Souls Online: Mythic Ascension-Chapter 213: Finish Him

"Now choose your weapon Child. The test will begin once you have made your choice."

The voice rang out in Greg’s ear, low and gravelly, each word dragging like stone across steel.

It held no malice, just a weighty sort of expectation. The kind a teacher might have for a student who finally showed up late to class.

Across the cage, a low hiss broke the silence. A section of the wall sank back, revealing a rack that rose smoothly from the ground.

Weapons lined it in careful order. Blades gleamed under the lights, spears rested upright in polished cradles, and a massive hammer sat nestled in a pressure-locked cradle at the bottom.

Everything looked ceremonial, but functional. Dangerous in a way that invited use.

He looked down at his hands.

They were whole. The scars that once stretched across his knuckles and wrists were gone.

But the callouses, the thick pads along his palms and fingers, the hardened skin from years of grappling, punching and training still remained.

A history written with his blood,sweat and tears, born from endless repetition.

He turned to glance at the Minotaur. It hadn’t moved. Still watching. Still waiting. It had no weapon, no armor, just raw power standing quiet and ready.

Greg stepped away from the rack.

"I won’t need one."

The moment the words left his mouth, the room seemed to respond.

The weapon rack lowered back into the floor without a sound. The wall sealed shut behind it, returning the cage to its stark, brutal simplicity.

The Minotaur tilted its head, only slightly. Not in confusion, but in recognition. As if it understood something unspoken. As if this decision meant more than Greg realized.

The voice returned, quieter now. Not mocking. Not impressed. Just noting.

"Then your path is your own."

Greg rolled his shoulders and set his feet. The cage floor felt steady beneath him, his breathing was calm even as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Begin."

The moment the word was spoken, the Minotaur moved.

It erupted into a charge, the sound of its hooves hammering against the mat like thunder. No ceremony. No slow build-up. Just a wall of muscle and fury bearing down on him with terrifying speed.

Greg stayed still.

His body didn’t freeze, it waited. His eyes locked onto the Minotaur’s center of mass, tracking the shift in weight, the roll of its shoulders, the way its right hoof hit just a half-beat harder.

At the last second, he shifted his stance.

The Minotaur swung with a wild hook, its thick arm cutting through the air like a tree trunk. Greg ducked low, feeling the wind of the strike brush the top of his head. He stepped forward, into the beast’s reach, and delivered a short, snapping elbow to its ribs.

A sharp breath escaped the creature. Not pain, just surprise.

It turned with a grunt and came back with a backhand, wide and forceful.

Greg weaved beneath it again, pivoting on the ball of his foot, and struck the back of the Minotaur’s knee with a quick low kick. The beast staggered for a half-step, then roared.

The attacks were relentless. Wide sweeps. Stomping kicks. Furious grabs meant to crush. The Minotaur fought like a creature that had never needed to defend itself. It wasn’t trained. It was powerful.

Yet it couldn’t even touch a strand of Greg’s hair. This caused the beast to be frustrated to no end but left Greg with a sense of exhilaration.

In his career, he had almost always been the bigger fighter but when faced with an opponent like this, he had chosen to imitate the styles of fighters he had struggled against in fights past.

The results were great.

The Minotaur steadied itself, steam curling from its nostrils as it took a slower step forward. Its stance had shifted. Less reckless. More guarded.

Greg exhaled through his nose and adjusted his footing. The excitement in his chest hadn’t faded, but it had changed. This wasn’t just a fight anymore. It was becoming a dance. A test of reaction. Technique. Control.

But before he could step in again, the voice returned.

No longer calm.

"You mistake this for a match."

The words struck harder than any blow. Cold. Flat. Disappointed.

"You were not brought here to test your rhythm.You were not brought here to play with ghosts of your past."

Greg froze, eyes narrowing.

"This is not a ring. This is not for points. This is for truth."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the Minotaur’s deep breathing and the faint creak of the cage walls.

"You asked why your scars were gone. Why your sight returned. You were given a chance to begin again. But beginning again means nothing... unless you finish what stands before you."

Greg’s fists loosened. His jaw clenched.

He looked at the Minotaur again. Chest heaving. One eye swollen. A limp in its step. Still standing. Still trying. Still dangerous.

Greg didn’t move.

He had fought monsters before. Men with nothing behind their eyes. Fighters who would rather go out on a stretcher than admit defeat. But this was different.

This thing didn’t stop. It wasn’t trying to win. It was trying to kill him.

And part of him still didn’t want to kill it.

"This doesn’t feel right," Greg muttered under his breath.

The voice responded immediately. Cold. Final.

"Then die"

Greg’s stomach tightened.

"This is not a match. It is not for learning. It is survival. It will not stop. If you do not end it, you will not leave."

As if on cue, the Minotaur growled and pushed off the wall. Its body was battered. Its stance weaker. But its eyes still burned.

It charged again.

Greg moved.

The beast threw a vicious straight punchits massive fist aimed to crush Greg’s skull

Greg moved based on pure reflex

He stepped in, driving his fist hard into the Minotaur’s chest.

The instant his knuckles made contact, something inside his hand shifted.

It was as if his skin sharpened, slicing clean through thick muscle and bone.

A strange coldness traveled from his fingertips deep into his arm.

His fist didn’t just connect, it pierced, driving deeper than it had any right to.

The Minotaur’s eyes widened in shock, its breath catching in a guttural sound.

Without thinking, Greg’s fingers clenched around something pounding fiercely beneath his palm.

He tore it free in one brutal motion.

The creature’s roar turned to a ragged gasp as it staggered back and collapsed slowly like a puppet who had its strings cut.

Greg’s breath caught.

He stared down in disbelief.

In his hands, a still beating heart.

A wild, erratic pulse against his palm.

Shock froze him for a moment as the weight of what he held sank in. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

The cage fell silent.

The voice cut through the quiet, cold and unyielding yet somewhat...proud?

"Good. You did well to finish them. You have proved yourself worthy."

Greg’s eyes flicked upward, meeting the invisible gaze that filled the cage. Something unseen shifted in the air, a subtle change that promised neither rest nor relief. His muscles ached, his mind reeled, but a new resolve took root deep inside him.

Without letting go of the heart, he straightened. The fight was over. But this was only the beginning.

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