CHAPTER FIFTY NINE: TWO AS ONE

The impact of my crash through the trees sent a sharp pain through my ribs, but I barely had time to process it. Dain wasn't letting up. The moment I hit the ground, he was already moving toward Nicole, his blade flashing under the dim light.

Nicole barely managed to react, snapping her whip from her side. The weapon lashed out, but before it could reach him, the air around us wavered. Another Dain appeared—no, a mirage.

Ken cursed under his breath. "Oh, come on."

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the ache in my body. If Dain was already weaving illusions into the fight, things were about to get worse.

"Nicole, Ken!" I called out, my voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't trust what you see. Stay sharp."

Dain's smirk was almost amused. "You catch on fast," he mused, tilting his head. "But that won't help you."

I tightened my grip as I pulled at the surrounding shadows, molding them once more into a new scythe. My last one had shattered on impact, but this one—this one would hold. The darkness curled around my fingers, forming a sharper, heavier edge.

The fight descended into chaos. Dain moved like a phantom, his mirages weaving through the battlefield, each one a perfect copy of the original. Nicole's whip cracked through the air, slicing through some illusions only for them to ripple and vanish. Ken fired off a precise shot, but the bullet passed through empty space.

"Damn it," Ken muttered. "Which one is real?"

I gritted my teeth, keeping my scythe raised. "Don't focus on that—focus on what's off."

Easier said than done. Dain had mastered the art of deception. The illusions weren't just visual; they had weight, presence. Every time I swung at one, I felt resistance—but only for a moment before my weapon passed through nothingness.

Then, the pain came.

A sharp sting across my arm. A shallow cut across Ken's side. A nick on Nicole's shoulder. Small wounds, nothing serious—at first. But they were adding up, each one proof that Dain was striking while we flailed against ghosts.

"Tch—he's playing with us," I growled, stepping back, scanning the battlefield. "We're too slow."

Ken wiped a trickle of blood from his chin, eyes narrowing. "No, we're too blind."

Nicole's whip lashed out again, but this time, she pulled back fast, eyes flickering in realization. "He's hitting us the moment we strike."

She was right. The real Dain was weaving through his mirages, striking in the instant we committed to an attack. Before we could recover, he was gone again, hidden in the dance of shadows.

I clenched my jaw. Enough was enough. If I couldn't track him normally—then I'd have to force him out.

I tightened my grip on my scythe, pulling the shadows toward me, preparing for my next move.

I took a steady breath, letting the pain sharpen my focus instead of dulling it. Dain was using our reactions against us, punishing every wasted movement. If we kept flailing, he'd bleed us dry before we could land a proper hit.

I needed to disrupt his rhythm.

Clenching my fist around my scythe, I poured more energy into the shadows beneath me. They stretched outward, twisting and thickening, forming jagged tendrils that lashed at the mirages, forcing them back. Nicole caught on immediately, cracking her whip through the air, her strikes sweeping in unpredictable patterns to cover more ground. Ken adjusted as well, firing shots not directly at Dain's illusions, but just slightly off—forcing them to react.

And that's when I saw it.

A flicker of hesitation.

One of the figures twisted his wrist, a tiny, instinctive movement, different from the rest. It was so fast, so subtle, but it was there.

Got you.

I surged forward, my scythe dissolving into the shadows just before impact. Instead of clashing, it reformed behind Dain, arcing toward his back. He spun just in time, blocking with his sword, but this time, I was ready. The moment our weapons met, I let the scythe shatter, the explosion of shadows forcing him to recoil.

Nicole's whip struck next, wrapping around his ankle. "Now, Ken!"

Ken's gun fired—a crack of lightning-infused bullets aimed straight for Dain's chest.

Dain twisted, barely dodging, but the bullet grazed his arm, leaving a searing wound. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, then suddenly grinned.

"You're catching on," he said, his voice almost amused. "But it's too little, too late."

Before we could react, the ground beneath us shifted. My stomach lurched as the scenery warped, distorting into a swirling abyss of black and red.

Another illusion. But this one was different.

It wasn't just a trick of the eyes—this time, I could feel it.

My body tensed. Whatever was coming next was worse than anything we had faced so far.

Before I could tell what was real and what was fake, I felt something—warm and wet—trickling down my skin. A slow, steady drip onto my foot.

I blinked.

Then I saw it.

Dain's sword was buried deep in my abdomen.

A sharp gasp tore from my throat as the realization hit me like a wave. The illusion—it wasn't just a trick to disorient us. It was a carefully planned distraction, forcing us to drop our guard just long enough for him to strike. And I had fallen for it.

I staggered backward, my breath hitching as blood gushed from my mouth, the taste of iron thick on my tongue. My vision blurred at the edges.

A gunshot rang out.

Ken.

The impact of his bullet forced Dain to pull back, yanking his sword free from my gut as he retreated. The pain was immediate, white-hot agony spreading like wildfire.

I lost my balance.

The ground rushed up to meet me, and before I could brace myself, I hit it hard. The impact sent another jolt of pain through my body. More blood spilled from my lips, pooling beneath me, warm against my cooling skin.

Somewhere, faintly, I could hear Nicole's voice. Calling out to me. Panicked. Desperate.

I tried to respond. Tried to move.

But the darkness creeping at the edges of my vision was swallowing me whole.

I was slipping.

Falling.

Losing consciousness.

Darkness clawed at my vision, but I fought against it, gritting my teeth as I tried to roll onto my side. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through me, my abdomen burning as warm blood gushed from the wound. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body trembling under the strain.

I had to get up. I had to fight.

But the more I pushed, the more the strength drained from me. My fingers dug into the dirt, trying to anchor myself, but my limbs felt heavier with every second. Blood seeped through my clothes, pooling beneath me, and a chilling numbness crept over my body.

Damn it...

My vision blurred, my grip on my scythe slipping. I could barely make out Ken and Nicole, their figures moving in a desperate dance against Dain. Gunfire echoed through the air, followed by the sharp crack of Nicole's whip. Dain was relentless, his mirages surrounding them, striking with lethal precision.

I tried to lift my weapon again—tried to force my body to move—but nothing obeyed me. The cold seeped into my bones, and before I could fight it any longer, my body gave out. My vision tunneled, the sounds of battle fading into the distance.

Then—nothing.

I didn't know how long I was out, but when I stirred again, everything felt distant. My body was heavy, my breaths shallow. The scent of earth and damp leaves filled my nose. I wasn't on the battlefield anymore.

Through the haze, I heard hushed voices—Ken and Nicole. They had moved me, carried me deep into the forest, away from danger. But I could feel it.

I was slipping away.

The pain in my abdomen had dulled, replaced by a growing emptiness. My fingers twitched, but I couldn't feel the ground beneath them. A cold realization settled over me.

I was dying.

The numbness consumed me.

I didn't know how long I had been unconscious, but when my eyes fluttered open again, I wasn't in the forest anymore. Darkness surrounded me, stretching endlessly in every direction. A vast, empty void.

Cold. That was the only thing I could feel. A deep, bone-chilling cold that seeped into me, wrapping around my limbs like invisible chains. I tried to move, but my body felt weightless, as if I were floating.

Beneath me, something smooth and glassy met my touch. Water? It wasn't moving. No ripples, no waves—just an endless, still surface that reflected nothing.

I forced myself to look around, my eyes slowly adjusting to the overwhelming darkness. But there was nothing. No sky, no ground. Just me, suspended in this void, trapped in a place where time didn't seem to exist.

A strange unease settled over me.

Where the hell was I?

A voice.

At first, it was nothing but a murmur, a distant sound that barely registered through the numbing cold. I frowned, straining to make it out, but the words slipped through my grasp like whispers in the wind.

Then, it came again—still unclear, distorted, as if spoken through layers of mist. My pulse quickened, though I wasn't even sure if my heart was still beating in this place.

Minutes passed. Or maybe seconds. Time felt meaningless here.

Then, the voice finally sharpened, cutting through the void like a blade.

"Our potential was wasted on your impulsiveness."

The words echoed all around me, filling the empty space with a weight that pressed against my chest.

I stiffened.

I knew that voice.

A ripple spread through the darkness. The still water beneath me trembled as a shadow began to take form in front of me.

I forced myself to move, but my limbs felt heavy, weighed down by the cold and something else—something oppressive.

Then, I saw it.

I saw me.

Or rather, something wearing me.

The figure stood before me, identical in every way—same sharp gaze, same unruly hair, same stance—but there was something wrong. The eyes looking back at me weren't mine. They were hollow, yet brimming with something ancient. Something unyielding.

Disappointment.

"Pathetic," the figure—Death Scythe—spat, crossing its arms. "To think I was forged for this. A wielder who acts before thinking, who throws himself into battle without restraint. You disgrace the power you hold."

The words sliced deeper than any wound I had taken in battle. My jaw tightened.

"Who are you to lecture me?" I growled, forcing my legs to steady beneath me. "You're just a weapon."

The void trembled as its voice thundered all around me.

"I'm not just a weapon, you stupid, ignorant boy!"

The sheer force of its words rippled through the darkness, sending waves across the still water beneath me. My body felt heavy under the weight of its presence.

"You think I'm just a tool? Something to wield and swing at your convenience?" Death Scythe scoffed, its identical features twisting with frustration. "You have no idea what I am. No idea what it means to bond with me. To wield me properly."

I clenched my fists, but I didn't speak.

"You rush into battle recklessly, using me like a disposable weapon instead of understanding our connection. That recklessness got you stabbed, got you bleeding out in the middle of nowhere!"

My breath hitched. I felt a sharp sting—not from my wound, but from its words.

"Power without control is just destruction, Liam. And right now, that's all you are—a force of destruction with no direction."

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time, I didn't have a snarky retort.

For the first time, I wasn't glaring or scowling.

I just stood there, quiet… unusually quiet.

Something in my chest twisted, a feeling I wasn't used to. It wasn't anger or frustration. It was something deeper.

Maybe it was because I knew it was right.

The darkness around me felt heavier, as if it had gained weight. I let out a dry laugh, the sound empty and hollow.

"As a kid, I've always been alone," I admitted, my voice quieter than I expected. "I grew up not needing anyone—hell, I never had anyone. It's just been me against the world."

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "It's not that I don't understand what you need from me. I do. It's just that… I've built up this wall, and I don't know how to climb over it, let alone bring it down."

I forced out another dry chuckle, but even to my ears, it sounded pathetic. "The truth is, I'm scared. Scared that if I let myself feel, I'll lose my sharpness."

The air around me pulsed as Death Scythe spoke, its voice steady.

"What you feel, I feel."

I lifted my gaze to meet its identical face. "So you're saying… we would be one?"

"Yes, Liam. That's how it has always been. I was Seth. Seth was me. Two minds in one body."

I frowned, the words settling over me like a weight I didn't know how to carry. "You're saying I should just… let go?"

"No." Death Scythe's voice softened, but its intensity remained. "Let me bear everything with you."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "How… how do I do that?"

A sharp sting burned behind my eyes, and I fought against the sudden tightness in my chest. For the first time in a long time, my emotions were slipping through the cracks. Feelings I had spent years suppressing were clawing their way to the surface.

My heart ached.

I clenched my jaw, looking down at my feet, biting my lip to keep it all in. But it wasn't enough. A quiet, broken sob slipped out before I could stop it.

"Do you feel what I'm feeling right now, Liam?" Death Scythe asked.

I took a shaky breath—and then, all at once, I did.

Memories crashed into me like a tidal wave. I felt the grief, the raw, bitter rage from when Seth died. I felt the sorrow, the unbearable loneliness, the pain of losing a wielder, a partner. Death Scythe had been angry—furious that Steve had taken Seth away.

And then, deeper still, I felt everything it had ever experienced, from the moment it was created until now.

My breath hitched as the emotions finally settled.

"I showed you mine," Death Scythe said. "Show me yours."

The void around me felt endless, stretching beyond any sense of time or space. The coldness seeped into my bones, yet the numbness that came with it was almost comforting. Maybe this was it—maybe this was where it all ended.

"What would showing you my emotions achieve?" I muttered, my voice hoarse, cracked. I bit down hard on my lip, willing myself to stay composed. "I'm already dead. The vengeance I sought all my life—I couldn't even realize it."

The other me—Death Scythe—stared at me with unwavering intensity.

"You underestimate me, child," it said, its voice calm yet carrying an edge of amusement. "Who the fuck did you think gave Seth the strength to achieve the unimaginable feats he did?"

The words made something tighten in my chest. I lifted my head, eyes narrowing.

"So you're saying you can bring me back to life?" I asked sharply.

Death Scythe chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. "Stupid boy."

For a moment, the weight pressing against my chest eased. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at my lips as I stared at the other me in front of me.

I took a deep breath. I hesitated.

But then, I realized… if I was going to let anyone in, it might as well be the one I'd be fighting with.

So I let myself feel.

I let my emotions roam free for the first time in my life.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath.

And then—I let go.

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