1. Trial

“Hurry up, slave!”

The chainer’s boot struck Alistair in the side and sent him stumbling forward with the rest of the line. Ahead, the portal shifted like a tear in the air, swallowing one slave after another beneath the dull glow of everflaming torches. The island was already dim and oppressive without it, all cold stone, stale air, and the smell of fear, but the portal made it worse. It stood there in silence, dark and luminous, while the men entering it hurried to seal their fate.

The slaver with the scarred face watched the line with open disgust. The scar pulled half his features out of shape, giving him a permanent sneer. “Move them quickly,” he said. “We go back as soon as the last one comes back.”

His partner stood near the ledge with a class reader crystal, checking those who had already returned. “As long as none of them do something funny.”

The scarred man gave a dry laugh. “This lot?”

Even so, their caution remained. A labor class was useful. A harmless utility class could be sold or put to work. But a combat class was another matter. Combat slaves were too difficult to control, and once they began to grow, they stopped being worth the risk. Those who came back with something dangerous rarely survived the return journey. Fortunately for the company, cases like that were uncommon. Fear did most of the work for them. The slaves understood the limits placed on them, and very few dared reach beyond what was expected.

Alistair kept his head lowered and his face empty as he followed the line. He had worn that look for years. It helped to seem broken. Broken slaves were easier to overlook. Underneath it, though, his thoughts were as intense as ever. The company had taken nearly everything from him, but his memories remained. So did his hatred, and his will. One day, he would be free. After that, he would make them pay for every life they had destroyed.

When his turn came, he stepped before the portal and lifted his head. For the briefest instant, the empty expression vanished. His eyes gleamed with cold hatred, and a thin grin crossed his face before he walked through.

The chainer standing near the portal frowned. For a moment, he had the strange impression that one of the slaves had looked at him with real malice. It left a faint chill behind, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Slaves were beaten, starved, and worked until there was barely anything left in them. Some still hated. But hatred was not resistance, and it certainly was not danger. The company had made sure of that long ago.

Inside the portal, Alistair found himself in a vast stone hall so silent it felt removed from the world. At its center stood an altar, and upon it rested a white crystal shining with pure light. Behind it rose a great mural depicting the Five Ancestors, the beings who had created the world and humanity. The Hall of Ascension was known to all, even to slaves, but knowing of it and standing under the symbolic presence of the Five were not the same thing. The mural radiated such overwhelming power that it pressed down on him without touch. Awe was too small a word for it. The weight pressing down on him felt deeper, older, and heavier. His knees gave way, and he knelt before he fully understood he was doing it.

He was alone. Others had entered before him, yet none were there. That was as it should be. Ascension was always solitary, a trial experienced by one person alone. Alistair lowered his head and offered the Five one final prayer. The prayer lacked the polish elders taught, but it was sincere. Then he forced himself back to his feet and approached the altar. Every step reminded him of how weak his body had become. Hunger, beatings, and hard labor had worn him down for years. He hated that weakness, but hating it had never changed it.

The rite itself was simple. A person only had to ask for a class, in words or in thought, and then touch the crystal to begin the trial. Each class carried its own challenge, and the greater the class, the greater the difficulty. Most people failed their first attempt because they aimed too high. Failure closed that path forever, but not the others. There was no time limit inside the Hall, and no time passed outside while a trial was underway. Everyone eventually left with a class. Some did so quickly. Others failed again and again before settling for what they could manage. There was only one true restriction. A person could enter this hall only once in their lifetime.

Alistair took a slow breath and placed his hand on the crystal. He knew the risk. Even if he gained a class worth having, the company might kill him the moment he returned. But he had not waited all these years to cower at the end. He had prepared for this chance as well as he could. Unlike most, he did not ask for a specific common class. The Five could answer more than exact words. They could match a desire to a fitting path. So that was what he asked for: a class that could help him achieve his goal. A class that could win him freedom and give him the power to take revenge. Whatever form it took, he knew one thing with certainty. No ordinary class would be enough.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author’s work.

The world vanished the moment the crystal accepted him.

Alistair had expected a battle, or perhaps monsters, riddles, enemies, or some other challenge spoken of in frightened whispers by those who had heard tales of ascension. Instead, his trial became something far stranger. He lived. Again and again, without end. He was born into countless lives and dragged through them from beginning to end, only to be cast into another. He was a farmer, bent beneath the sun. He was a soldier dying in mud. He was a scholar. A father. A beast. A tree. A flower. Something formless drifting in the void. Each life came whole and vivid, complete enough to drown in. Through all of it, he had only one task: preserve his sense of self.

The true trial was endurance. Pain came often, and fear followed in endless forms, but neither mattered as much as remaining himself beneath the weight of all those lives. To remember who he was. To remember what had been done to him. There were times when another existence tempted him. Some were peaceful and warm. Some offered a kind of belonging he had not felt in years. It would have been easy to let go, to accept that life as real and forget the one that had come before. But each time he drifted, the same wound brought him back. His family. Their deaths. The company. The debt that remained unpaid. In the end, anger sustained him more than hope ever could. It kept him whole when everything else tried to wear him away

When the trial ended, he was standing in the Hall once more.

His breathing was rough, and for a moment he simply stood there, letting himself feel the reality of his own body again. Then he opened his personal guide, the inheritance engraved on every soul by the Five.

PERSONAL GUIDE
Class	Clonemancer
Level	1
STATS
VIT	2
STR	1 Continue Reading You are reading a free preview (50%). Log in to unlock the full chapter and join comments. Log In to UnlockCreate Account Related chapter tags #clonemancy:ascensionthroughathousandclones[litrpgmultiplebodiesprogressionfantasy]chapter1#clonemancy:ascensionthroughathousandclones[litrpgmultiplebodiesprogressionfantasy]chapter2#clonemancy:ascensionthroughathousandclones[litrpgmultiplebodiesprogressionfantasy]chapter3#clonemancy:ascensionthroughathousandclones[litrpgmultiplebodiesprogressionfantasy]latestchapter#clonemancy:ascensionthroughathousandclones[litrpgmultiplebodiesprogressionfantasy]readonline 0 chapter views Related Novels Ponder the Orb [Progression Fantasy LitRPG | Wizard Life] Early Adopter [System Apocalypse | LitRPG | Progression Fantasy] The Calamitous Bob (stubbed) Rebirth: Monolith 0 Comments You must be logged in to comment. Bookmark Quote TTS Link Play Pause Stop Skip Scroll Settings Note DMCATermsPrivacyContact 0 online