In a surreal, techno-mystic labyrinth known as the Inn, ten individuals undergo harrowing psychological and spiritual trials that challenge their identities, beliefs, and loyalties.
Nikiforos & St. Amou clash over faith versus logic, ultimately confronting monstrous reflections of themselves. Nikiforos sacrifices, St. Amou betrays, but redemption comes only through forgiveness.
Sir Kostanto & Sir Patsir’ I.0. must choose between pride and principle in a crumbling court of law. Mercy triumphs over ego, reshaping them into reluctant allies.
Gogos & Gleg face each other’s deepest lies in a mirror-tavern, roleplaying one another’s pain until truth forces vulnerability, leading to a bittersweet, shared survival.
Nikoko & Doc Pitoros relive their failures in a haunted banquet of memory. One leaves with redemption; the other stays to face shame with newfound humility.
Koump’aros & Pando’ Spiros navigate a mind-maze of identity and madness. Pando saves Koump’aros by anchoring him in truth — but now knows the dangerous being he spared.
After regrouping, the Crowned Silhouette reveals the trials were only a prelude. To proceed, a life must be taken. Koump’aros murders Sir Patsir’ I.0., shocking the group. Accusations follow — particularly against Nikiforos, blamed for unleashing the darkness. As alliances fracture, a new path opens beneath the altar, leading deeper into the mystery.
The Inn was just the beginning. Now, only those willing to lose everything may descend. One of them will not return.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nikiforos & St. Amou — Trial of the Fractured Faith
They stand in the blasphemous chapel, stitched from circuits and scripture. Above the altar, a twisted crucifix holds a mirror between faith and control. The room pulses, reacting to emotion.
St. Amou, circling the relics, mutters:
“You wield shadows like mysticism… I forge gods from logic. Which one of us is the real priest?”
Nikiforos, calmly lighting incense:
“A god without soul is no god at all. You turned faith into vanity.”
The room responds — walls grow thorns of wire, bleeding data and psalms. The trial’s core emerges: a childlike figure, blank-faced, held in stasis between two altars.
The choice is simple: one of them must give up their power to let the child live. If neither chooses… it dies.
St. Amou hesitates. Nikiforos kneels.
“Power was never mine to keep,” Nikiforos says, placing his shadowstaff down. “I was a wolf. Let me die as a man.”
St. Amou looks at him… then smiles.
But instead of helping — he tries to steal Nikiforos’ soul, attempting to graft it into code for himself.
The chapel screams.
Betrayal.
Nikiforos resists with a prayer-shield, barely holding off the technoblade aimed at his core.
Suddenly, the mirror between them cracks — reflecting both of them in their most monstrous forms. It lashes out.
They must now fight each other… and their own reflections.
Will Nikiforos manage to purify the space and save them both? Or will St. Amou succeed in turning this into a grotesque upgrade?
Sir Kostanto & Sir Patsir’ I.0. — Trial of the Split Path
Statues of both men argue silently around them — a parliament of ego and principle. The golden fusion statue stands between them, its sword raised.
A plaque reads:
“To leave this place, only one path may be chosen. One knight walks forward. One kneels.”
Sir Patsir scoffs:
“It’s obvious. I’m the one with a future. You’re half-dust, half-sleeping spell.”
Sir Kostanto just looks at the statue. “You burn fast. I endure. Law is time itself.”
The room begins collapsing — floor tiles falling into chaotic time voids.
Conflict erupts:
Patsir charges, swinging wildly, ego bruised by the room’s silence. Kostanto parries not with anger — but with relentless precision. He’s not just slow… he’s inevitable.
But then…
A twist — Kostanto saves Patsir from falling into a temporal rift. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t gloat. Just acts.
“Why?” Patsir gasps.
“Because no law is just… if it forgets mercy.”
Will Patsir learn from this… or wait to strike the moment the door opens?
Gogos & Gleg — Trial of the Shared Lie
In the mirror-tavern, the bottle between them pulses. Inside: a swirling fog shaped like truth.
They must drink together — but only one will see the other’s real face.
Gleg, chuckling darkly:
“You ever drink with someone who might kill you mid-toast?”
Gogos: “I am that someone, most days.”
They toast.
Gleg sees Gogos’ true face: a man split in dozens, each one screaming in silence. A soul lost, still pretending.
Gogos sees Gleg’s truth: a maskless emptiness — the carefree act is a cage around his grief.
They say nothing.
The bottle shatters — but instead of a way out, they’re faced with their greatest lie.
Gogos must impersonate Gleg’s dead brother. Gleg must play the man Gogos used to be.
Only by breaking character can they move on.
Will they admit their wounds? Or double down on the performance?
Nikiforos & St. Amou — Conclusion of the Trial of the Fractured Faith
The corrupted chapel convulses. The two reflections — monstrous, twisted forms of Nikiforos and St. Amou — step from the cracked mirror and attack with the fury of unspoken truths.
Nikiforos’s reflection is a demonic preacher, eyes glowing with false humility, chanting manipulation like a hymn.
St. Amou’s is a machine of pure control, dripping oil and ambition, its limbs bound by wires of guilt and intellect.
St. Amou’s is a machine of pure control, dripping oil and ambition, its limbs bound by wires of guilt and intellect.
They fight their shadows — and each other.
Nikiforos tries to hold the line:
“Let the child live. Let us die if we must.”
But Amou is too far gone — madness fuels him. As the mirror cracks further, St. Amou stabs at Nikiforos, only to have the child step in the way, absorbing the blow.
The room freezes.
Silence.
Silence.
The blood is not human. It’s light.
The child opens its mouth and speaks:
“You both failed. And yet… you both told the truth.”
The reflection-mirror implodes, sucking the false versions back into it. The child disappears.
Nikiforos collapses, drained.
St. Amou staggers, but something is different. A look of shame clouds his eyes.
St. Amou staggers, but something is different. A look of shame clouds his eyes.
Result:
- Nikiforos lives, deeply wounded.
- St. Amou survives, but marked — part of his mind now fractured, haunted by the child’s gaze.
- The door opens, but only when Nikiforos forgives him.
He does. Slowly. But he does.
Sir Kostanto & Sir Patsir’ I.0. — Conclusion of the Trial of the Split Path
Floating above nothingness, their platforms collapsing tile by tile.
Sir Patsir breathes heavily. “This test… it’s insane. We’re knights, not puzzle rats.”
Kostanto doesn’t respond. He just kneels before the statue.
“The law says one must kneel. I obey. Let the path judge who is worthy.”
But the statue does not move. Because it’s not the kneeling that matters — it’s the intent.
Sir Patsir realizes it first. “You’re willing to lose to follow the rules. Even if they’re wrong.”
Kostanto: “The law is not always right. But without law, there is nothing to challenge.”
Suddenly, the statue’s sword drops between them.
“Two knights entered. One must die in name.”
A choice: Patsir must renounce his title to save them both.
He’s sweating. His pride, his family’s name — it’s all he ever truly had.
But then… he remembers Kostanto’s mercy, when he could’ve let him fall.
He kneels.
“Then let the banana boy be no knight.”
And the statue smiles. The tiles rebuild. A new door opens.
They leave the room — no longer adversaries, but equals, both bruised… and changed.
Gogos & Gleg — Conclusion of the Trial of the Shared Lie
Gogos now wears the face of Gleg’s dead brother. Gleg wears the face Gogos abandoned long ago — young, hopeful, and utterly broken.
They play their roles.
At first, there is mocking, laughter, jest.
But then…
Gleg begins to cry, softly. “You left, brother. You never came back.”
Gogos whispers, “I couldn’t face what I became. It wasn’t just faces I changed… it was who I was.”
The tavern shakes — the bottles turn to masks, falling and shattering.
The trial is reaching its climax.
A voice booms from the walls:
“Only one can leave with the truth. The other must lose it forever.”
Gogos steps forward.
“Take mine. I’ve had too many faces. I can live with one less.”
Gleg stops him.
“You’re still you, Gogos. You never had to become anyone else for me.”
He smashes the last bottle.
The trial ends.
They both retain their truth.
But Gogos loses one face forever — the one he loved most. The one he wore for her. He doesn’t tell Gleg.
They walk through the door together, quiet… and oddly bonded.
The doors close behind them.
All six re-enter the shifting Grand Chamber, visibly altered, some bleeding, some shaken.
Nikoko & Doc Pitoros — Trial of the Shattered Toast
The door leads them into a dimly lit banquet hall, eerily grand and silent. Dozens of empty chairs surround a feast that smells faintly of rot and nostalgia.
Each chair bears a name. Some are familiar. Some are forgotten.
Two goblets rest at the head of the table. One for Nikoko, etched with “The Unluckiest”, and one for Pitoros, inscribed “The Overconfident.”
Nikoko groans. “Another memory test? I’ve failed enough of those in life.”
Pitoros claps him on the back. “Come now, old friend. We drink, we eat, we laugh, and maybe we learn something. That’s always been my prescription.”
But once they drink… the lights go out.
In the dark, the voices of every man they’ve failed echo in chorus:
- “Nikoko, where were you when we needed you?”
- “Pitoros, your arrogance cost them everything.”
Suddenly, the room transforms into a war tent, stained with blood.
A young soldier appears — dying, eyes pleading.
Nikoko recognizes him.
The man he was supposed to protect.
The man he was supposed to protect.
Pitoros recognizes him.
The one who died under his scalpel… because he wouldn’t admit he didn’t know how to save him.
The one who died under his scalpel… because he wouldn’t admit he didn’t know how to save him.
The soldier speaks:
“Only one of you may walk out with redemption. The other must carry the shame.”
Nikoko is already standing.
“I deserve this. I’ve worn the smile long enough.”
“I deserve this. I’ve worn the smile long enough.”
Pitoros steps forward. “No. I do.”
They argue, and for once, the doctor listens.
He steps back.
“I have much to learn still. You’re already broken enough, Nikoko. Go.”
Nikoko walks out, quietly.
Pitoros remains… as the soldier slowly fades into light.
He’s left alone in the war tent, a single candle burning.
But he smiles. It’s the first honest smile he’s worn in years.
But he smiles. It’s the first honest smile he’s worn in years.
Koump’aros & Pando’ Spiros — Trial of the Mind-Tomb
They step into a labyrinth of mirrors.
Each mirror reflects not just their image, but their minds.
Pando’ Spiros sees a thousand strategies, battle plans, permutations — each with a cost in blood.
Koump’aros sees himself as a king, a god, a beast — but never as a man.
Koump’aros sees himself as a king, a god, a beast — but never as a man.
Then the voice comes:
“To escape, you must know yourself, and trust the other not to use it against you.”
Koump’aros laughs. “Trust him? I barely trust myself.”
Pando is calm. Cold.
“Then you will remain here. In the dark. As a beast or a memory.”
Suddenly, Koump’aros starts shifting — into other faces, into tentacled things. The alien infection pulses. He’s losing grip.
Pando points at a mirror.
“That one. That’s you, Koump’aros. Before the infection.”
Koump’aros snarls. “You think you know me?”
“I studied you before this. I do know you.”
The mirror fractures. Koump’aros is thrown back, howling — caught between forms.
Pando reaches into the shards, slicing his hand, and places a fragment of his bloodied reflection into Koump’aros’s chest.
“Take it. Anchor yourself. I won’t let you fall to madness. Not yet.”
Koump’aros stabilizes — breathing hard. The tentacles fade. The beast recedes.
Together, they find the exit.
But Pando’s eyes narrow as they walk through the door.
“Now I really know what you are.”
Koump’aros laughs. “And yet… you saved me. Curious.”
The Regathering
All ten return to the Grand Chamber.
Some are broken.
Some are bloodied.
Some… are changed beyond words.
Some are bloodied.
Some… are changed beyond words.
And the Crowned Silhouette returns, above the altar of flickering candles.
“You’ve tasted fear. Truth. Regret. And betrayal. But the trials have only just begun.”
As the chamber begins to split again — into staircases ascending and descending — the shadow murmurs:
The Chamber Demands Blood. The Plot Demands Movement.The group stands in the flickering silence of the Grand Chamber, ten battered souls beneath the Crowned Silhouette. Shadows twist like smoke around them. The two staircases — one rising into luminous fog, the other descending into obsidian depths — pulse like breathing entities.
But no one moves.
Then, the voice returns, not from above, but within the very walls:
“One cannot move forward unless another falls back.
One cannot be reborn unless another is lost.
The door demands a toll. The path demands… a soul.”
One cannot be reborn unless another is lost.
The door demands a toll. The path demands… a soul.”
A single candle snuffs out on the altar.
The group turns. Ten of them entered. One will not leave.
The Death
It happens too fast.
Koump’aros, ever twitching under his skin, lunges — not at Pando, but at Sir Patsir’ I.0., the Banana Boy.
“I’m sorry… I have to.”
He drives a blade into the knight’s chest — not out of rage, not even out of madness — but calculated necessity.
The others react too slow. Gogos transforms into a beast too late. St. Amou’s tech-sigil flares but doesn’t fire. Doc Pitoros screams and rushes to the body, but it’s done.
Sir Patsir’ stares up at Koump’aros, wide-eyed.
“My father… will hear of this…”
And then he’s gone.
And then he’s gone.
Blood pools across the chamber floor. A second candle flickers out.
The Betrayal
Gleg steps forward, eyes glassy and grim.
“I didn’t want it to come to this. But… there’s a reason the Inn locked us in. A reason the trials started.”
“I didn’t want it to come to this. But… there’s a reason the Inn locked us in. A reason the trials started.”
He turns to Nikiforos.
“You brought it here, didn’t you?”
Nikiforos says nothing.
Gleg continues:
“You were the first to enter. The darkness followed you in. You were the spark.”
The group murmurs.
Nikiforos finally speaks, voice icy:
“I did what I had to. This Inn is not just stone and wood. It’s a crucible. A gate. A trap and a test.”
Then he turns to Gogos:
“And I’m not the only one who lied.”
Gogos shifts nervously — a dozen faces ripple across him before he settles.
Gleg draws his axe from beneath the bar.
“Enough. The chamber’s price is paid. But the rest of you need to decide — who do you follow? Who do you trust?”
The Major Revelation — A Twist
As Sir Patsir’s blood stains the stone, the chamber responds.
A glowing symbol blazes into the floor — the sigil of the Crowned Silhouette.
It radiates a map — ten symbols, now only nine glowing. But something else appears:
At the heart of the chamber, beneath the altar, a spiral staircase descends that wasn’t there before.
A whisper, clear and terrible, rises:
“The real game begins now. The Inn was only the gatehouse. Below… lies the soul of the Crowned One.”
“Only those willing to lose everything may enter. And only one of you… will ever leave.”
