"It wasn't my fault." Deremiah muttered through a painful groan.
Secrets tilted its head, peering down at him with a mocking grin. "Mmm? Did you say something just now?"
Deremiah's right eye was swollen and he had a torn lip, yet rather than a look of defeat, it was one of growing defiance that was on his face.
The reflection leaned closer, the blade in its hand gleaming dangerously. "Come on now," it taunted him. "Try getting it out."
Deremiah grunted inside his throat, pushing out a small platter of blood. "It's not... my fault," he found the strength to say. "It never was...ugh*... my fault."
The reflections leaned in, giving him their full attention as Deremiah gazed up at them. "I'm just a writer. I'm just like any other damn writer. I wanted to create a world. I wanted to forge a story where people could live out the wildest fantasies and the darkest horrors. But that doesn't make me. I'm just a damn writer."
He coughed. "A writer who didn't deserve any of this, and I can not keep blaming myself, I can not feel guilty over people who are nothing but fragments of my endless imagination."
The reflections frowned, suddenly feeling a change in the air, like the atmosphere was somehow becoming solid, holding them in place. A pressure, some kind of force colored in dreadful lavender thickened the air around them.
They could do nothing but stand in place and listen.
"Someone did this to me, sent me into my own novel as a punishment for my choice of literature. And yet, when I do what I have to do to survive, you punish me for it. You say I have guilt?"
Deremiah tilted his head, and his facial wounds suddenly began to heal. "What guilt?"
Secrets' eyes widened and it lowered the blade in fear, instinctively covering its face when it asked. "What Technique is this? How have you managed to reverse my own emotion against me?!"
"I feel it too!" Guilt cursed with dread. "This shame I feel... It is mine. That's not possible, inflicting you with guilt is my power. How have you done this?!"
Deremiah smirked, feeling all their energy leaving them as his confidence began to grow once again. The corrupted sword rose into his grasp and his smirk widened.
"[Pale Reflection]," he uttered after. "Your powers are nothing but emotions. And with this Technique, I can [Reflect] them..."
Swoosh!
He suddenly leaped high into the air with a burst of purple, all the reflections raised their heads in horror to see him looming over them with that dreadful blade in hand.
"...and send right back at you!"
"Kill him!" Secrets shrieked.
The reflections all scrambled across the silver floors, changing their forms between corporeal shapes and tendrils of smoke.
Deremiah created enough distance between him and all five of them when he landed, the sole of his boots cracking the glass floor beneath him.
Fear attacked first, bursting into silver smoke and reappearing closer in front of Deremiah. It swiped left and right with a dagger blade in its hand. Deremiah shifted his shoulders from both attacks as he moved backwards.
When Fear went for a stab rather than a swipe, Deremiah exploded into the Writhe and reformed behind the reflection.
Fear's eyes widened as it looked over its shoulder, seeing Deremiah standing behind him with eyes burning a dark amethyst.
"Impossible!" it snarled.
"That fear in your eyes," Deremiah whispered. "How poetic."
He lunged his sword forward, catching the reflection before it was able to disappear into smoke. The corrupted blade drove through its chest and Fear fell to the ground after, its body shimmering into silver smoke.
Deremiah turned around, blade in hand, eyes purple and wild, awaiting the next attack. The reflections circled around him like wolves, turning into smoke and reappearing after as they snarled angrily.
"Back in the forest, those dead participants — everyone who has died and suffered so far in this world," Deremiah rasped, his grip tightening on the blade, his eyes seeing nothing but malevolent purple.
"I thought I owed it to them. To carry their pain, their suffering. To carry this weight because I created them all. But they don't exist. They never did. Their death was not my fault."
His muscles tensed with rage and the Writhe suddenly curled around him. "And I won't let you pretend that it is!"
He shot forward with a blast of purple goo, Doubt and Guilt lunged at him together, both having daggers as their only weapons.
Guilt slashed for Deremiah's chest, but he turned briskly, not fully on his own accord but the Writhe's. It was like the corruptive Technique had taken over his muscles and limbs, perhaps even his mind as well.
It guided Deremiah's movements, spinning him around Guilt's expertly executed slash, and pulling his sword along with him.
The blade sang as it cleaved through Guilt's arm before Doubt even reached him.
Seeing Guilt yelling after losing an arm, Doubt hesitated in its attack, but Deremiah's gaze caught it just as it began retreating to formulate another attack.
He outstretched his open palm and the purple goo surrounding him surged outward, solidifying and splitting into multiple spikes that stabbed Doubt's form, just as it was about to turn to mist.
Then, he warped into the Writhe and regrouped right behind Guilt, who was still in shock after losing an arm.
With a downward curve, Deremiah cleaved the reflection's head open, causing silver blood to splash all over him. His feet landed softly, and Guilt's body fell to the ground in a thud.
"Impossible! Utterly impossible!"
Weakness and Secrets flickered around the chamber, vanishing into smoke only to reappear in the corners of Deremiah's vision. They struck from all sides with their daggers, feigning attacks to lower his guard for when they struck a real one.
"You're weak! Weak! One Marked bastard! You won't make it out of the Trials alive!" Weakness hissed angrily. "You know you won't make—"
Clang!
Deremiah's corrupted sword met Weakness' dagger mid-air, shattering the blade into shards of silver.
The reflection's eyes widened. Even though it had faked multiple attacks, he had still been able to discern which was the real one. And not only that, he had accurately blocked the attack with his own sword!
How?!
Deremiah roared, slamming his palm forward and grabbing Weakness by the neck. Then, he executed a perfect choke slam that shattered the mirror ground, causing the glass to pierce the reflection's skin.
"No!" Secrets slammed into him, pushing Deremiah backwards. "You can not win this! You will not escape this Trial!"
It attacked with two swipes of the dagger, which Deremiah dodged simply. Then, he caught the reflections arm, stopping its next attack.
Secrets froze and suddenly, it began to crumble to its knees. Its eyes were locked with Deremiah's, who looked at it with venom and disgust.
Secrets felt that entity of pressure once again within Deremiah's gaze, and fear rippled through the reflection, eyes glazed with fear.
"You've weakened me completely. I have no power now, I have nothing over you. How?!" it spat in rage and frustration. "You're nothing! You're just a writer!"
Deremiah humphed weakly. "Yes," he said. "I am a writer. But I'm writing your ending now."
"No! Wait—" The reflection didn't get to finish. Deremiah's corrupted sword plunged into its chest, and it fell to the ground and started to dissolve into smoke like the others.
Silence fell upon the chamber.
For a long time.
Deremiah's shoulders rose and fell as he panted, steady and heavy. There was silver blood on his face and clothes, glistening as they dried and crumbled into ash-like dust.
Then, the Writhe began to return into his body. The spikes that had killed Doubt melted back into liquid form, snaking through the ground with the others and then reuniting inside Deremiah's body through his legs.
Deremiah said nothing. He couldn't even muster a meaningful thought. And so he watched as the reflections all turned into silver glistening smoke, until there was nothing left of them.
The Inquisitor's voice then boomed in the silence.
[You have defeated your adversaries]
[Third Trial has been completed]
[Your ascension to the next Echelon is imminent].
The words echoed in the chamber long after they were spoken, but even after that, Deremiah still remained thoughtless.
The sound of a boom came from behind him, and the flower-shaped portal materialized.
[This Corridor has been cleared and will self-destruct in 60 seconds]
[Enter the Portal to continue to your next Trial]
It was only then that Deremiah moved. He slowly turned around, and stepped toward the portal, his boots crunching over shards of silver glass.
Somehow, his movements felt lighter, more confident, as though some of the weight he carried before this Trial had finally lifted.
[Alert: As a One Mark participant, your Soul Core is insufficient. The high-tier rewards for defeating this Trial...
Deremiah ignored the notification and stepped through the portal. There was nothing he could do about that now. He only needed to catch up to her as fast as he could.
And then... kill her.