Chapter 28
Reflections in Smoke
No weapon swings in my hands—I am the weapon.
The Skathrith’s light flares brighter with each step, casting jagged shadows against the trembling walls. My strikes have become instinct, an extension of the Blade’s will. Each gesture trails silver light as though the air itself is being cleaved apart.
The Thrynix scatter, their chittering growing faint, their shadows flickering at the edges of my vision. The whispers rise into a chant, matching the pounding of my pulse.
MORE. FEED. DESTROY.
I cut through another Thrynix, the edges of my hands glowing as they slice through its translucent body. Blood sprays, but the Skathrith drinks it in midair, feeding before the husk even hits the ground. A sickening crunch echoes as the remnants collapse, but I am already moving, the Blade’s hunger propelling me forward.
The swarm flees deeper into the chamber. Weak. Broken. The Skathrith hums louder, insistent.
RUN. HUNT. FEED.
I obey.
The walls shift as I chase the swarm, their smooth surfaces warping and folding inward, creating the sense of a living thing breathing around me. The air grows heavy, charged with an oppressive energy that makes my teeth ache. I slow, the Skathrith’s hum faltering, its light dimming as if unsure.
The swarm disappears into the shadows ahead, and silence falls—unnervingly complete.
Then, a voice.
“You are nothing without me.”
It’s my voice, echoing softly at first, barely more than a whisper. The words cut through the haze of the Skathrith’s influence, pulling me to an abrupt halt.
“You’re just a tool. A blade wielding a blade.”
Laughter follows—cruel, mocking. Shadows peel from the walls, coalescing into a figure that flickers between forms: my mother, my younger self, the warrior I fought before. Each face twists with malice, their eyes gleaming in the dim light.
The Skathrith thrums weakly, its hum subdued under the weight of the chamber.
“You can’t even tell where I end and you begin,” the figure sneers, stepping closer. The walls ripple around it, folding inward like the pages of a book.
I raise my hands, silver light flickering faintly along their edges. My breath catches, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
STRIKE. STRIKE. STRIKE.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
I lash out, the Skathrith’s energy slicing through the figure, but it dissolves into smoke, reforming behind me. Laughter echoes, amplified by the chamber’s acoustics, surrounding me.
“You think you’re in control?” the voice taunts, its tone layered with mine. “You’re not even real anymore. Just a hollow shell for the Blade to fill.”
The chamber becomes a labyrinth of shifting shadows. The figure multiplies, surrounding me with flickering copies of myself. Each one moves independently, their hands glowing with a sickly light as they mirror my strikes. My movements falter as doubt seeps in.
STRIKE. DESTROY. FEED.
The Blade’s whispers grow louder, colliding in my mind. But every time I attack, my hands cut through nothing but air. The illusions close in, their laughter deafening.
One steps closer, its face flickering into Binah’s. “You’re scaring her,” it says, its voice laced with quiet sorrow. “You see it, don’t you? How she looks at you now?”
The Skathrith roars in protest, its hum flaring sharply.
WEAK. STRIKE. FEED.
I close my eyes, centering myself in Horizon’s Breath. My movements slow, my breathing steadying as I align with the Blade’s rhythm. The illusions waver, their forms flickering.
“You don’t need them,” the Skathrith whispers, its voice cold and clear. “You don’t need anyone.”
The smoke shifts again, solidifying into a new figure. My breath catches.
Penelope.
She stands before me, her platinum-blond hair cascading over her shoulders, her azure eyes steady and sharp. There is a calmness to her, an unnerving composure that feels out of place in this chaos.
“Do you remember our first meeting?” she asks, her voice soft but heavy with meaning.
The question strikes harder than any blade. My chest tightens as I search for the memory, but my mind is blank. A pang of panic cuts through the haze.
She tilts her head, watching me intently. “You don’t, do you? Strange. I remember it perfectly. You were… different then.”
Her words twist in my chest like a blade. My breathing quickens, anger rising unbidden. “You’re not real,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Does it matter?” she asks, stepping closer. Her presence feels too vivid, too tangible.
The Skathrith’s whispers swell, sharp and insistent: STRIKE. DESTROY.
“You can kill me,” Penelope says, her voice steady, unflinching. “But it won’t make you whole. It won’t bring anything back.”
Her words hit like a hammer, cracking something deep inside. My hands tremble, the energy flickering along their edges.
I swing anyway.
My palm cleaves through her form, and she dissolves into smoke, her violet eyes lingering as the rest of her fades. The chamber feels emptier now, colder. Killing her has taken something from me—something I cannot name.
The Skathrith hums in triumph.
FEED. FEED. FEED.
The illusions dissolve, leaving a single figure standing in the center of the chamber. It is me—but not. Twisted. Shadowed. Its body pulses with dark energy, its hands trailing a sickly green light that seems to sap the air around it.
“You’ll never win,” it says, its voice a distorted echo of mine. “You can’t fight what you are.”
The Skathrith’s hum roars, demanding action.
STRIKE. FINISH. TAKE.
I charge, our strikes colliding in bursts of light and sound. Each clash feels like hitting a mirror, the shadow-me perfectly mirroring my movements. The Blade’s whispers become a deafening chorus.
FEED. EAT. BECOME.
The final blow lands, my hands slicing through the shadow-me’s chest. Its blood erupts in a crimson torrent, evaporating into the Skathrith.
The chamber falls silent, its walls dimming as the illusion dissolves. White-hot pain burns behind my eyes as the torq etches its message into my consciousness:
Victorious.
Opponent: Reflected Entity.
Conquered: Blood Claimed.
Energy Assimilated: +10 Units.
The Skathrith’s hum becomes a triumphant roar, its whispers swelling into a chorus: MORE. FEED. EVOLVE.
But I feel nothing.
Binah stands at the edge of the chamber, her violet eyes wide and filled with fear. She raises a trembling hand, not to stop me, but as though warding me off.
I step toward her, but she shakes her head, taking a step back.
Her silence cuts deeper than any blade.