in the air were the clanging of swords.
No other noise broke the silence.
Swiish-clang, swoosh-tchinn, swoosh-clang
The two fighters appeared evenly matched. However, Maximus' rigid fighting style, clearly that of someone who had never held a sword before, was improving before his eyes.
Like a mirror, he mimicked his opponent's movements.
Maximus had grasped several basic sword techniques: lunging to strike, parrying to defend, and slashing to counterattack.
With these three moves, he held his ground against the clone, all while limiting his reliance on brute force.
For a while longer, he focused not just on copying his opponent but on embedding these movements into his muscle memory.
Once he felt he had nothing more to learn, he unleashed his full power. With one powerful strike, he cleanly severed the clone's head.
The body crumpled, and the head rolled to the ground before dissipating into thin air. Wasting no time, Maximus grabbed the clone's sword before it could disappear.
As soon as he touched it, the weapon reverted to its original form.
He then turned toward the yellow staircase that had just appeared.
As he ascended, he absorbed the particles emitted from the steps to recover from the accumulated fatigue.
But that wasn't all.
His body began to change subtly, not in raw strength, but more like a statue being reshaped, as if sculpted from clay.
From his arms to his legs, and along his back, his muscles were subtly redefined.
Maximus gritted his teeth from the pain but bore it. It wasn't as unbearable as the first time, and he was slowly getting used to it.
Rather than resisting the pain, he chose to adapt to it.
As he climbed the steps, his body became more suited for combat, especially for swordsmanship.
His shoulders narrowed for better weapon handling, his hips strengthened to ease dodges and parries, and his footwork became more stable, optimizing his stance.
Despite these transformations, Maximus had little control over the process.
He merely expressed his will, and his body adjusted within the limits of what it could achieve, striving toward an ideal form for a warrior.
The immediate power gains might have been slight, but he knew this was only the beginning.
As he neared the next platform, the majority of the reshaping was complete. The changes were now almost imperceptible, but their effects were already evident.
Under his black T-shirt, stained with blood and torn at the shoulder, his muscles appeared more compact, favoring agility without sacrificing strength.
This was most visible in his shoulders and lower back.
Under his gray pants, ripped at the knees, his calves seemed more toned, and if one were to inspect his feet, they would appear more solid, improving his footing.
After a quick glance at the results of this transformation, Maximus quickened his pace.
Moments later, he reached the yellow platform.
"I wonder what all these colors mean..." he mused.
Unfortunately for Maximus, his scientific education was limited. Even at university, he had only followed a literary path.
Otherwise, he might have guessed that these colors followed the order of the light spectrum.
He set foot on the platform, and as usual, a figure began to materialize.Within moments, a clone of him appeared.
And, just like before, this one outclassed the previous in every way. He was taller, more muscular, with slightly more pronounced muscles.
His armor appeared more durable, and his sword, of better quality. Even his gaze was sharper.
He was stronger, better equipped, and smarter than the others. And yet, he was no real threat.
As always, Maximus charged at his opponent. With his sword, he displayed all the mastery of swordsmanship he had acquired.
However, he was still inferior to his opponent in this regard.
But he wasn't discouraged. Each minute spent fighting enriched him, allowing him to acquire his opponent's skills.
Feints, thrusts, and parries... He learned faster and faster. The increasing strength of his enemies forced him to accelerate his learning.
Like a sponge, he absorbed every detail, from his opponent's movements to his breathing.
Where it once took him nearly an hour to finish the battle, this time it took ten minutes less than the previous encounter.
Once he had learned all he could from his opponent—who could almost be considered a training partner—he decapitated him.
"Next."
And so, the cycle repeated itself endlessly.
From the yellow platform he had left for the green, then the blue, and finally the indigo, Maximus relentlessly repeated the same pattern.
He would learn all he could from his opponents before severing their heads once he had finished.
Yet, these adversaries grew increasingly powerful: taller, stronger, faster. They gained in awareness, intelligence, and cunning.
Their armor gleamed, reflecting their growing solidity.
Their swords too became ever more refined, covered in mysterious engravings that, over time, rendered them sharper.
These engravings, drawn from condensed energy, imbued their blades with an inexplicable edge.
However, none of this changed the fact that Maximus defeated them faster and faster. It wasn't that his strength increased — in fact, it remained constant.
Rather, his opponents gained so much power that he could no longer afford to restrain his own if he wanted to prolong the battles and learn more.
With each confrontation, his body restructured itself to optimize his movements, improve his swordsmanship, and make the most of his physical capabilities.
All the energy he had previously wasted on unnecessary movements was now fully devoted to combat. He had evolved from a novice to a body perfectly attuned to the martial arts.
As the duels went on, he took every opportunity to perfect not only his swordsmanship but also his martial arts skills.
His opponents were no longer limited to swords; they used their fists and legs to fight him.
It was disorienting at first, but he quickly adapted.
After all this time spent fighting, he now stood on the indigo platform.
He picked up the sword of his defeated opponent and placed down the one he had used. This was his sixth platform, and he hoped the next one would be the last.
He hoped so because he could feel he could not maintain this pace much longer. He was exhausted, and although he had triumphed, he was not far from defeat.
He had only barely surpassed his last opponent in physical abilities. Tired, he already dreaded the arrival of the next one, who would surely be stronger than him.
He then made his way to the violet staircase that had appeared.
He hesitated before ascending, feeling an oppressive force and raw power emanating from it.
But he resigned himself and began climbing the steps. The particles he absorbed were far more intense than those before, instantly dissipating all the accumulated fatigue.
A sense of euphoria, different from the previous times, overtook him. His cells regenerated, and he felt full of energy. Strangely, he even felt slightly stronger.
The continuous restructuring of his body seemed to have accelerated, and he could feel this energy nourishing his muscles.
Although subtle, the effect was undeniable. This energy seemed to have pushed beyond the limits of his functions.
"Perhaps violet is far more significant than the other colors," he mused.
After a brief moment, he arrived on a platform of primordial intensity.
A figure began to condense, but this time, something unexpected happened. The violet platform shone with a blinding light, emitting an immense energy of the same color.
As if drawn by a black hole, the figure accelerated its formation in the air. In no time, it appeared and floated slightly before setting its feet on the ground.
The moment he saw it, Maximus gasped, shocked:
"Damn, what is this? A god !?"
He couldn't help but have this reaction. This clone, bearing his same features, was terrifyingly perfect.
Standing two meters tall, his body, sculpted beneath obsidian armor, seemed as dense as that of a deity.
His chiseled face resembled that of a Greek god, framed by long black hair cascading over his shoulders.
But what struck the most were his eyes, a deep sapphire blue, filled with sovereign serenity.
Before Maximus could recover from his shock, the clone charged at the speed of a train, swinging his rune-engraved sword.
Maximus raised his own to block, but immediately, the bones in his arm shattered under the force of the impact.
Gritting his teeth, he struck the clone's throat with his other hand, buying just enough time to twist his arm back into place.
"Aaahhhhh!" he screamed in agony as he executed the movement, all the while absorbing particles to hasten his healing.
His adversary, however, gave him no respite and charged again.
The same scenario repeated itself, and with each blow, Maximus' arm broke again under the titanic strength.
For five minutes, the scene played out over and over. Maximus suffered, his body and mind utterly shattered by the pain.
But he held on, resisting purely to survive. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
He refused to die here, alone, in the middle of this unknown dimension. It wasn't his desire, it wasn't his dream.
Dying without realizing what drove his fight against destiny...
It wasn't death he feared, but the absence of meaning in his existence.
A profound desire to live blazed within him as he endured the blows, his bones breaking like branches beneath his opponent's sword.
He fought with all his might, and despite his shattered arms, he managed to push his enemy back.
In a primal roar, like a cornered beast, he screamed:
"I WILL NOT DIE HERE! WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE THAT? I WILL LIVE AMONG THE STARS OF THE COSMOS! I WILL DIE BENEATH THEIR DEATH AND OUTLIVE THEM! MY LIGHT IS INEVITABLE! I, MAXIMUS, WILL BE THE STAR THAT NEVER DIMS!"
Suddenly, he did something he had never imagined. He absorbed all the surrounding energy.
His body cracked under the pressure, his muscles swelled to the extreme, nearing the point of explosion.
He forced himself to contain this power as blood seeped from his pores and nose. Without wasting a moment, he concentrated this energy into his legs, leaping at a speed close to that of a jet.
His muscles tore, his legs dislocated, but he charged straight at the clone.
Channeling the same energy into his arms, which were on the verge of breaking, he raised his sword with both hands.
He prepared for the collision with his adversary, who raised his sword to block the attack.
Maximus, in a soul-rending cry, shouted:
"Let there be My Light!"
The impact was deafening. A massive explosion echoed, shattering Maximus' arms and crushing his lungs under the force.
He spat blood as he drove his sword into his enemy's left chest.
The clone's sword shattered under the violence of the blow.
Moments later, the life left his enemy's body, which dissipated into dust, unlike the others, as if it had been more real.
Everything on the platform vanished, from the swords to the blood that stained the ground.
As for Maximus, he lay broken from head to toe, teetering on the edge of death. Yet, the next moment, there was nothing.
Maximus found himself in the same room where he awaited the next trial, fully healed, as if it had all been an illusion.
But a message appeared before his eyes, reminding him that it was not:
[In your ascent of the stairway, you have overcome the obstacles on the path to your ascension.]
[For you, the greatest obstacles are not overcome by luck, nor by talent, but by brute strength, blood shed, and pain endured. Every wound is proof of your existence and that suffering did not defeat you.]
[Darkness only feeds your light. Pain only amplifies its brilliance. And evil only stirs your soul further.]
[You embody the Soul's Resurgence.]
[A new path is forged.]
[Your story shines more brightly.]
[End of the 3rd Trial]