Blood and Reflection
The clone stepped from the sarcophagus with unnatural grace.
She was Lyra—and not.
Identical in form, but wrong in aura. Her eyes gleamed with crimson malice, and her voice dripped with something ancient.
"Hello, Rico," she purred again.
Rico pulled Lyra behind him. "You're not her."
"Oh, but I am," the clone said, tilting her head. "I'm everything she was meant to be. Vorr didn't create a mistake. He created a masterpiece—and then let it fracture."
Lyra was trembling. "You're the one he sealed away."
"I'm the soul he couldn't control," the clone corrected. "He split me, buried the obedient half in a shell that could grow and feel."
Rico tightened his grip on his glyph-saber. "Why now? Why wake up?"
The clone smirked. "Because you opened the door, Alchemist. Your guilt. Her awakening. Zhara's meddling. All keys in the right order."
Lyra stepped forward, despite her fear. "I'm not letting you take over."
The clone chuckled. "Sweet sister. You already have."
A pulse of black energy erupted from her palm—and Lyra dropped to her knees, screaming.
---
Rico slashed at the clone.
The blade met resistance—like slicing through thought. The clone faded into smoke, then reappeared behind him.
"Still quick," she said. "Still guilty."
She backhanded him with a burst of force. Rico crashed into the vault wall, blood trailing from his lip.
"You think you're the hero now," the clone said, stalking toward him. "But you're just the final test subject."
Rico spat blood. "Then let's test something."
He slammed a frost glyph into the floor.
The room exploded in a dome of ice, freezing the clone in place.
He grabbed Lyra and ran.
---
They stumbled through the Bastion's icy corridors. Lyra clutched her head, groaning. "She's inside. I can feel her—pulling at me."
"Fight her," Rico said, pressing a heat rune into her chest. "You're stronger than her."
"She is me," Lyra hissed. "All the anger, the memories… she's everything I locked away."
They entered a chamber marked Forging Bay.
Ancient tools lay scattered across steel tables. A dormant mech-suit, half-assembled, loomed in the center.
"Can we trap her here?" Lyra asked.
Rico scanned the schematics. "No. But I might be able to use the mech. Give you time."
"To do what?"
"To find Kethron's failsafe. He mentioned a psychic severance glyph—something that could cut soul ties."
Lyra's eyes widened. "It'll kill me."
"Maybe. Or maybe it'll kill her and leave you whole."
She hesitated. Then nodded. "Where is it?"
Rico handed her the scroll. "Vault Sigma. Far east wing."
"You'll distract her?"
He smirked. "I've faced drug lords, death cults, and Zhara. One psycho clone doesn't scare me."
Lyra kissed him quickly. "Don't die, Rico."
"You too."
---
Lyra ran.
Rico began wiring himself into the mech.
It was old, clunky, and filled with forgotten magic—but it responded to his touch like it remembered its purpose.
As the last plate locked over his chest, the Bastion lights flickered.
She was here.
---
The clone entered the Forging Bay like a queen reclaiming her throne.
"Playing soldier now?" she teased.
The mech's eyes lit up. "Just taking out the trash."
He fired a volley of plasma bolts.
She dodged with inhuman speed, pirouetting through the air and lashing out with tendrils of shadow.
They clashed—steel against void, runes against rage.
---
Meanwhile, Lyra reached Vault Sigma.
It was sealed with a blood lock.
She hesitated—then sliced her palm and pressed it to the glyph.
The door hissed open.
Inside was a pedestal with a single scroll, bound in obsidian string.
She picked it up.
A voice echoed in her mind.
> To sever is to kill. Choose your soul.
Lyra stumbled, the clone's voice hissing in her head.
> Don't do it, sister. We're stronger together.
> You're poison, Lyra thought back. And I'm done drinking.
---
Back in the Forging Bay, Rico was losing ground.
The mech's limbs sparked.
The clone shattered the right arm with a shriek of force. She leapt onto the mech's chest, tearing at the plating.
"Is this what love looks like now?" she whispered. "Rust and desperation?"
Rico grabbed her arm. "No. This is."
He activated the Detonator Glyph.
A burst of alchemical fire erupted, engulfing them both.
---
Smoke and silence.
Rico crawled from the wreck, coughing blood.
The clone lay on the ground—half her body charred.
She was laughing.
"You'll never save her."
Lyra entered the room, scroll in hand.
"I don't need to save her," she said. "I am her."
She opened the scroll.
A beam of white light shot into her chest.
She screamed—every memory, every echo of Vorr, every fractured piece of her soul burning as it merged or died.
The clone reached out. "No... we were one..."
Lyra's body glowed.
And the clone dissolved into dust.
---
Later, Rico and Lyra sat in the Bastion's sanctuary chamber.
He handed her a flask.
"Alive?" he asked.
"Mostly," she said, voice raw.
"You look like hell."
She smiled faintly. "You should see the other me."
They sat in silence.
Then Rico said, "She wasn't the last. Zhara's still out there."
"I know."
"And Vorr's Eye hasn't opened yet."
Lyra nodded. "We bought time. That's all."
Rico leaned his head back. "So what now?"
Lyra looked at him. "Now we become the threat they fear."
---