The mirrored walls here show fewer reflections, instead displaying what appear to be scenes from elsewhere in the Trial—other teams facing their own challenges, instructors monitoring from control rooms bathed in blue light, and most disturbingly, Thorne watching a specific viewing pool with intense concentration that makes his face look carved from marble.
“They’re tracking us,” Iris notes, pointing to one mirror showing Hunter officials gathered around a tactical display of the Maze. A pulsing red dot marks our current position, with directional indicators suggesting planned interception. “Look at that formation—they’re not just observing.”
“Not just tracking,” I realize with growing dread that sits in my stomach like swallowed ice. “Hunting.”
My bound shadows report new energy signatures approaching—larger creatures than the wraiths, their movements coordinated and purposeful. The scent of their approach reaches us first: decay mixed with predatory musk and something that smells like burnt ozone. Whatever Marcus and Seraphina’s betrayal started, it’s escalated beyond standard Trial parameters into something more directly threatening.
We increase our pace, following winding passages that seem to intentionally lead away from the central token chamber. The Maze itself appears to be working against us, rearranging corridors to herd us toward whatever awaits ahead. The mist grows thicker, limiting visibility to a few feet in any direction and carrying whispers of sound that might be voices or might be the structure itself breathing.
A scream pierces the silence—human, terrified, and close by. The sound cuts through the mist like a blade, making my blood run cold. My bound shadows instantly lock onto the source, reporting a young student from another team trapped in a mirrored chamber ahead, surrounded by shadow creatures far larger than the wraiths we encountered earlier.
“Someone’s in trouble,” I tell Iris, already moving toward the sound despite every instinct screaming at me to run the other direction.
“Ashley, wait,” she calls, reaching for my arm with fingers that tremble slightly. “It could be another trap.”
She’s right to be cautious, but my bound shadows confirm genuine distress—a legitimate emergency rather than a staged scenario. I can taste the fear in the air, sharp, and metallic. The pendant pulses a warning against my skin, sensing my intentions before I fully form them. Helping will require revealing abilitiesbeyond conventional Dark Nephilim limitations, but leaving a fellow student to these creatures isn’t a fucking option.
“Stay here if you want,” I say, shadows already extending toward the chamber ahead with newfound purpose. “I can’t just listen to that.”
Another scream decides the matter, this one is raw with pain that makes my teeth ache. I rush forward with Iris reluctantly following, emerging into a hexagonal chamber with mirrored walls and ceiling that reflect our entrance infinitely. In the center, a young light Nephilim student—first-year based on her uniform—cowers as three massive shadow beasts circle her like wolves toying with prey.
The air in the chamber reeks of sulfur and something rotting. These creatures appear more substantial than wraiths, with physical forms resembling emaciated panthers with too many limbs and eye clusters where faces should be. Their breathing sounds like wet paper tearing, and their movements leave trails of darkness in the air.
“Shadow leeches,” Iris whispers in horror, her voice barely audible. “They drain magic ability directly from the source. They shouldn’t be in a student trial—they’re execution-level threats.”
The girl’s light defenses are nearly exhausted, her aura flickering weakly like a dying candle as the leeches close in. Her uniform is torn, and I can smell blood mixing with the stench of the creatures. One lunges forward, claws extended toward her throat, and time seems to slow.
Without conscious thought, my bound shadows react—exploding outward with autonomous precision, forming a barrier between the girl and the attacking leech. The impact when the creature hitting my shadow wall sends vibrations through my bones, and I taste copper in my mouth from the strain.
The creature smashes into my shadow wall with bone-jarringforce. Its eye clusters swivel toward me, registering a new and more interesting target. All three leeches immediately change focus, abandoning the light Nephilim girl to advance on me instead. Their movements suggest intelligence rather than instinct, confirming my suspicion that these are not standard Trial challenges but specifically placed threats.
“Get her out of here,” I tell Iris, my bound shadows forming increasingly complex defensive formations as the leeches approach. The pendant burns against my skin like a brand, completely overwhelmed by the necessity of full shadow expression.
Iris helps the girl to her feet, supporting her toward a side passage. The girl’s breathing is ragged, and she smells like fear and burnt magic. “What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I promise, though we both know I’m buying them time to escape.
As Iris and the girl disappear down the corridor, their footsteps echoing into silence, I face the advancing leeches alone. My bound shadows pulse with barely contained power, the binding to Bael strengthening rather than limiting their abilities in this moment of crisis. Through our connection, I sense his urgent approval—survival now outweighs concealment.
The first leech attacks, its form dissolving into weaponized shadow as it launches itself at me with a sound like tearing silk. My bound shadows respond with precision far beyond conventional ability, forming solid spears that pierce the creature’s semi-physical body. The impact sends shock waves through the chamber, and I can feel the creature’s pain through my shadows.
It shrieks—a sound like tearing metal mixed with human screaming—but continues advancing, regenerating around the wounds with disturbing efficiency. I can smell its rage, hot andmetallic.
The second and third attack simultaneously from different angles, forcing me to divide my defense. My bound shadows split into multiple autonomous formations, each responding to separate threats without direct command from me. The pendant gives up trying to conceal these abnormal abilities, instead focusing on containing energy signatures that might broadcast my location to Hunter surveillance.
As the battle intensifies, my shadows display increasing independence—forming attacks I haven’t specifically trained, anticipating the leeches’ movements before they occur, and even splitting off combat units that function separately from my main shadow pool. It’s exactly the display that confirms Ascendant nature, but with three shadow leeches intent on draining my life force, concealment becomes secondary to survival.
One leech breaches my defenses, its clawed limb slashing across my arm. Pain blazes like liquid fire, and blood soaks through my sleeve immediately. My bound shadows react with unprecedented ferocity, surging toward the offending creature with what feels like personal vengeance. They form a solid spear that impales its central mass completely; the impact makes a wet, tearing sound.
Unlike my previous attacks, this one sustains, preventing the leech from regenerating around the wound. Black ichor leaks from the creature, smelling like rotting flowers and old death.
The remaining two creatures hesitate, their eye clusters communicating silently as they reassess their target. In that moment of pause, my bound shadows take offensive initiative without my direct command. They extend simultaneously toward both leeches, forming complex binding constructs that immobilize the creatures’ limbs and sensory organs with ruthless efficiency.
The autonomous attack succeeds, trappingthe leeches in shadow restraints they cannot dissolve through or regenerate around. My shadows maintain the constructs while forming an escape path toward the corridor Iris took, clearly suggesting I follow immediately.
As I back toward the exit, keeping the restrained leeches in view, a slow clapping sound echoes through the chamber. The sound bounces off the mirrored walls, multiplying until it sounds like an entire audience applauding. I turn to find Malcolm standing in a previously hidden doorway, his silver coat immaculate despite the chaotic environment. He smells of expensive cologne and cold steel.
“Impressive display, Miss Dawn,” he says, voice carrying that cultured menace I’ve come to recognize and hate. “Far beyond standard Dark Nephilim capabilities, wouldn’t you agree?”
