The SSS class adventurer is a divine cleric-Chapter 66: Labyrinth of Truth [3]

The silence after the Nullicite Tear was deafening.

Like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see which Kaelen would bleed first.

Then.

They moved.

A blur of motion, Kaelen launched forward, shoulder dipping low, feet sliding across the slick marble like a fighter born in the blood-soaked pits of the underworld.

The clone mirrored him perfectly.

Their fists collided midair, bone to bone, shockwaves cracking across the glassy surface of the platform.

Kaelen twisted, spun into a heel kick, aiming for the clone’s temple. But the doppelganger ducked, stepped in, and slammed an elbow into Kaelen’s ribs. Kaelen grunted, pain flaring, but he caught the next strike mid-swing and headbutted the clone in the nose.

CRACK!

Blood painted the air in a crimson mist, thin and fleeting.

The clone staggered back, lips peeling into a savage grin, teeth slick with red. "Is that all you got?" His voice was a taunt, a challenge, laced with the metallic tang of his own blood.

Kaelen said nothing.

He moved like liquid shadow, a serpent uncoiling, jabs like needle strikes, chops like cleaving axes, knees like battering rams. Every motion was precise, ruthless, guided not just by sight but by the pulsing awareness of his <Third Eye>, which drank in the clone’s every twitch, every shift of weight, every flicker of murderous intent.

The clone deflected two blows, twisted away from a third, then dropped like a stone, fingers clamping around Kaelen’s ankle in a vice grip. A brutal yank.

Kaelen’s world flipped.

Kaelen’s back hurtled toward the ground, but his body remembered before his mind could. Muscles coiled, instincts flared, and in the split-second before impact, he rolled midair, knees tucking tight before slamming both heels into the clone’s chest in an explosive rebound.

The force launched him backward, boots skidding as he landed in a low crouch, fingers splayed against the cold floor.

Panting and bleeding.

They locked eyes across the space between them, two mirrors of fury and fatigue.

Kaelen spat, his saliva streaked pink. "Damn, I hate you." His voice was raw, a snarl from the depths of his ribs.

The clone grinned wider.

And then they lunged again.

The next exchange was savage. No rhythm, no grace, just violence.

The clone bit into Kaelen’s shoulder, tearing through cloth and skin. Kaelen howled and punched it square in the throat. The clone staggered, then raked its nails across Kaelen’s eyes.

But Kaelen’s <Third Eye> flared and he leaned just enough for the clawed fingers to scratch his cheek, not his cornea.

"Too slow," he growled and punched the clone in the gut, then the throat, then the gut again.

The clone coughed, doubling over.

Kaelen grabbed it by the hair, and kneed it full force in the face.

CRUNCH.

Nose shattered. Blood sprayed.

The clone dropped his hand in exhaustion and when Kaelen let his guard down for a split second, the clone swung a sharp piece of the broken marble at Kaelen aiming to slit his throat.

But his third eye flared once again warning him of an incoming attack. He moves and barely dodges it from slicing his throat but the broken marble shard still finds its way into Kaelen’s chest.

Kaelen’s eyes bulged and he stumbled back, gasping. "You... absolute bastard..."

The clone straightened, wiping blood from its lip. "I am you."

Kaelen groaned, shook off the pain, and braced his stance again. "Then let me teach me some manners."

With a low grunt he pulled the marble shard out of his chest.

Then he took a running start, faking a right hook, then replied with a spin and elbowed the clone in the kidney. The clone shrieked, but countered with a spit to the face and a sucker punch to Kaelen’s jaw.

Both went tumbling. And without second thoughts pounced at each other again.

They rolled across the marble, punching, clawing, choking. Kaelen bit the clone’s arm. The clone tried to gouge his eye. One of them slammed the other’s head into the floor. They traded positions. Rolled again. Kicked. Screamed. Bled.

A brutal brawl.

No style. No elegance. Just hatred made flesh.

Kaelen’s shirt was torn. His lip split. Blood poured from his eyebrow, matting his hair. But his eyes were locked—sharp, clear and unyielding.

His clone looked worse. Bruised ribs, crushed nose, limp left arm.

<Third Eye> flared again.

Kaelen saw it.

The clone’s weight shifting, the subtle hitch in its shoulder before the punch even launched. A feint. A lie.

He was already moving.

Ducking low, he seized the clone’s arm mid-swing, fingers digging into flesh like steel talons. A brutal twist—tendons popped, bone ground against bone and the elbow dislocated with a wet, sickening crack.

The clone barely had time to snarl before Kaelen wrenched him downward, driving his face into the unforgiving marble with a crunch.

Once. Teeth shattered.

Twice. Nose flattened into pulp.

Thrice. Blood sprayed in a thick, glistening arc.

The clone spasmed beneath him, a guttural groan bubbling from its ruined mouth, but it wouldn’t die.

Then Kaelen caught a movement from the side of his eyes.

A flash of white. The clone’s fingers, trembling but relentless, clawed at the fractured floor, hefting a jagged slab of marble.

Kaelen’s eyes widened.

Too late.

The stone slammed into his temple with the force of a falling hammer. Light exploded behind his eyes. His skull screamed, his balance shattered, and the world tilted violently as his legs gave way.

He hit the ground hard, vision swimming, ears ringing like a funeral bell.

The clone loomed over Kaelen, its breath ragged, face a mask of blood and broken teeth. One arm hung limp, elbow grotesquely dislocated, but the other still clutched the jagged marble slab, slick with Kaelen’s blood.

"You should have finished me," it wheezed, raising the stone high for the killing blow.

Kaelen’s vision pulsed, darkness at the edges, the world tilting, but his fingers twitched against the floor. His <Third Eye> burned in his skull, screaming at him to move.

The marble descended —

And Kaelen rolled.

The slab smashed into the ground where his head had been, shattering into razor-edged fragments. Before the clone could react, Kaelen lashed out with a brutal kick, his heel cracking against its already dislocated arm. A howl tore from the clone’s throat—

Kaelen didn’t stop.

He surged upward, driving his knee into the clone’s gut, then grabbed its neck with both hands pinning the clone to the ground.

"This ends now."

He squeezed.

The clone bucked, gasped, tried to claw—but Kaelen leaned down, snarling, and headbutted him again and again making his head spin as well but he did not loosen his grip at all.

The body beneath him went still.

And finally stopped moving.

Kaelen staggered back, chest heaving, blood dripping from his split lip and bruised knuckles.

It was over.

He exhaled, long and slow, then spat blood onto the corpse at his feet.

"Fucking hell..."

Kaelen learned the hard way that it was no fun fighting Kaelen.

The marble around him began to shimmer, glowing golden cracks forming beneath the surface.

The voice returned.

"Truth accepted."

A surge of warmth filled his chest. A rush of something old, holy, and unfamiliar.

You have conquered your Trial of Truth.

Unique Trait Gained: Cleric’s Trickster — support spells cast with malicious intent gain bonus effects.

You have embraced the contradiction of light and selfishness

But Kaelen, sprawled across the floor, barely conscious, simply raised a trembling hand.

"...Totally not worth it," he mumbled.

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