[Chapter 9]
The air was heavy with an almost tangible presence, thick with the hum of ancient power. Castiel stood at the entrance of the inner chamber of the Shrine, the path of silver light still shimmering faintly beneath his feet. Behind him, the battlefield had already faded—leaving only the echoes of the past, like whispers on the wind. Zhan Xiu's figure was now nothing more than a lingering shadow in his mind.
He could feel it now, the weight of the trial, the strain in his chest, the fragments of memories he'd absorbed, and most importantly—his connection to the Rift.
What is this power?
The question rang in his mind, louder than ever before. The more he unlocked, the more questions arose. And the more he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.
"Mu Qinglan," he murmured, turning to face the woman beside him.
Her eyes, calm yet sharp, regarded him. "You're not going to back out now, are you?"
Castiel smiled wryly. "I don't run away from problems."
"Good," she replied, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "Because you're going to need every ounce of that determination now."
They both turned to face the shimmering path ahead. With a deep breath, Castiel took the first step, his body immediately surrounded by a soft, cool wind. It was as if the very shrine itself was testing him. The air thickened with energy, almost like the pull of a gravitational force. His vision blurred slightly, and before he knew it, the path before him twisted into a vortex of swirling stars, opening into an entirely new space.
The Rift Star
It wasn't a place of beauty. It was a realm of chaos and distortion, its very fabric seemingly torn asunder. There were no solid walls, no defined ground. Only floating shards of light, suspended in the vast void like remnants of a shattered cosmos.
"You're in the heart of the Rift now," Mu Qinglan's voice was a faint echo in the distance.
Suddenly, Castiel found himself no longer standing, but floating. His feet hovered inches above the starry ground, and the gravitational pull was so weak it felt like he was being gently tugged by the very fabric of reality.
"This place… it's familiar, yet unfamiliar," Castiel muttered, looking around in awe. The stars twinkled around him, like miniature suns, their glow reflecting off the broken pieces of celestial debris scattered across the endless expanse.
A deep, resonant voice suddenly rumbled through the air, as if coming from the Rift itself.
"You have arrived, Castiel, but this is no simple trial."
The voice seemed to vibrate within his soul, shaking him to the core. It wasn't just any voice—it was the voice of the Rift Star itself.
"Who… who are you?" Castiel called out, his voice trembling slightly.
"I am the Echo of the Rift. The first of many," the voice replied, its tone both ancient and knowing. "You have entered the domain of the Rift Star, where reality bends and distorts. It is here that you will prove your worth—not just as a cultivator, but as one who carries the burden of the Rift."
Castiel's heart raced. He had been through many trials, faced unimaginable dangers, but nothing had prepared him for the immensity of what he was about to face. The Rift Star was not just a place—it was a living, breathing entity. And its power… it resonated with his very soul.
The stars around him began to shift, their colors changing from the usual brilliant white to a deep, blood-red hue. Castiel felt his skin prickle as if something was watching him, waiting for him to make his next move.
"Tell me what I must do," Castiel said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
"You will face the trials of the Rift Star," the Echo's voice echoed again. "Each trial will test your soul, your strength, and your will. Fail, and you will be lost to the void. Succeed, and you will gain the power to reshape reality itself."
Suddenly, the ground beneath Castiel's feet cracked open, revealing a swirling black hole. A powerful gravitational force yanked him downward, pulling him toward the endless abyss below. His body twisted in mid-air as he tried to steady himself, but the pull was too strong.
Before he could react, his body was sucked into the darkness.
The last thing he saw was Mu Qinglan, her face contorted in shock, reaching out for him.
Castiel's consciousness fractured.
He was falling, spiraling deeper into the abyss. But this was no ordinary fall. It was a descent into something far darker, more twisted. The very fabric of his being seemed to unravel as he plummeted, like threads of a broken tapestry. He could feel his soul stretching, pulling, as if it were being torn apart.
His body slammed against an invisible wall, the impact jarring his senses. He gasped for air, but none came. The air here was thick, suffocating. The void was alive, pressing in on him from all sides.
And then he heard it.
A voice—faint, like a whisper carried on the wind.
"Welcome to the first trial, Castiel. This is the Trial of the Broken Soul."
This was only the beginning.
Let me know when you're ready for the next part, Minik! Just say Next, and we'll dive even deeper into the Rift's trials, where Castiel will have to face his own demons in a fight for survival.
-----------------------------------------
The voice was a whisper, but its weight was unmistakable, like a stone pressing against Castiel's chest, suffocating him in the stillness. His mind spun, caught between the uncertainty of his surroundings and the echo of those haunting words.
"Trial of the Broken Soul."
The words rang in his ears as his surroundings began to shift again. This time, the darkness was replaced by a blinding light that flickered like the dying embers of a fire. It was a landscape unlike anything he had ever seen—a twisted, distorted version of the world he once knew. The ground was cracked, and massive chasms stretched as far as the eye could see, their depths filled with an endless void. The sky above was a tumultuous blend of swirling colors—shades of purple, black, and red that bled into each other like ink in water.
And in the distance… there was something. A figure, barely visible through the haze, standing alone in the center of a desolate wasteland.
"Who's there?" Castiel called out, his voice shaky as he stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest.
The figure didn't respond. But as Castiel moved closer, the air around him grew colder. He could feel a strange energy in the atmosphere, like the very air was alive with ancient power. The figure began to take shape—an image that was both familiar and foreign at once. It was a reflection of himself, or at least, what he had once been.
His past.
The figure was a younger version of himself, standing in the midst of a battlefield, a sword in hand. His eyes were hard, his expression cold—so much like the person Castiel used to be before the world had opened up to him, before he had discovered the Rift's power.
This… was the trial. His soul's past, his regrets, his darkest moments manifested before him. It was here, in this fractured version of reality, that Castiel would face his own inner demons.
"You want me to face this?" Castiel muttered to himself, taking a step back. The image of his past self mirrored his movements, standing still, watching him with those cold, unblinking eyes.
"Yes," came the voice again, its resonance vibrating in his soul. "This is the Trial of the Broken Soul. You must confront who you were to become who you are meant to be."
The figure of his younger self raised its sword, pointing it directly at Castiel. The weapon shimmered with an ominous glow, its blade crackling with dark energy. Castiel could feel the weight of the blade, the anger and bitterness of the person he once was, radiating from it.
Without warning, the figure lunged at him, its movements swift and brutal, much like the Castiel of old—a time when he was filled with rage and revenge, a time when he had no understanding of his own potential.
Castiel barely managed to sidestep the strike, the blade grazing his arm as he moved. He could feel the burn of the cut, the sharpness of the pain. His body reacted on instinct, his training kicking in as he spun around to face his past self.
"You're not me anymore!" Castiel shouted, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and fury. He reached into his core, summoning the energy of the Rift Star, drawing upon its ancient power.
The landscape around him began to tremble, the skies swirling faster as the Rift's energy responded to his call. The power within him surged, his form glowing with a brilliant light as he activated the Rift's blessing.
For a moment, the world stopped. The ground stilled, the wind ceased. All that existed was the clash between Castiel and the figure that represented his past.
The sword of his younger self came down once more, but this time, Castiel didn't hesitate. He raised his hand, his fingers crackling with energy, and with a single motion, he shattered the weapon in his past self's hands.
The figure recoiled, its expression flickering for the briefest moment—a flash of uncertainty crossing its face. Castiel saw the hesitation, the weakness that lay beneath the hardened exterior of his former self.
"Who you were doesn't define you," Castiel said, his voice strong now, full of conviction. "I'm not that person anymore. I've grown beyond that."
With a final burst of energy, Castiel unleashed a wave of power that sent the figure flying backward, its form disintegrating into mist. The Trial was over.
The Rift Star responded, its voice echoing through the space.
"You have passed the Trial of the Broken Soul. Your past no longer holds sway over your future."
Castiel stood there, panting, his heart still racing. He had conquered his past, but the Rift Star's power still lingered within him. His soul, still tethered to this chaotic realm, was no closer to being free.
But he had survived.
And that was what mattered.
Just as the last remnants of his past faded into nothingness, a new presence made itself known—something far darker than before.
"Is that… what you call victory?" a voice whispered, as dark as the void itself.
Castiel turned, his senses on high alert. The air around him grew heavier, thick with the weight of an ominous force.
The figure that stepped from the shadows was unlike any he had faced before. It was tall, cloaked in a flowing robe that seemed to absorb the very light around it. Its face was obscured by a mask, but Castiel could feel its eyes—those cold, lifeless eyes—piercing through him.
"You are far from ready, Castiel," the figure said, its voice low and chilling. "The trials you've faced are but a prelude to what is to come. And the Rift… will show you true darkness."
The tension in the air thickened as the figure raised its hand, and the very space around them twisted, distorting into something more grotesque, more alien.
"Prepare yourself, Castiel," the figure whispered. "For the true trial has just begun."
And with that, the battle for his soul would intensify. Castiel wasn't just fighting for power now. He was fighting for his very essence, his place in the universe—and against something far older and far more dangerous than he could ever imagine.