The chamber was silent. Sealed shut. No one dared enter.
Zairon had locked himself within for three days — no orders, no signs, no flashes of power. Only a deep, unstable aura that pulsed like a living beast from behind the obsidian walls. It wasn't cultivation in its usual form… it was war.
A war within.
In the center of the room, Zairon sat cross-legged. His body radiated crimson energy, fluctuating violently. His veins glowed unnaturally, his breathing sharp and uneven. His eyes were open but unfocused — dilated with the weight of countless visions.
Within his consciousness, chaos reigned.
He stood in a mental realm—sky of blood, ground of ash. Shadows loomed, echoes of his past, reflections of battles, screams of those he'd crushed. And in the center stood himself — but twisted. A darker version. Clad in an armor of madness, his mouth curled in a manic grin that mirrored his worst moments.
"Why fight it, Zairon?" the echo whispered. "This madness makes you stronger. The world cowers at your name. Let it consume you."
The true Zairon staggered forward, baring his teeth. "No... I command madness. It doesn't command me."
The reflection laughed, its voice rippling like shattered glass. "Then why do you still hear me when you're awake? Why do your hands shake after each kill? You crave more. Admit it. You enjoy their fear, their screams."
Zairon roared and charged forward. They clashed. Fist against fist. Will against chaos.
In reality, Zairon's body trembled. Cracks appeared on the floor around him as his spiritual energy surged uncontrollably. Sweat dripped from his brow. His robes clung to his body, soaked in energy-infused perspiration. His teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood from his gums.
In his mind, he was losing. For a moment… just a moment… he saw himself give in. He saw entire cities burn in fire born from his own hands. He saw his allies begging him to stop. And he laughed — mad, unrelenting.
That future… that possible future…
"NO!"
With a furious cry, Zairon summoned everything. Every moment of clarity, every bond he had made, every flicker of humanity left untouched by bloodshed. He grasped the darkness — and crushed it.
Inside the sealed room, his eyes blazed open — no longer crimson, but white-hot, pulsing with restrained fury.
The violent energy that tore through the chamber suddenly stilled. The tremors ceased. The floor repaired itself. The air grew still.
He stood up slowly, his breathing steady now. A faint smile danced on his lips — not the mad one from before, but calm… dangerously calm.
The door opened.
His commanders outside flinched, but he simply walked past them, his robe fluttering slightly. He smelled of smoke and thunder, yet radiated a terrifying peace.
"Prepare the next conquest," he said softly. "And brew some tea. I feel like… smiling today."
Behind his back, crimson light sparked in his shadow, twitching like a chained beast.
He won.
But the madness wasn't gone.
It was caged.
And Zairon now held the key.