Second Trial: The Torment of Self
"Haah!" I gasped as my eyes shot open.
The first thing I saw was a glowing panel hovering in the air:
[Second Trial: The Torment of Self
Objective: Defeat the one who forgot.
Note: Once YOU die, your soul will be stuck in eternal limbo forever, as the one you fight is...]
Huh?
The second trial already?
I sat up slowly.
"Defeat the one who forgot," I muttered, frowning. "The one who forgot…"
My eyes drifted back to the title.
The Torment of Self.
The one who forgot… self…
Tch.
Something about this doesn't feel right.
I looked around.
A building—no, a school.
A large structure stood before me, complete with smaller wings on either side.
"Brilliance Academy," I muttered.
I knew this place.
I've been here before.
I turned in a slow circle, scanning the area—the familiar mix of concrete paths and grassy spaces, the football field tucked away near the corner. The rest would be behind the building.
Behind me, a gate.
Beyond it, quiet streets and empty buildings.
I faced forward again and stood, letting out a sigh.
And then I noticed something.
"What the hell…?"
I had skin. My form was human again.
Why?
Last time, I was nothing but a shadow in the shape of a man.
I sprinted toward a reflective window on the front of one of the school's smaller buildings and stared.
"Black hair… brown eyes," I whispered.
Young—sixteen, maybe seventeen.
It was normal. Too normal.
But what disturbed me most was how familiar this face looked. I couldn't remember why.
"Damn it…" I began to say—but didn't.
I heard it, though.
Wait.
That wasn't me.
My eyes darted sideways.
There—
A shadowed figure stood still.
It turned, locking its gaze with mine.
Then a new line of text appeared:
[The One Who Forgot]
It tilted its head slightly, staring at me with unreadable intent.
I stepped forward.
It didn't move.
I scanned the ground.
No weapons.
I was still in school uniform. Unarmed.
I turned my eyes back to the figure.
Gone.
"Damn it."
Panic surged.
I looked around, but nothing.
I sprinted toward the school building—its main door wide open. Whoever or whatever that thing was, it hadn't even bothered closing the door behind it. Was it in a hurry? Or did it want me to follow?
One more step, and I crossed the threshold.
BAM!
I jumped back.
A chair had slammed into the floor beside me, splintering into pieces.
"Shit!"
I barely had time to recover before the figure lunged forward, one jagged piece of the shattered chair now a makeshift spear in its hand.
No time to think.
I kicked the door hard—it bounced back and slammed into the figure's arm. I dove inside and grabbed a piece of the broken chair.
But it was faster.
BAM!
Pain exploded in my shoulder. Dislocated, maybe.
I didn't retaliate. I ran.
I bolted up the stairs.
DOOM!
Something slammed into my head. I stumbled, my skull crashing against the first stair.
"ARGH!"
Dizzy.
I turned. The figure was close, wielding a piece of metal from God-knows-where.
Teeth clenched, I pushed to my feet and scrambled upward, stumbling all the way.
TWASH!
Something grazed over my head.
I ducked and kept running.
Distance. I needed distance.
Run. Run. Run—
Stop.
I panted, leaning against the wall.
A corridor.
My shoulder throbbed.
I wiped some of the blood on a door handle, then crossed the hallway to another door. I twisted the knob carefully, keeping it clean.
I slipped inside.
One kick. The door shut behind me.
"Damn… haah… haaa…"
For a second there, I almost died.
I looked up.
A classroom.
A green board stood in front. Desks faced it in rows.
Behind me—a poster.
A cleaning roster.
"Angel… Emil…" I muttered.
These names.
I stepped closer.
"Fred… Ukko… Kieran…"
Why did they all sound so familiar?
My eyes drifted to another section.
"Becky."
Then, Thursday's sweepers:
"Quincey… Quincey Moren?"
Wait.
A memory surfaced.
Larson.
Thud.
A step.
Panic returned.
I scanned the room.
Pens. Chalk. A board. Desks with attached seats.
Nothing useful.
I dashed to the teacher's desk. Grabbed two pens.
Tiptoed to the door.
Twisted the knob.
It opened slowly.
I peered through a narrow gap.
A shadow moved.
Then the figure stepped into view, holding a pole.
Where the hell did it get that?
Storage room.
Tch.
It stood in front of the classroom opposite mine, staring at the bloodied handle.
It reached for it.
Yes.
The moment it opened that door—I'd rush out and—
"Huh?"
It stopped.
As if something clicked in its mind.
Then it turned.
Our eyes met.
Fuck me.