As the first scroll vanished, another appeared. Unfurling.
The second illusion began. A bustling marketplace. Vibrant with chatter and commerce. The main protagonist this time was a merchant. Portly and jovial.
He laughed with a man standing beside him. Both examining bolts of fine cloth. The scroll's text identified the jovial man as Seedlair. A successful trader. And the other as Tunelock. His best friend. A seemingly trustworthy associate.
The narrative unfolded. Seedlair had built a prosperous business through years of hard work and fair dealing. Tunelock, however, was a parasite.
He meticulously planned to steal Seedlair's entire fortune. He orchestrated a complex scheme. Involving forged documents, bribed officials, and a carefully timed betrayal. One that was executed during a large transaction.
The scene darkened. Seedlair discovered the betrayal. His accounts were empty. His warehouses seized.
When he confronted Tunelock, his 'friend' ordered thugs to break his legs. Ensuring he couldn't flee. Or pursue justice easily. Seedlair was left crippled. Destitute. His reputation ruined.
His family was unable or unwilling to cope with the sudden poverty and Seedlair's broken state. They abandoned him one by one.
Jack watched as Seedlair hobbled towards a river. He was alone. Starving. His legs twisted awkwardly. He was contemplating... to end his misery. Through suicide. A suitable case for vengeance.
Jack extended his presence. A quiet power flowing into the broken merchant. Seedlair felt a strange resilience settle in his heart. A cold clarity replacing despair. The voice in his mind – Jack's voice, crisp and direct – instructed him.
'They stole your life. Take it back. Your wealth for theirs. Your freedom for their chains.'
Jack provided the means. Not just physical strength. But also a tactical mind. The ability to perceive vulnerabilities. The cunning needed for survival. And for counter-scheming in the brutal world of commerce and crime.
Seedlair was guided by Jack. He disappeared from the streets. Learning to operate in the shadows.
He targeted those involved. The bribed officials found their corruption exposed. Leading to their ruin and imprisonment. The thugs who broke his legs suffered similar fates. Their violence turned back upon them. Leaving them crippled or worse.
Finally... Tunelock.
Seedlair was now a shadow agent in the city's underbelly. He systematically dismantled Tunelock's ill-gotten empire.
He leaked incriminating documents. Sabotaged shipments. Turned Tunelock's own bribed contacts against him. He didn't just take back his fortune. He ensured Tunelock lost everything. His reputation. His wealth. His freedom.
Seedlair orchestrated a final confrontation where Tunelock was publicly shamed. And arrested. Facing a lifetime in prison. In fact, he had even made an arrangement to make Tunelock's life in jail as miserable as possible.
Vengeance delivered. Tunelock was ruined. His accomplices was punished. Jack felt the balance restored.
But then, Seedlair's eyes lingered on Tunelock's grand mansion. He thought of the years of friendship. The depth of the betrayal. The loss of his wealth. Most was poured into the building.
A new urge surged. To burn the mansion to the ground. To erase every trace of the luxurious life Tunelock had lived. Over his hard earned wealth.
Seedlair wanted to destroy the building. Even if it meant harming the servants or other innocent people within or nearby.
'Stop.' Jack's voice was firm. Cutting through the rising vindictiveness. 'The debt is paid. His life, his fortune, his freedom for yours. Your vengeance ended here.'
Jack pulled back the enhancing power. Seedlair stumbled. The clarity within his eyes was fading. Replaced by simple exhaustion. And the dull ache in his legs.
The urge to destroy subsided. Leaving only the cold satisfaction of justice served. And the long, hard road ahead of rebuilding his own life.
The illusion fractured.
...
Jack was back in the court. Another scroll appeared.
The third illusion manifested. A small, isolated village. Nestled in a valley. The scene depicted simple life. The life of honest folks living off the land.
There was a revered Elder. A man named Shiner. One well known for his wisdom. And there was a family, the Millers. Prosperous and generous. The owners the most fertile land in the valley.
The narrative revealed a dark heart beneath Shiner's wise facade. He coveted the Miller family's land and influence.
He concocted a lie. Blaming the Millers for a recent blight. The one that affected the communal crops. Accusing them of witchcraft or sabotage.
He subtly used his authority and the villagers' fear to whip them into a frenzy.
The scene turned ugly. A mob, incited by Shiner, dragged the Miller family from their home. They were subjected to a swift, brutal 'trial'. One orchestrated by Shiner.
The parents and their eldest son were executed publicly. Their land was confiscated by the village under Shiner's direction.
The youngest daughter was no older than ten. She managed to hide during the commotion. And escape into the surrounding wilderness.
Jack watched the child. Alone and terrified. Shivering in a cold cave. Clutching a simple cloth doll. Shiner's face, smug with victory, flashed in her mind. Fear and hatred flooded the girl's mind.
Jack's presence reached out. A cloak of protection and nascent strength settling around the girl. His voice echoed in her mind. Gentle, but resolute.
'They took your family. Your home. They were guided by a lie. You must expose the truth. Make the liar face the consequences.'
Jack didn't just grant her strength. He granted her intuition. A knowledge of the land. The ability to survive and be hidden from danger. And the patience to wait for opportunity.
Days passed in the illusion. The girl was forced to mature earlier. Hardened by the wilderness. Tempered by the bitter memory.
Jack guided her subtly. Showing her where to find evidence of Shiner's manipulation. How to approach neighboring villages for help. How to sew seeds of doubt in the hearts of the remaining villagers.
She didn't seek immediate, bloody revenge. Guided by Jack, she worked to uncover the truth.
She found the real cause of the blight. Evidence of Shiner tampering with other crops to make the 'curse' seem real. She brought witnesses from other valleys who had heard Shiner boast of his plan.
She returned to the village not with a weapon. But with proof. She presented her findings to the few other elders. The ones who hadn't been fully corrupted or intimidated by Shiner.
Doubt spread. The villagers had seen the evidence. They remembered the kindness of the Miller family. They heard the narration of how they could be the next victims for Shiner's scheme. They immediately turned on Shiner.
Shiner was stripped of his authority. Publicly shamed. And forced into exile. Penniless, left to wander the lands he had once lorded over.
His reputation was ruined. His name became synonymous with treachery.
Vengeance achieved. The truth was revealed. The perpetrator punished. The seized house and land were returned to the girl's possession.
Shiner was driven out. But his family, his wife and grandchildren who knew nothing of his crimes. They watched from their cottage. Weeping.
The young girl felt a surge of hatred. Shiner's bloodline. Should they be spared? They benefited from his crime. Enjoying the luxury from her family's tragedy.
'Enough.' Jack's voice cut through the rising tide of hereditary blame. 'His crime was his own. They bear no mark of it. Vengeance is against the guilty, not their kin.'
The young woman paused. The idea of collective punishment fading as Jack withdrew his influence. She looked at Shiner's weeping family. She now saw only sorrow and helplessness. Not guilt.
...
The illusion dissolved. Jack was back in the court. Another scroll appeared. The cycle continued.
Case after case... And it got more complicated in the later cases. Involving multiple parties with no clear-cut direction of the crimes. Or involving victims which were not innocent at all. Or involving supernatural power.
One hundred cases. Each was a tapestry of injustice. Betrayal, theft, murder, abuse of power... Each requiring a specific, tailored form of retribution.
Jack became the arbiter of 'suitable vengeance'. Sitting on the hellish throne of judgement. He guided the victims. Gave them the power, the cunning, and the opportunity.
He watched them hunt down their tormentors. Inflict punishment that mirrored the crime and often even worse. Loss for loss. Pain for pain. Ruin for ruin.
But in every single case, he applied his own strict rule. The vengeance stopped at the guilty.
Wives, children, uninvolved associates, bystanders... they were off-limits. The punishment fell onto the crime of the individual. Not the group. Not the bloodline. Not the affiliation. It was precise. And targeted.
And Jack refused to help guilty victims. He didn't care about failing the Trials. Those who became victims because of his own actions didn't deserve his guidance.
The fallen gamblers. The unlucky criminals. The betrayed pirates... Jack decisively refused to guide them gaining their vengeance.
The scrolls kept appearing. Jack kept judging. His monstrous form remained impassive. But internally, he felt a resonance with each act of retribution.
This wasn't just a trial. This was the core of what he had become. The Herald of Vengeance. It felt less like a test. And more like a confirmation.
The hundredth scroll appeared. The hundredth illusion played out. A brutal betrayal. A calculated destruction of an innocent life. Jack guided the vengeance. Aaw it enacted. And stopped it just short of excess.
The illusion faded for the final time. The hundredth scroll dissolved into dust. The infernal court remained. The skeletal guards stayed fixed in place. The blazing throne was still radiating power. The air was crackled with anticipation.
Jack sat back in the Seat of Judgment. He had handled a hundred cases. More than ninety vengeances he thought were suitable. He had judged and executed the trial's demands according to his own code.
What now? Had he passed? Was this what the Cloudfather sought?