The cold air of the arena bit at Ethan's skin as he stepped over the shattered remains of his latest opponent. The once-deafening crowd had grown eerily silent, watching with bated breath. His victory in the second trial was not a surprise—it was a statement. His ruthlessness had begun to set him apart.
The Warden's chilling voice echoed once more across the blood-soaked grounds. "Impressive, *Darius Morgath*. But the *Trial of Betrayal* does not end so simply. The next phase is upon you. Step forward, and face your true test."
The massive gates on the far side of the arena groaned open, revealing a dark corridor lit only by the faint glow of ethereal green flames. Ethan's instincts sharpened as he stepped forward, the shadows of the arena clinging to him like a second skin.
The remaining survivors from the trial—five in total—followed reluctantly behind him. Each wore a mixture of exhaustion and guarded determination. Ethan had fought alongside some of them briefly in the chaos, but he had no illusions. These were not comrades—they were obstacles waiting to be removed.
A man with sharp eyes and a scar running down his cheek matched Ethan's stride. "You fought well, Morgath," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "Perhaps we should join forces for what's next."
Ethan glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps," he replied, his tone cold. He didn't bother to give his name in return. Relationships built on pretense had no future here.
The group entered a vast chamber at the end of the corridor. The walls pulsed faintly, as if alive, the green flames casting unsettling shadows. In the center of the room stood a large, black pedestal. Upon it rested an obsidian dagger, its blade etched with runes that seemed to writhe when looked at directly.
The Warden's voice filled the chamber, its chilling authority unmistakable. "The *Trial of Betrayal* is simple. This dagger holds the power to eliminate any opponent with a single strike—no defenses, no magic can protect against its edge. But only one may wield it, and only one may leave this chamber alive."
The room erupted into chaos. The five survivors turned on each other almost instantly, weapons drawn, their trust shattered. Ethan remained motionless, his sharp eyes analyzing every movement, every swing, every desperate betrayal. He had no intention of rushing into the fray like a fool.
A woman clad in lightweight armor—Agatha, as he'd overheard—stabbed her dagger into the back of a larger man who had hesitated a second too long. Blood spurted from his wound as he crumpled, his expression one of betrayal. But Agatha didn't have time to celebrate her kill.
Ethan struck without hesitation. He moved like a shadow, his blade cutting through the air. Agatha's eyes widened as Ethan's sword pierced her chest, the light in her eyes fading as she fell to the ground.
Two down. Three to go.
The remaining survivors circled each other warily, their eyes darting between the obsidian dagger and their enemies. The scarred man who had spoken earlier eyed Ethan with a mixture of fear and calculation.
"You can't win this alone, Morgath," the scarred man said, his voice edged with desperation. "You'll need me to get the dagger. Let's take them out together, then settle this between us."
Ethan tilted his head slightly, as if considering the offer. He took a single step closer, his sword lowered. "I'll think about it."
The man's relief was palpable. "Good—"
The words died in his throat as Ethan's sword flashed. The strike was swift and precise, severing the man's throat before he could react. Blood sprayed, and the scarred man collapsed in a gurgling heap.
The remaining two survivors—a wiry man wielding twin short swords and a heavily armored brute carrying a war hammer—watched the exchange in stunned silence. Ethan turned his gaze toward them, his expression cold and unfeeling.
The wiry man made the first move, his blades spinning in a deadly dance. But Ethan had already studied his style during the earlier skirmishes. He dodged the attacks with ease, his movements fluid and economical. The brute, seeing an opportunity, charged at Ethan from the side, his war hammer swinging in a wide arc.
Ethan ducked under the swing, closing the distance between himself and the wiry man. With a brutal upward thrust, his sword pierced the man's stomach, twisting to ensure the kill. As the wiry man fell, Ethan turned his attention to the brute, who let out a roar of fury.
The war hammer came down with devastating force, but Ethan sidestepped at the last moment, the weapon smashing into the ground with a thunderous impact. Before the brute could recover, Ethan struck, his sword carving through the man's exposed neck. The brute collapsed with a heavy thud, his life extinguished.
Silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the sound of Ethan's steady breathing. The dagger sat untouched on the pedestal, its dark runes pulsing faintly.
"You are stronger than I anticipated," The Warden's voice rang out, echoing in the chamber. "But strength alone will not see you through. Do you dare take up the dagger, knowing the price it demands?"
Ethan stepped forward, his expression unreadable. He reached out, his hand hovering over the dagger. The air around it pulsed with dark energy, and the whispers of countless souls filled his ears.
Power. Absolute power.
Ethan grasped the dagger, its hilt cold and unyielding. The moment his fingers wrapped around it, a surge of energy flooded his body, searing through him like fire. He staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain as the runes burned into his skin, marking him.
When the pain subsided, Ethan stood taller, his presence radiating a newfound authority. The dagger seemed to hum in his grip, its runes glowing faintly.
The Warden's voice was filled with approval. "You have proven yourself, Darius Morgath. The *Trial of Betrayal* is complete. You have embraced the darkness within you, as all great conquerors must. But your journey is far from over."
The chamber began to fade, the shadows swallowing everything around him. As the world dissolved into darkness, Ethan's thoughts were cold and clear. He had taken another step toward his ultimate goal, but he knew the cost would only grow heavier.
To conquer this world, he would need more than strength—he would need to become the darkness itself.