(Raith's POV)
Suffering.
Raith could sense it—sharp, electric, metallic on his tongue. It was akin to biting lightning itself, an aftershock of something too vast, too intense for him to endure. The feeling scorched, and it adhered to his senses like a toxic aftertaste. Blood gathered at the corner of his lips, a thin stream that dripped into the void beneath him, staining the mirrored surface below his feet. His limbs shook with fatigue, each motion slower than the previous one. His muscles cried out for rest, for liberation, but he would not collapse.
Not in front of it.
He could perceive it standing there, merely a few strides away. His reflection.
It shimmered like a faulty light, an unstable semblance of himself, twisting and shifting like smoke in the breeze. The figure was wrong, tainted, something not entirely real. Raith had struck it—he was aware of this—but the injury on its chest… it was distinct. It throbbed with a strange blue glow, each pulse drawing in the crackling remnants of his lightning, as if it were feeding on the very force that should have shattered it.
The reflection smirked.
"You're learning. "
The utterance didn't come through sound. They were not voiced. They infiltrated his mind like an unwelcome guest, slithering and intrusive, prying into thoughts that warranted no interference. It was as if the voice emanated from everywhere at once, resonating through his skull, burrowing deep into his essence.
Raith gritted his teeth, combating the nausea rising in his throat. His hold on his sword tightened—his own lightning-crafted blade. The weapon, humming with a faint, unstable radiance, flickered in his grasp, straining to maintain its shape. His body was betraying him. His energy was dwindling, and his mind was fraying at the seams.
He was failing.
The thought hit him, bitter and sharp. It stung with a ferocity that tightened his chest, and for a brief moment, he pondered whether this was how it would conclude. He had battled more formidable foes before. He had encountered monsters with claws long enough to rend the sky, men whose swords had tasted more blood than was ever just. He had confronted tempests and survived to recount the story.
But this?
This was distinct.
This wasn't a skirmish.
This was himself—or something feigning to be him—tearing him apart from the inside, peeling him back layer by layer.
"Why do you struggle? " the reflection inquired, its voice oozing with curiosity, like a serpent studying its prey. "You are alone. No one is coming for you. "
The words sent a chill through him. They penetrated him like cold steel, sharp and cruel, gnawing at the fringes of his determination. He swallowed hard, attempting to force the encroaching doubts back into the depths of his stomach, but they clawed their way upward, prying at the fissures in his confidence.
Raith's breathing accelerated. He sensed his chest constrict, and the icy, gnawing dread threatened to engulf him. But no. He was not done yet.
He had endured worse. He had been cornered more times than he could remember, each occurrence more desperate than the one before. This wasn't the first moment he had to confront himself in the mirror—his fears, his insecurities, his most sinister urges. He had risen before, and he would again.
A bitter smirk curled at the corners of his mouth. He was not finished yet.
The reflection tilted its head, almost in contemplation. Its smile broadened, stretching unnaturally across its visage.
"Tch. You seem pitiful. "
Raith squinted, feeling the heat of rage course through him, a surge of frustration and indignation. He couldn't perish here. Not in this grotesque location, not before this entity. He wouldn't permit it.
Then, before he could even react, the reflection shifted.
It was too swift, a haze, like a shadow racing across the surface of existence. One moment, it remained still, and the next, it was upon him. Raith's instincts activated—he lowered himself, his body adjusting just in time to evade the lethal arc of the blade that sliced through the air where his throat had been only a second prior.
The atmosphere crackled with electricity, buzzing like a live wire, sparking around them as if the very essence of the space was vibrant, charged with energy. The mirrored floor beneath his feet flickered, warping with every motion as if it were striving to contain the force surging through the air.
Raith did not hesitate. His body moved instinctively, as if it understood what needed to be accomplished. His sword shimmered—a pure arc of electricity leaping from his fingertips, enveloping the blade with a crackling, living energy. The weapon became a conduit, resonating with violent power, alive in his grasp.
Strike.
The reflection convulsed abruptly, the blue lightning coursing through its figure. The fissures on its skin expanded like spiderwebs, glowing as the energy ripped through it, dismantling it. A sound erupted—not a scream, but something more horrifying. It was a rending, an unraveling, as though reality itself was being torn apart.
Raith reeled backward, gasping for breath. His lungs ached, his chest heaving as if each inhalation was a struggle in itself. The agony was overwhelming—his muscles cried out, his body quaked under the burden of the conflict. But he had triumphed. He could feel it. His blade had hit its mark, and the reflection was faltering.
And yet—
The ground beneath him shuddered.
No.
His triumph shattered in an instant.A profound, unnatural tremor surged through the emptiness, creating ripples across the reflective surface, further distorting the shape of the reflection. The fissures spread rapidly, too quickly, too violently. The reflection's face warped into something more nightmarish—its smile stretching, expanding impossibly, beyond what should have been human, something that gnawed at the very essence of his sanity.
Raith's heart pounded in his chest.
And then—
The surface beneath him collapsed.
His breath escaped him in a sharp inhalation, his reality breaking apart beneath him. One moment, he was upright, feeling the fading traces of his triumph flow through his veins, and the next, he was plummeting.
No forewarning.
No time to respond.
Just descending.
He was unaware of which direction was up or down. The void engulfed him entirely, and for an infinite moment, he experienced nothing but the disconcerting sensation of freefall. His limbs thrashed, instinctively searching for anything solid, but there was nothing. Only the accelerating force of gravity, drawing him deeper into the darkness, further into the boundless unknown.
Frigid air rushed past his skin, yet there was no atmosphere. There was no definitive feeling of speed—no wind that would whip at his hair or clothing—but he still sensed it, the sharp weight of the drop, the force of emptiness rushing toward him, a muted scream building within his chest. His stomach churned violently, as if he were plunging into an abyss with no bottom, no conclusion.
And then… a noise.
A heartbeat.
It wasn't his own.
It was gradual. Deep. Weighty.
Deliberate.
And it awaited him. A cadence that was patient, steadfast, and somehow… recognizable.