The Sky Within - 03

Aden stood in a wasteland of shattered glass. Each shard reflected a fragment of his failures: his men's bodies strewn across Dahaka's wastes, Ed Vasco's disdainful glare, Kairus's cold smile. Above, a crimson storm raged, lightning fracturing the sky into jagged scars. At the realm's edge, the real Egmund sat shackled to a throne of blackened bone, chains coiled like serpents around his limbs. 

Before Aden, the mimic materialized—a perfect replica of Egmund, twin blades of molten lava crackling in its hands. 

"Still groveling for scraps?" it sneered. 

Aden's Eclipse-blade hissed to life, shadows writhing along its edge. 

The mimic struck. Lava blades seared the air, each swing trailing embers that burned Aden's skin. He parried, shadows devouring the heat, but the force drove him backward. Glass shards sliced his boots, blood mingling with reflections of his men's screams. 

"You failed them," the mimic hissed, its voice a twisted harmony of Egmund and Aden. A blade grazed Aden's ribs, flesh sizzling. "You'll fail yourself." 

Aden lunged, void-blade arcing upward. The mimic melted into smoke, reforming behind him. A kick to his spine sent him sprawling. Glass shredded his palms. 

"Pathetic," the mimic spat. "All that pain, and you're still weak." 

The real Egmund watched, silent, crimson eyes unblinking. 

Aden staggered upright. Blood dripped from his hands, pooling in the glass beneath him. The mimic's blades morphed—serpents of fire, fangs dripping venom. They struck, burying into his shoulders. Agony ripped through him, venom burning like acid. 

Dahaka's cries. The stench of charred flesh. His own voice begging Egmund to stop. 

The mimic leaned close, molten eyes reflecting Aden's broken form. "This is all you'll ever be." 

Aden's grip tightened on the void-blade. 

"No." 

He roared, his aura erupting in a maelstrom. The serpents shattered. The mimic stumbled. 

Aden moved. 

No technique. No finesse. Pure, raw rage. 

His blade pierced the mimic's chest. Shadows devoured the fire, the light, the mockery in its eyes. The realm trembled as the mimic dissolved into ash. 

Silence. 

Then— 

A gust of mana, scalding and primal, erupted from Aden's core. It tore through his meridians like molten steel, burning away doubt, fear, weakness. He collapsed, screaming, as his body ignited. 

Pain became power. 

His veins glowed crimson, aura and fire merging under his skin. The mental realm shattered, the storm collapsing inward. 

Aden had ascended his realm, his power grew to the level of a True Black Knight.

Aden opened his eyes. 

The cell was unrecognizable. Runes smoldering, the air thick with ozone. His aura pulsed—a black hole contained in flesh, warping the very light. The scroll disintegrated, ash swirling around him like a funeral shroud. 

Egmund's voice cut through the silence, stripped of malice.

"Stand proud." 

Aden turned. The demon's spectral form hovered in the air. 

"This power is yours," Egmund said, crimson gaze piercing.

"Forged through sacrifice. Earned through pain." 

Aden looked at his hands. Aura coiled around his fingers, obedient, sharp and precise. 

He rose. The stone floor cratered under his weight, fissures spiderwebbing outward. His aura pressed against the cell's walls, ancient mana-suppression runes flaring before bursting into sparks. 

Egmund's image flickered. "What now, Vasco" 

Aden faced the reinforced wall.

"I'll finish it."