Asher's sword clashed violently against the blade of his doppelgänger, the sharp metallic screech echoing through the clearing. The force of the impact reverberated through his arms, and he stumbled backward, barely managing to keep his footing. The shadow moved with uncanny speed, its movements fluid and precise, as if it anticipated his every thought. Asher's pulse raced, adrenaline surging through his veins as he fought to steady his breathing.
The doppelgänger smirked, its black, hollow eyes gleaming with amusement. "What's the matter, Asher? Struggling already?"
Asher gritted his teeth and swung again, but the shadow mirrored his movements perfectly, parrying the blow with ease. Each strike, each thrust, each carefully executed maneuver was met with an equally swift response. It was like fighting his own reflection—a reflection that knew him inside and out, that anticipated every attack before it was even launched.
"Why are you doing this?" Asher growled, his muscles burning with exertion as he deflected another attack. "What do you want from me?"
The shadow let out a low, mocking laugh as it circled him, its sword spinning lazily in its hand. "Isn't it obvious? The Abyss has given me purpose. I'm here to make sure you remember what you've become."
"I haven't become anything," Asher snarled, lunging forward with a powerful overhead strike. But the shadow sidestepped the blow with effortless grace, its expression calm, almost bored.
The shadow tilted its head, studying him with a cold, calculating gaze. "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull of the Abyss, the way it whispered to you, the way it offered you power. It's inside you now, Asher. It's in your blood."
Asher's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of fury and confusion swirling in his mind. He swung again, this time with more aggression, more desperation, but the shadow was relentless. Each strike was met with flawless precision, as if it was playing with him, testing him, pushing him to his limits.
"I don't want its power!" Asher spat, his sword crashing against the shadow's blade once more. "I came here to stop the darkness, not become part of it!"
The shadow's expression twisted into a grin. "You don't have a choice, Asher. The Abyss has already claimed you. You belong to it now, just as much as it belongs to you."
With a swift movement, the shadow lashed out, catching Asher off guard. Its blade slashed across his arm, and he cried out in pain, stumbling back as blood seeped through the tear in his sleeve. The wound burned, but it was the cold sensation that followed that sent a shiver down his spine. It was as if the Abyss itself was seeping into his veins, chilling him from the inside out.
Asher gripped his sword tightly, his vision blurring for a moment as the pain radiated through his body. He couldn't let this thing win. He wouldn't let it take control. He had fought too hard, risked too much, to be consumed by the very darkness he had sworn to stop.
Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Asher launched himself at the shadow, his movements faster and more deliberate than before. His sword blazed with divine energy, a gift from the gods, and he poured that power into each strike. The shadow struggled to keep up, its expression shifting from smug confidence to surprise as Asher pressed the attack.
"You're wrong," Asher growled between strikes, his voice low and fierce. "I don't belong to the Abyss. I never have, and I never will."
The shadow parried another blow, but it was no longer as fluid, no longer as confident. Asher's determination burned brighter now, his will to fight back against the darkness stronger than ever. He wasn't fighting just for himself—he was fighting for Kiella, for the world, for everything he had sworn to protect.
With a final, powerful strike, Asher's sword cut through the shadow's defenses, slicing through its form with a burst of light. The doppelgänger let out a guttural scream, its body flickering and distorting as it staggered backward. Black tendrils of code and shadow poured from the wound, its form unraveling as the divine energy burned through it.
"You… you can't escape it…" the shadow hissed, its voice fractured and distorted. "The Abyss is inside you… You'll never be free…"
Asher's chest heaved as he watched the doppelgänger collapse, its body dissolving into a pool of dark, writhing code. The air around him seemed to shift, the oppressive weight of the Abyss lifting slightly as the last remnants of the shadow disappeared. But its words lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the power that still lurked within him.
He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his sword still raised, as if expecting the shadow to reappear. But it was gone. The battle was over, for now.
Asher exhaled, lowering his sword and looking down at the orb still clutched in his hand. Its glow had dimmed slightly, but it remained warm, pulsing with the same ancient energy. The artifact was still his—still the key to stopping the darkness.
But at what cost?
He glanced at the wound on his arm, where the shadow's blade had cut him. The pain had subsided, but the coldness remained, a lingering reminder of the Abyss's touch. He knew now that the shadow's words hadn't been a mere taunt. The Abyss had left its mark on him, and that mark wasn't going to fade.
With a heavy heart, Asher turned away from the rift and began the long walk back to camp. He had the artifact, but the price he had paid weighed heavily on him. The gods had sent him into the Abyss to retrieve this object, to stop the coming darkness—but they hadn't warned him about the dangers lurking within his own soul.
And as he made his way through the forest, his thoughts kept drifting back to the words of the shadow.
The Abyss is inside you… You'll never be free…
Asher clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away. He couldn't afford to dwell on it, not now. There was still work to be done. Kiella was waiting for him, and the fate of the world rested on what came next.
But deep down, he knew the shadow had been right about one thing.
The Abyss wasn't finished with him. Not yet.