Third Implantation (4)

Vastarael stood motionless as the rain pelted him, his chest heaving with unsteady breaths, his body still reeling from the horrors of the depths and his own pseudo-core's unnatural hum.

Every drop of rain that struck the reflective ground seemed to echo louder than it should, as though the very air sought to drown him in unease.

He stayed there for hours until his Omniphage renewed his original pseudo-core. He had another core after being killed by the mermaid that his soul restored.

And then, through the curtain of rain, he saw her.

At first, it was just a silhouette walking toward him, the sound of her feet tapping against the platform barely audible over the storm. His heart—or rather, the void where his heart should have been—seized as the figure came into focus.

No. It couldn't be.

"Mother…?"

Lysameria Richinaria stood before him, her long curly dark raven hair cascading down her back, untouched by the rain as though the storm itself dared not mar her presence. Her cerulean blue eyes met his. She wore her battle attire; a dark, elegant armor with intricate gold embellishments that seemed to shine even in the dim light of the storm. In her right hand, she held her katana, its blade glimmering with a sharpness that could cut through the very fabric of reality.

She smiled. That same gentle, mischievous smile he had seen countless times in his youth.

"Hey Rael. You've grown into such a fine man. But, oh, look at you, so drenched and battered. Have you been picking fights again with my subordinates? I thought I told you to take it easy on them during your training. Don't tell me you're challenging them again?"

Vastarael's grip on his glaive tightened as he took a shaky step back, his eyes wide with disbelief. He wanted to speak, to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

He knew it wasn't her. It couldn't be her.

The spire was playing its cruel games again, pulling from his deepest memories, his most cherished and painful truths. But the sight of her, the sound of her voice, it was too perfect, too real. It made his chest ache in ways even the loss of his heart hadn't.

"It's not you," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. He shook his head as though trying to banish the illusion. "You're not my mother. You're just…"

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Lysameria tilted her head, her smile softening.

"Oh, always so serious. Of course I'm your mother. Who else would I be?"

"Stop it," he snapped, his voice trembling with anger and fear. "You're not her. You're just the spire's creation, a shadow of my memories. And I know exactly why you're here."

Her eyes gleamed with something almost playful, and she let out a light laugh, twirling her katana in her hand with practiced ease.

"Well, aren't you clever? Yes, I'm here because of you, my son. Because deep down, you remember me like this, don't you? Smiling, laughing, holding this blade." She paused, her smile never wavering. "You've always admired my strength. Feared it, even."

Vastarael clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped Calimostria. The rain continued to pour, drenching his hair and clothes, but he barely noticed.

"You're not her," he repeated, more to himself than to her.

"Maybe not," she said with a shrug. "But does it matter? I'm here now, aren't I? And I have to say, it's so good to see you again. Even if it's under… unusual circumstances."

She took a step closer and Vastarael instinctively raised his glaive, the blade humming with sapphire energy. Lysameria stopped, her expression unchanged, as though she had expected his reaction.

"Relax, Vastarael. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to see how strong you've become. To see if my son has surpassed even me."

His breath hitched. He wanted to deny her words, to tell her that this wasn't real, that none of this was supposed to happen. But the way she spoke, the way she moved, it was her. Or at least, it was close enough to break him.

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

She smiled again, that same maddeningly familiar smile.

"Because you need to, Vastarael. You need to face me. To prove that you can move forward, no matter the cost. Isn't that what you've always done? Moved forward?"

He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply.

"You're asking me to kill you. You're asking me to kill the memory of you."

"Not the memory," she corrected. "Just me. Here and now. This isn't about what was, Vastarael. This is about what will be. So let's not waste this moment."

She raised her katana, pointing it at him with an almost playful flourish.

"Come on, my son. Let's duel. Let's enjoy the rain together, just this once. And believe me, you might be the one who will die. I'm not the real Lysameria but I'm still stronger than you."

For a moment, Vastarael stood frozen, his mind racing. He wanted to scream, to cry, to curse the spire for its cruelty. But instead, he found himself smiling. A small, bittersweet smile that barely touched his lips.

"You really are her, aren't you? The her in my memories, at least. The Lysameria I always looked up to. The one I could never surpass."

She chuckled softly, "Then this is your chance to prove yourself. Show me what you've learned. Show me that my son is stronger than even the spire's trials. You seriously can't let an obsidian spire dictate your life now, right?"

He sighed, lowering his head for a moment as the rain continued to fall around them. Then, with a steady breath, he raised his glaive, its sapphire blade gleaming brightly against the storm.

"All right. If this is what it takes, then I won't hold back."

Lysameria's smile widened, and she took a step forward, her katana glinting dangerously in the dim light.

"That's my boy."

And then, without another word, they lunged at each other, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks and rain.

The clash of weapons echoed across the endless platform, each strike resounding like thunder in the storm. Vastarael's sapphire glaive met the elegant katana of Lysameria Richinaria in bursts of energy that sent shockwaves through the air. The rain no longer fell naturally.

It hovered in the space around them, suspended in time and movement, as though their duel had bent the very fabric of the storm to their will.

Lysameria moved with deadly grace, her katana slicing through the floating droplets like ribbons of light. Every swing of her blade was precise, calculated, and nearly impossible to counter. Vastarael had known his mother was powerful, but experiencing her skill firsthand made his muscles burn with the effort of keeping up.

"You're doing better than I expected," Lysameria teased, a sly grin on her face as she parried a strike from Calimostria and spun to deliver a swift counter. "But you're holding back, Rael. That's no way to fight."

Her katana grazed his side, the sharp sting of the wound followed by a pulse of her energy that sent him skidding across the platform. He dug his glaive into the ground to stop his momentum, his breath ragged, the rain clinging to his face and hair.

"I'm not holding back," he growled, straightening himself.

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they weren't entirely true. There was a part of him that hesitated, that faltered with every swing. This wasn't just an opponent, it was her. The woman who had raised him, the one whose shadow he had lived in his entire life.

Lysameria didn't wait for him to recover. She surged forward, her katana glowing faintly with her own essence, the blade slicing through the rain as though it parted willingly for her. Vastarael barely had time to raise his glaive to block, the force of her strike sending a tremor through his arms and shoulders.

"You're distracted." she said. She pressed harder against his weapon, forcing him to grit his teeth as their blades locked. "Are you afraid, Rael? Or is it guilt?"

Her words cut deeper than her blade ever could. With a snarl, Vastarael twisted his glaive, breaking the lock and pushing her back. The rain around them began to ripple as he unleashed a surge of his essence, his Water Divinity responding instinctively to his emotions. The droplets swirled and danced, forming spiraling currents that lifted both of them off the ground.

They floated midair, the platform below them now obscured by a vortex of rain and water. Lysameria laughed lightly, her voice carrying through the storm.

"Ah, so you're finally taking this seriously. Good. Show me what you've got, my son."

Vastarael didn't respond. He shot forward, Calimostria blazing with sapphire light as he aimed a strike at her side. She twisted gracefully, dodging his attack with ease before delivering a swift kick to his midsection. The impact sent him spinning backward but he used the momentum to regain his stance, flipping through the air as the swirling rain buoyed his movements.

Each strike of their weapons sent ripples through the vortex, the rain now forming patterns around them, like shattered glass caught in a storm. Lysameria's katana cut through the air with deadly precision, forcing Vastarael to dodge and parry with every ounce of his strength and skill. Her movements were fluid, almost effortless, while his were raw, driven by determination and the sheer will to survive.

"You've grown stronger," she admitted, her tone almost proud as she blocked another strike. "But strength alone won't win this fight. You need to trust yourself. Stop holding back. Stop hesitating!"

Her katana glowed brighter and with a single swing, she unleashed a crescent of energy that sliced through the rain like a tidal wave. Vastarael barely managed to deflect it, the force of the attack sending him hurtling through the vortex.

As he steadied himself, he tightened his grip on Calimostria. His chest heaved, his pseudo-core humming faintly as it struggled to keep up with his exertion. He could feel the limits of his essence, the edges of his strength fraying. But he couldn't stop.

"I'm not hesitating." 

His gaze met hers, and for the first time, there was no doubt in his eyes.

"Not anymore."

He surged forward again, this time faster. He twisted through the rain with newfound agility, his movements sharper and more precise. Lysameria's smile widened as she met his assault head-on, their blades clashing in a symphony of sparks and water.

The air around them grew more chaotic, the rain now floating around them that seemed to reflect the intensity of their duel. Lysameria still held the upper hand. Her strikes were faster. Her technique was flawless. But Vastarael's persistence, his refusal to yield, began to chip away at her advantage.

Every strike, every clash of their weapons, sent shockwaves through the storm, the suspended rain trembling with each impact. Vastarael could feel his arms growing heavy, his breaths coming shorter, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

"You're finally fighting like you mean it," Lysameria said, her tone almost approving as their blades locked once more. She leaned in close, her now crimson eyes gleaming. "But is it enough? Can you really defeat me?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pushed against her blade with all his strength, breaking the lock and spinning around to deliver a powerful strike. The rain around them seemed to explode as their weapons collided again, the force of the impact sending ripples through the air.

Even as exhaustion threatened to overtake him, Vastarael pressed on, his determination burning brighter than ever. This was more than a duel. It was a test, not just of his strength, but of his resolve.

And he would not fail.

He would end his mother's life and move forward. He had moved too far for him to stop now.