The cold voice slithered through the fading darkness, making Marcus's skin prickle. He turned slowly, his grip on Emily tightening as she fought to stay conscious.
"Who's there?" Marcus demanded, his voice sharp and steady despite the exhaustion dragging at his body.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed in the emptiness.
"Impressive," the voice said, rich with amusement. "You've survived longer than I anticipated. But then again… you always did have a flair for the impossible."
A figure stepped from the lingering shadows, their face obscured by a smooth, silver mask. The air around them pulsed with power, and the shattered remains of the mirrors began to twist and reform at their feet.
Marcus's muscles tensed. "What do you want?"
The figure tilted their head. "Isn't it obvious? You've been playing my game all along."
Before Marcus could respond, the ground shifted violently. The mirrored shards rose like blades, spinning through the air with lethal precision.
"Move!" Marcus shouted, throwing himself and Emily to the side as the deadly storm descended.
The room became chaos. Marcus dodged and weaved, his breath ragged, his mind racing for a plan. But the figure was always a step ahead, their presence suffocating.
"You can't win," they taunted. "Not without embracing what you fear most."
Marcus's eyes flashed with defiance. "I'll never become you."
The figure laughed—a hollow, chilling sound. "Then watch her die."
Emily's weak cry broke through the din, and Marcus's resolve hardened.
No more running.
With a roar, he launched himself at the figure, blade flashing. Their battle ignited the air, every clash of their weapons sending shockwaves through the fractured world.
And as the fight raged on, a terrifying truth began to take shape.
The figure knew his every move.
Because they had been there from the start.
Watching.
Waiting.
And now, they were ready to claim everything.