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Sienna's Final Move – The Collapse
Sienna exhaled, her breath steady despite the exhaustion settling into her limbs.
The battlefield was no longer an obstacle—it was her domain.
The Gravity Tyrant, its black-plated hide cracked and veins of silver flickering erratically, loomed before her. Its core pulsed violently, like a failing heartbeat. It was losing control.
Sienna took a step forward, feeling the shifting gravity around her—not as an enemy, but as an extension of herself. Debris hung suspended in the air, neither falling nor rising, waiting for direction. Her direction.
The Tyrant lunged, its final act of desperation.
She raised her hand. Gravity reversed.
The beast's massive form shot upward instead of forward, its limbs flailing as the force it once commanded betrayed it. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Sienna leaped. The air bent around her, propelling her like a bullet. Her palm met the core—
CRACK.
A silent explosion rippled outward. The Tyrant's plated hide splintered like fractured stone, silver veins dimming to black. The creature convulsed—then collapsed into dust.
Silence.
Then—
[ Trial Completed. ]
Sienna landed lightly, rolling her shoulders. A slow smile spread across her lips.
"On to the next."
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Orion's War – A Battle Already Lost
A deafening war horn shattered the silence.
Orion's eyes snapped open.
He was standing in a battlefield.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of blood, sweat, and burning wood. Men screamed, swords clashed, arrows whistled past. The dying moaned in the mud.
The chaos hit him all at once.
A soldier staggered toward him, his armor dented, his face streaked with grime and fear.
"Strategist! We—!"
An arrow struck the man in the throat. He crumpled, choking on his own blood.
Orion flinched but forced himself to move. This was war. Hesitation meant death.
His gaze flicked downward. His own clothing was foreign—a dirtied battle tunic, a rusted dagger at his belt. In his hands, he clutched something—
A tattered strategy map. Stained with blood.
And then—like a whisper in his mind—
(You are the last strategist of this army. Your general is dead. The enemy commander advances. You have no reinforcements. Win.)
Orion sucked in a breath. A trial of tactics.
His fingers tightened on the map as he lifted his gaze to the battlefield.
The army he was supposed to lead was breaking.
Their formation—shattered. Their morale—crumbling.
In the distance, the enemy moved with terrifying precision.
At their front, a lone figure on horseback.
The enemy general.
His armor was battered but his movements were crisp, calculating. Every command he gave shifted the battlefield like a chessboard. His troops maneuvered with discipline, striking where Orion's army was weakest.
A master of war.
And Orion had nothing.
No reinforcements. No time. Just a broken army at the edge of defeat.
He exhaled sharply. "Alright... Let's turn this around."
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[ Trial Commencing… ]
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