Agony radiated.

In its wake, a single soul.

Cycling as an ever-repeating nightmare.

After all, the destruction of a race was not a pretty sight, and for iteration 1-53-b, it had been particularly sinister.

The soul watched, nothing but a bystander, as the armies of 1-53-b fought. Unaware that the very ground they marched upon would soon be their final place of rest. Monsters of death, abominations of darkness, and leviathans beyond their comprehension flooded across the heavens and earth as if starved locusts on a fresh crop.

Man's blood ran thick, and the rugged rock beneath was no longer visible. The sadistic monsters of old twisted and ripped asunder with joyous glee at what the fiery brimstone hadn't destroyed. After all, how could such young beings expect to win against such an old power?

Nothing but a land of corpses and charred bone awaited them in the final floor of the trials. It was a complete and utter massacre, and they didn't even see it coming.

Humanity and its allies had died.

Humanity had lost.

A single human lay crumbled and crippled. The hollow eyes of thousands of strangers looked towards him in mockery. Teeth of charred skeletons rattled like laughter, and the moans and death throws turned to erratic screams of glee as the poison of fear consumed the man's mind for the millionth time.

"Pitiful creatures." A deep voice slid through the man's psyche like molten tar. Eroding away what little was left.

Luckily mercy came swiftly in the form of a dark armored boot, and It was as if a rotten fruit hit the ground.

All went black.

The cycle restarted, and the man relived the scene of his life once again in horror, unable to change events. He was nothing more than a spectator forced to watch his failures and shortcomings repeatedly. His time flitted by like a movie; his birth was the exposition, and his death, the curtains close.

'In a way, we are the same, you and I.' Amerial thought bitterly as she looked down at the dying soul. She, too, was simply a spectator, someone forced to watch as hundreds of races were snuffed out, only for them to go through the process once more as a new iteration of the System's sick game. No, it was not the System but her own people, her ancestors, who had conjured this nauseous game.

The trials may be brutal, but they are a necessary evil. Even she knew this, even if she might not fully agree. Chagrin washed through her mind as Amerial watched the soul. Even as a leader of her people, even as a member of one of the oldest races within the endless plains, A God amongst gods, she was powerless, forced to watch and mourn a soul she didn't even know.

Amerial gave him a month to break free of the cycle, but despite her coaxing and prodding, the man refused, repeatedly choosing to stay and watch. She was one of the oldest beings in the universe. Her heart should be above such insignificant beings. And yet, she found herself mourning from her own soul. The endless plains were truly brutal.

There was a name for such souls that could not move on due to emotions. Souls that are absent of reincarnation, Lost Souls. In a sense, they were also necessary for fueling and improving upon the trials, but even if she knew the truth, was it right? At the end of the trial, these souls are ripped from the cycle. As if they never existed in the first place. A practice that weighed heavily on Amerial and her people as well.

However, he was her last job before she could return to her palace upon the clouds, far, far away from the troubles of the trials. Of course, there would be other trials, but ones of this importance shouldn't happen for another millennium, and her race would be pushed back to the bottom of the list. This was her only solace.

Yes, that was it. Amerial would return soon. There were bureaucrats and hoops she had to jump through as the representative of her race, endless meeting of little to no import, but it was far less troublesome than administrating the trials. She knew it to be a great benefit for her people in her heart. While she was away, the System protected her race and planets, but it still put a sour taste in her mouth.

She looked over at the soul with jade eyes decorated in runes and filled with sorrow. Her hand lifted, beckoning the System.

| Flynn Blackwater

| Age: 123

| Rank: Rare [Level: 182]

|

| Class: Swordsman [Legendary]

| |- Through hard work and dedication, this

| swordsman has polished his basic class into that

| of a legendary class!

| Stats

| |- Strength 678

| |- Dexterity 432

| |- Constitution 356

| |- Intelligence 80

| |- Charisma 90

| |- Wisdom 92

| |- Fate 156

| Race: Human

A sigh released from her lips as another prompt followed her thoughts.

| Soul Destruction?

| |- Y / N

She looked past the screen as a man gritted his teeth. She paused as he was once again looking up. His final moments played out one last time. He yelled, and the boot fell like an executioner's ax, and he died for the final time.

"I'm truly sorry."