Chapter 16: The Mirror That Bleeds

The earth trembled beneath Vanta's boots as he stepped into the clearing, heart pounding like a war drum against his ribs. The mist here was thicker—clinging to the trees like cobwebs, muting the sound of birds, even muffling the wind. It was suffocating.

Across from him stood his double.

It wasn't just a look-alike—it was him. Same short-cropped black hair, same worn armor, same twin blades strapped across his back. But the thing that made Vanta's stomach twist? The clone's eyes. They were darker, emptier. Like they'd forgotten what it meant to be alive.

"Great," Vanta muttered, forcing a breath through his teeth. "I really am my own worst enemy."

The clone tilted its head, mimicking him perfectly. The same dry smirk. The same twitch of the shoulder before a fight. Vanta drew his blades slowly, the steel humming as it left the sheath. Cold sweat prickled down his neck. Every muscle screamed at him to run, but he stood his ground.

Ash stepped up behind him, her presence steady and silent.

"That's… you," she said, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," Vanta replied, voice tight. "Let's see if I can kill myself better than the world's been trying to."

The clone moved first.

It was sudden—too sudden. A blur of shadow and steel, a mirror of Vanta's own speed. Their blades clashed midair with a piercing shriek, metal-on-metal ringing through the dead forest. Sparks scattered. Vanta gritted his teeth as he blocked a flurry of strikes, every movement matching his own training, his own rhythm.

He knows everything I know.

But Vanta fought differently now. Since meeting Ash, since bleeding and stumbling through this nightmare of an exam, his instincts had sharpened. Pain taught faster than any teacher. And pain was a hell of a tutor.

He ducked low, sweeping his leg. The clone jumped. Vanta spun, feinted left, then drove a blade toward its ribs. It parried—barely—but he felt it. A nick. It could bleed.

It smiled. "You're sloppy," it said—his voice, but flatter, soulless. "You hesitate. You think too much. No wonder you failed at everything...even your family."

Vanta roared and threw himself into the next strike, twin blades flashing like falling stars. His feet danced through the mud, one boot sliding, pivoting. Slash, parry, counter, twist.

They moved like reflections—every dodge, every angle premeditated by the other. Vanta knew where the clone would strike, but it also knew him.

Ash darted in from the side, her hand brimming with coiled miasma. She hurled it toward the clone's chest.

It passed through him like smoke.

"What—?" she breathed.

The clone didn't even flinch. It turned slightly, eyeing her with faint amusement. "You don't matter," it said.

Ash gritted her teeth and tried again—this time with a blade, slashing through the air. The steel passed through its body like it was mist. Vanta's clone didn't even turn to defend.

It was immune.

Vanta's blade clanged against its shoulder, drawing another shallow wound. He hissed through his teeth. "Only I can hurt it," he muttered, backing away, lungs burning.

"It's bound to your essence," Ash said, eyes locked on the fight. "A soul-forged mirror. You're the only one it recognizes."

"That's just fantastic."

The clone lunged again, blades arcing toward Vanta's throat.

He ducked too slow.

Steel bit into his collarbone—slicing deep. Pain exploded through his nerves. He stumbled back, blood spurting from the wound, warm and wet down his chest. He gasped, falling to his knees as the clone kicked him aside like a ragdoll.

Ash screamed his name.

Vanta hit the ground hard, vision blurring. Darkness lapped at the edges. His chest tightened. He coughed blood. And then—

Darkness.

---

His eyes snapped open with a scream. Cold. Pain. The wound was gone—but the memory of it, the feeling, remained. Like a phantom wrapped around his bones.

Ash knelt beside him, eyes wide and shaking. "You died," she whispered. "I—I saw you die."

Vanta sat up, his entire body trembling. "I felt it," he said hoarsely. "It hurts. Even coming back… it hurts."

A roar echoed outside. The clone waited.

Vanta stood, staggering, jaw clenched. "We have to try again."

Ash grabbed his arm. "You're not ready. That kind of repeated death—it'll break your mind, not just your body."

He looked at her, eyes haunted. "Then I guess we see what breaks first."

He stepped into the clearing again.

---

The fight was faster this time.

No time to think. Just react. His blades became extensions of his fury. Every strike came with memory—of Iridia Chroma, of screams in the night, of parents whose faces he could barely remember.

The clone drove a blade through his stomach.

Vanta's scream echoed into the trees.

He dropped, coughing blood.

Darkness.

---

He revived.

Vomited bile.

Got up.

Fought again.

Ash tried once more to intervene—but the miasma passed through like wind.

"It's you," she growled, fists clenched. "You're the key, Vanta." As if he didn't already knew.

The pain didn't fade. Each death etched itself into his bones, his lungs, his soul. His brain screamed for mercy. His heartbeat slowed every time he revived.

But he kept going.

---

Third death.

Slashed through the spine.

Blackness.

---

Fourth death.

Throat crushed beneath a boot.

Silence.

---

Fifth.

Run through the chest.

Twitching.

Gone.

---

Each time he came back, it took longer. His limbs were slower. His vision dimmer. But still—he fought. Still—he bled.

He screamed not just in pain—but in rage.

"What do you want from me?!" he shouted mid-battle, parrying a brutal downward strike.

The clone answered, voice calm: "To remember who you are. Or die trying."

Its blades struck again—one slashing his thigh, the other crashing into his side. Bones cracked.

Vanta fell to one knee, blood pouring from his mouth.

Ash screamed again. "Enough! He's dying!"

The clone paused, for the first time.

But it was too late.

Vanta's eyes rolled back. His body convulsed.

And he collapsed.

Not dead.

But broken.

His chest rose in shallow breaths. Blood soaked the soil. One arm bent the wrong way. His face was pale, lips cracked.

The clone stood over him silently.

Ash ran to his side, pressing trembling fingers to his neck.

A pulse. Barely.

The forest had gone still again.

But then—slowly—the clone knelt.

And smiled.

"Next time," it whispered, "you won't come back."

Its form dissolved into the mist, leaving only silence.

Ash stared down at Vanta, tears burning behind her eyes.

He wasn't moving.

And for the first time since she'd met him—she didn't know if he ever would again.