The gray light vanished—
and the world around him changed completely.
He now stood in a vast plain stretching farther than sight could reach. The ground was cracked, veined with ash, and the sky above was nothing but a sheet of unmoving black smoke.
Then came a voice—deep, mechanical, and sovereign—echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once:
> [Stage Two initiated.]
[Objective: Eliminate one hundred shadow entities.]
[Retreat is not permitted.]
Aura drew the Endblade and glanced around.
Silence pressed against him… until it shattered beneath a distant roar.
From every direction they emerged—monstrous shades taking the forms of beasts: wolves with blackened fangs, bats with wings woven from smoke, hyenas with twisted frames. They crept closer, hunger gleaming in eyes that weren't eyes.
Aura exhaled slowly.
"...A hundred? Fine," he murmured. "Let's start counting."
The swarm lunged as one.
Darkness surged like a living tide.
He leapt into the storm, his blade cutting a silver arc that cleaved three creatures in a blink—yet even as they split apart, their forms reknit from vapor and shadow.
He moved like light through smoke, slipping between claws and teeth, each motion leaving behind a faint gray shimmer. The Endblade sang in his grip; the very air trembled with its song.
A voice echoed faintly within his mind—Falco's, distant but steady:
> "Remember, Aura… the tower counts every strike, every falter. Keep your breath steady."
A faint smile curved his lips amid the chaos.
"I don't plan on taking a single step back."
They came at him again—ten, twenty, fifty at once.
He hit the ground, hands of darkness trying to pin him down, jaws sinking into his skin. Ash flared where their touch met him—then the light inside him ignited.
With a roar that shook the plain, Aura's body erupted in a burst of gray-white radiance.
The Endblade rose on its own, channeling that surge into a sweeping wave of silver energy that tore through the horde.
Half the army vanished in an instant.
The rest recoiled, their eyes still burning.
Bleeding and breathless, Aura pushed himself to his feet. His voice was rough, but his grin held firm.
"Forty-nine left," he said. "Let's finish this."
Then he charged.
Faster. Harder.
Each strike was a flash of light carving through shadow; every impact scattered ash like falling stars.
With every kill, a glowing numeral appeared above him—then dissolved.
98… 99…
The last enemy rose—a colossal shade in the form of a dragon, its wings woven from smoke, its roar shaking the ash beneath his feet.
Aura gathered everything he had left.
The Endblade flared with blinding light—and he drove it straight through the creature's heart.
The dragon-shade exploded, disintegrating into a storm of ash and fading echoes.
Then came the voice again—calm, eternal:
> [Stage Two: Completed.]
[All wounds healed.]
[Next stage will commence after a short intermission.]
Aura stood alone in the silence that followed, his breath steadying, his blade still gleaming faintly in his hand.
He looked around the now-empty plain and whispered,
"If this is only the beginning… then this tower truly shows no mercy."
The light enveloped him once more—
and the next trial awaited.