Zami tightened his grip on his katana, its edge glowing faintly with the lingering heat of his own blood. He stood amidst the endless void, his silver eyes fixated on the radiant figure before him. Its crown of light remained untouched, the spiked platforms hovering around it like silent sentinels.
He lunged.
With each swing of his katana, Zami poured every ounce of his strength and precision into his attacks. He employed all his techniques—*Wild Cat Flow* to disrupt the creature's movements, *Precision Strike* to exploit any opening, and *Blood Cell Explosion* to imbue his weapon with crimson fire. His movements were a symphony of desperation and determination.
But it was futile.
The figure did not falter.
Every slash, every punch, every ounce of his being thrown into the battle was answered by a cold, unyielding counter. The radiant figure adapted effortlessly, conjuring spikes and barriers that crushed Zami again and again.
And each time, Zami fell.
The deaths were agonizing. His chest was pierced by countless spikes, his limbs torn apart, his body crushed under the weight of platforms. The void itself became his grave, only for him to rise anew.
Revival after revival, he faced the figure, only to die once more.
"Why?" Zami whispered after his 117th death, his body trembling as he revived yet again. His voice cracked, the words clawing at his throat. "What do they want from me?"
Karesh's voice echoed faintly in his mind, weary and uncertain. "They're testing you... but this... this is beyond a test. They're watching to see if you break."
Zami staggered to his feet, his katana dragging against the endless terrain. He glared at the figure, his silver eyes reflecting its blinding light.
"If they think I'll give up... they're wrong."
He lunged once more, his body screaming in protest. The radiant figure moved with eerie precision, its spikes piercing through his chest. Zami's blood spilled like a river, staining the void in dark red.
And yet, he fought on.
He combined his techniques in devastating combos, pushing his body far beyond its limits. *Adrenaline Surge* heightened his focus, but his muscles tore with each movement. *Night Sun* lit the battlefield, but his arms burned under the strain. His katana roared with crimson flames as he unleashed *Blood cell explosion* combined with *Multiple Slashes*, but the figure remained unscathed.
With every death, Zami felt a piece of himself erode—a fragment of his sanity slipping away.
After his 203rd revival, he stood motionless, his katana hanging limply by his side. The radiant figure watched him, its presence unchanging, its form as immaculate as ever.
"What do you want?" Zami muttered, his voice barely audible. His body shook, not with fear, but with exhaustion. "What do you want to see?"
The figure raised its hand, spikes forming in the air around it.
Zami closed his eyes.
For a moment, he felt the weight of the entities' gaze upon him. They weren't just watching his struggle—they were studying his resolve, dissecting his willpower.
"They don't care if I win or lose," he realized, his voice grim. "They want to see if I'll keep getting up."
Karesh's voice was faint, a whisper in the chaos. "Zami, it's not about defeating this thing. It's about proving you won't stop. They want to see if you'll rise, no matter how many times you fall."
Zami opened his eyes, his silver irises burning with renewed determination.
"If that's what they want," he said, tightening his grip on his katana, "then they'll never see me break."
He charged once more, his katana igniting in a crimson blaze. His body was a wreck, his spirit battered, but his resolve was unyielding.
Death was inevitable, but so was his revival.
And he would keep rising, again and again.