Chapter 38: The Path of Suffering

Umbra stood at the edge of a desolate, barren realm, his gaze distant yet focused. The void around him seemed to whisper secrets long forgotten, and in that moment, he understood something profound.

"Oh, I know now," Umbra muttered to himself, a grim realization dawning on him. "My end."

He stepped forward, his mind fixed on the journey ahead. It was no longer about what he could accomplish or the power he held—it was about the cost of bearing everything. This was the weight of the burden he had carried for so long. But now, he was walking into something even darker, more agonizing than anything before.

Waiting for him were his disciples—twelve in total. Six men and six women, each standing in silent anticipation. Their eyes, sharp and knowing, watched him approach. These were not ordinary disciples; they were bound to him by ancient oaths, guardians of the final trial that awaited him.

One of the men, tall and imposing, stepped forward, his voice steady but laced with sorrow. "Umbra, when you go beyond this point, there will be no return… unless you kill them all."

A woman with silver hair, her face expressionless but her eyes filled with a deep sadness, spoke next. "You will bear everything. You will feel all the pain and suffering you've ever avoided, all at once. Every death, every scream, every ounce of anguish the universe holds—it will be yours."

The others nodded in agreement, their faces somber as they explained what lay ahead.

"You will be dehydrated, starving, unable to breathe. You will feel every bone in your body shatter over and over again," another disciple said, her voice barely a whisper. "Your limbs will be torn from you, cut off repeatedly, yet you will not die. The pain will not end."

Umbra stood silent, absorbing their words. There was no fear in his eyes, only acceptance of what was to come.

"And with every step you take," one of the men continued, "and with every kill you make in there, you will feel their pain as if it were your own. They will feel everything you feel, and you will feel everything they feel. Every step will be like carrying the weight of the universe itself."

The final disciple, her face hidden beneath a dark hood, spoke softly. "And when you kill them, they will have your family's faces."

The words lingered in the air like a curse. Umbra felt a coldness settle over him, not from the air, but from the enormity of what he was about to face.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging the gravity of his task. "I understand."

With no further words, Umbra stepped forward and entered the realm his disciples had warned him about—a place beyond pain, beyond comprehension. It was a world of endless torment, designed to break even the strongest of souls.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the agony began. His throat burned with thirst, his stomach twisted in hunger, and his bones shattered with every step he took. The pain was indescribable, overwhelming, as if his very essence was being torn apart.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Each step was a battle against the torment, each moment a test of his endurance. And then, the first figure appeared in front of him.

It was a shadowy form, but as it moved closer, Umbra's heart froze. The face of his wife, Akari, stared back at him—pained, desperate, and pleading.

He didn't want to kill her. He hesitated, his hand trembling as he gripped his sword. But the torment grew worse with each second he stood still. Every part of his body screamed in agony. Akari's face—no, the illusion—spoke to him, her voice haunting.

"Why, Umbra? Why did you leave us?"

He knew it wasn't her, but the pain cut deep, both physically and emotionally. With one swift movement, he swung his sword, cutting through the illusion. The pain doubled as her form vanished, and he felt every ounce of her suffering as if it were his own. His legs buckled under the weight of it, but he forced himself to stand.

The next figure appeared—it was one of his daughters. Crystal. Her eyes, full of sadness, seemed to beg him for an explanation.

"Father, how could you?" her voice echoed, filled with sorrow and betrayal.

Umbra clenched his teeth, swinging his sword again, knowing the torment that would follow. Again, the agony surged through him, a wave of unbearable pain that shook his very soul.

Every figure that appeared had the face of his loved ones—Selene, Nyxara, Seraphina, his children—each one making him relive the anguish of their imagined deaths. He killed them over and over again, each time bearing the unbearable weight of their suffering as if it were his own.

And with each kill, the torment only grew worse. His limbs felt as if they were being torn from him, his bones breaking over and over, the agony never relenting.

But he continued, step after agonizing step, kill after unbearable kill, bearing the full weight of the pain that came with each one. He fought through the screams in his mind, the unbearable suffering in his body, because he knew he had to.

This was the path he had chosen—the path to bear all.