The Assassination Pyramid’s inner sanctum was unlike anything Alastor had encountered before—a place where time stood still, untouched by the fractures rippling through the world outside. It lay hidden beneath Skylance City, deep underground, beyond the reach of any technology or map. Here, the laws of men ended, and the laws of gods began.

  Alastor stood at the threshold of the final trial, the Eye of Ra pulsing faintly in his hand. The relic felt heavier now, as if it understood the gravity of what was to come. The scarab beneath his skin buzzed anxiously, warning him that this was no ordinary challenge.

  Before him loomed the entrance to the arena—an enormous archway carved with glyphs so ancient they seemed to hum with forgotten power. Hieroglyphs depicting ascension rites, gods crowned through trials of blood and sacrifice, lined the walls like silent witnesses to a story older than history. The gods Anubis, Ra, and Thoth watched from the carvings, their eyes unblinking, as if daring Alastor to step forward.

  The air was thick, heavy with ancient magic that smelled of ash and stone. Beneath his boots, the ground trembled slightly, as though the Pyramid itself was alive, waiting—hungry.

  Selene stood beside him, her expression stoic but sharp with tension. Even she could feel the shift in the air—the sense that this place wasn’t just sacred; it was dangerous. "So," she murmured, her violet eyes glancing toward the archway, "this is it, huh? The gods’ playground."

  "Something like that," Alastor muttered, running his hand over the glowing surface of the Eye. The relic felt both warm and cold at the same time, as if it contained the essence of every moment in time—the birth and death of worlds—trapped inside it.

  Beyond the archway, a faint light glowed at the far end of the arena, flickering like a distant star. This was the path to ascension. To reach it, Alastor would have to pass through the final trial—one that no one had survived before.

  He could feel the Codex stirring within his mind, feeding him fragmented warnings and broken memories. Every soul that had reached this point before had failed. No matter how strong, how cunning, or how prepared they were, the Pyramid demanded absolute sacrifice.

  Selene tightened her grip on her blade. "Whatever happens in there," she said, her voice low, "I’ve got your back."

  Alastor gave her a brief nod, though they both knew the truth—the final trial wasn’t just physical. It was a battle of the soul, one that had to be faced alone.

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  "Wait here," he said quietly, glancing toward her. "This one’s mine."

  Selene’s eyes narrowed. "You sure about that?"

  "Yeah." He wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. If this was the last step before facing Lucius Cipher, then there was no way around it. He had come too far—died too many times, sacrificed too much—to stop now.

  Alastor stepped toward the archway. As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, the arena awoke.

  The light shifted, and the ground rumbled beneath him, as if some ancient mechanism buried deep within the earth had stirred from a centuries-long slumber. The air grew thick with heat, and the glyphs on the walls began to glow, one by one, casting strange shadows across the stone.

  A deep, booming voice echoed through the chamber, neither alive nor dead—something ancient and inhuman, older than time itself.

  "Only the gods ascend."

  Alastor felt the words vibrate in his bones, reverberating through his soul. The arena wasn’t just a place—it was a trial ground where mortals were judged, weighed, and, if found lacking, destroyed.

  He stepped further into the chamber, and the light ahead flared—blinding and pure, like the heart of a dying star. The light wasn’t just a beacon—it was the test. To ascend, he would have to walk through it, let it burn away everything false, everything weak. It would strip him to his core. And what remained... only the gods could survive.

  The scarab buzzed violently, as if warning him to turn back. But there was no turning back. Not now.

  He took another step, and the voice boomed again:

  "What do you offer?"

  Alastor clenched his fists. He knew the answer, even if he didn’t want to say it aloud. What did he offer? Everything. His life. His death. His soul. There was no other way.

  But the voice wasn’t done. It shifted, taking on new forms, as if the gods themselves were speaking through it.

  "Do you seek power?" the voice asked, smooth and cold as glass. "Or do you seek freedom?"

  Alastor’s heart pounded. He had known this moment would come—the moment where every choice, every step he’d taken, would be laid bare.

  If he claimed power, he could take the Pyramid for himself. He could bend the loop to his will, rewrite the rules of existence, and become something more than mortal. He could rule time itself, as Lucius had tried to do—but better, stronger.

  But if he chose freedom... he would have to destroy the Pyramid, break the loop, and let go of the control he had fought so hard to seize. He would lose everything—every second of life, every chance to rewrite the past.

  There was no easy answer. One path led to godhood. The other... to oblivion.

  Alastor stared into the light, his breath shallow. The Eye of Ra pulsed in his hand, waiting—ready to align with whatever choice he made.

  "Only the gods ascend," the voice whispered again, softer this time, as if inviting him forward.

  Alastor exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the relic. This wasn’t just about defeating Lucius anymore. It was about what came after. If he failed this trial, none of it would matter.

  He took a final step into the arena, the light blinding him completely. Everything else fell away—the Codex, the scarab, the fractures in time. All that remained was the truth, and the choice that would define him.