Chapter 6: The Play of Shattered Mirrors

  Looking at the most striking vial among them, Lucien felt a ripple of longing surge within him. Something urged him to approach and taste the pure white liquid in that strange vial. “This urge is impossible to resist,” he thought, his body moving forward involuntarily. Standing before the mirror, he now saw the reflections around him more clearly. After a few seconds of scrutiny, his eyes widened in shock. These were no ordinary shadows. They writhed, crowded together, with tentacles crawling from the void. But they were swiftly repelled by the light emanating from the vial. Seeing the vial overpower the shadow monsters, Lucien’s desire to possess it intensified. He knelt, hesitating as he reached for the mysterious vial, “Can I pass through the mirror and touch it?” The thought flickered, and he pressed his hand against the mirror’s surface. A delicate, elastic resistance appeared, like fragile water. Without hesitation, Lucien thrust his arm through the mirror.

  His arm crossed over, grasping the vial, but an unexpected calamity struck. The shadow monsters sensed the shift in the vial’s power and lunged like starving predators. Lucien saw them poised to seize his arm and, without pause, yanked it back. Boom! Boom! A series of crashes echoed as the monsters slammed into the mirror’s surface, unable to pass. Lucien sighed, “Phew, seems safe…” But before he finished, tiny shadows began seeping through. His heart skipped a beat, yet his assassin’s instincts swiftly analyzed: “I could cross because of this vial, like a conduit. After taking it, the monsters want to rush out to reclaim it, but the mirror, without the conduit, traps them. I can use this.” Understanding the situation, Lucien didn’t hesitate, lifting his foot and kicking hard at the mirror’s surface.

  Crack! Crack! The sound of fracturing rang out, but the strange mirror was unnaturally tough. A full-force kick only splintered a small patch. Lucien didn’t question it, throwing two punches. The mirror now resembled a spiderweb. “One more hit,” he muttered, pulling back his arm, channeling all his strength for a final blow. Swoosh! Swoosh! But a black tendril shot toward his arm, wrapping tightly around his wrist, stopping his strike.

  “Damn it!” Lucien’s face darkened. He hadn’t expected them to escape so quickly. Glancing at the mirror, more shadows poured through. “Can’t let this drag on!” As he spoke, he summoned all his strength, spinning in a reverse circle, using the momentum to pull the tendril binding his hand. With the spin’s force, he drove his elbow hard into the mirror’s surface.

  Crack! The mirror shattered, leaving countless fragments and a shadow monster. Yes, his spin had dragged one creature from the other side. “Stupid move,” Lucien cursed himself, eyeing the monster. It wasn’t tall, only reaching his chest, its body pitch-black and slimy, like liquid darkness, with blood-red eyes brimming with murderous intent. Before he could assess further, it charged, its arm morphing into a massive blade, slashing at him. Lucien reacted swiftly, leaping back, dodging the lethal strike.

  The monster growled, its sound like metal scraping stone, making the ruin’s air tremble. Lucien clutched the vial, stuffing it into his coat pocket, and grabbed his Mosin from his shoulder. Thankfully secured tightly, it was only scratched despite chases and falls. He fired, but the bullet passed through the slimy body, merely staggering it, unharmed. “Useless!” he swore, rolling to dodge another slash, the blade grazing his shoulder, leaving a bleeding cut. Pain seared, but adrenaline sharpened his focus. He drew his dagger, lunging to stab the monster’s chest. The blade sank in, but the creature dissolved into smoke, reforming instantly. Can’t kill it the normal way! he thought, retreating, eyes scanning the ruin.

  Shattered mirror fragments glimmered on the floor under rune light. Lucien grabbed a large piece, using it as a shield. The monster charged, its blade striking, but upon hitting the mirror, it shrieked in pain, its arm smoking. The mirror can hurt it! Lucien, slightly surprised, seized the chance, hurling the shard like a dart, slicing the monster’s leg, forcing it back. But it quickly regenerated, tentacles sprouting, wrapping his legs, and yanking him to the ground. Lucien fell, agony flaring as the tendrils tightened, cutting like blades. Gritting his teeth, he severed them with his dagger, rolling away.

  Standing, Lucien panted, blood dripping from wounds. The monster prepared to charge, its body swelling, as if transforming into something deadlier. Then, he suddenly recalled the vial, the thing the shadow monster craved yet was repelled by. He glanced at it in his coat, the urge to drink surging stronger than ever. If I do nothing, I’m dead. This vial, it’s my only shot in this damned situation. With no choice, Lucien pulled it out, uncorked it, and downed the pristine white liquid. It slid down his throat, tasteless, but before he could question it, excruciating pain erupted through his body.

  The pain was like thousands of needles piercing every cell, spreading from his chest outward. Lucien screamed, collapsing, the vial slipping from his hand, shattering. His body convulsed, as if torn apart from within. He felt his bones crack, his blood boiling, threatening to burst free. Touching his face, he panicked, his skin was melting, his face dissolving into a void, eyeless, mouthless, a black abyss. “What am I becoming!” he thought, fear drowning his mind.

  His body turned transparent, like glass, revealing glowing bones and silver veins. But the transparency faded as his skin reformed, not human skin. It shimmered like a mirror, each fragment reflecting the ruin, the monster, and himself, but in distorted versions: Lucien enraged, terrified, ruthless, and countless other facets. The pain didn’t stop; each reformation felt like a piece of his soul was ripped away. He screamed, but the sound wasn’t human, it was the shrill shatter of glass, echoing in the ruin.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  His face vanished, replaced by a reflective surface, capturing everything with terrifying clarity, as if peering into the monster’s soul. His arms blackened, covered in sprawling runes across his body. His bones creaked, compressed, then expanded, making him taller, then smaller, more agile, but every movement was agony, like being crushed. His blood, no longer red, oozed black from wounds, evaporating into eerie smoke. His mind spiraled, memories fracturing, lonely days, bloodshed, yet a power surged within, ready to erupt.

  Suddenly, Lucien’s body shuddered and exploded, like a mirror smashed apart. He felt himself disintegrating, his form bursting into countless glittering shards, floating in the ruin. Yet he didn’t die, his mind, no longer his own, was frenzied, savage, consumed with a desire to tear the monster apart. The shards from his shattered body, joined by the ruin’s mirror fragments, spun, reflecting dark light, forming a colossal vortex of razor-sharp glass. It surged toward the shadow monster, slicing through its slimy form. The creature shrieked, trying to reform, but each shard drained its essence, dissolving it into black smoke.

  Once invincible, the monster now panicked. It roared, a sound like wind howling through an abyss, no longer menacing but fearful. Its red eyes widened, as if seeing something horrific in the vortex. It tried to flee, tentacles thrashing, but the shards clung, shredding its body. Reduced to a tiny speck of darkness, it cowered, emitting a faint whimper, as if begging, before the vortex consumed it entirely, leaving nothing.

  The vortex slowed, the shards, his and the ruin’s, merging, reforming Lucien. He returned as a human, lying on the cold floor, motionless, his mind grappling with a flood of sudden knowledge about the vial’s power. The vial, or its power, was called: The Play of Shattered Mirrors.

  “In short, it’s a power granted in this world, craftable with various ingredients for different effects, but the formula must be precise, or you become a monster. This vial was found in ruins, and why it’s here, I’ve no clue,” Lucien summarized. Without delay, he delved into the core details, level and abilities, of The Play of Shattered Mirrors.

  The Play of Shattered MirrorsIngredients:A mirror shard of the Faceless OneA flower of the Playwright Tree100ml of Mirror Demon bloodUsage: Mix in order, shard, flower, blood. Drink directly.Special Abilities:Faceless:Description: “A performance hosts countless actors, each unique, but you are all of them. Don’t let them become you.”Ability: Transform into anyone from your memories, including appearance and attire. But beware, lose yourself in the role, and you’ll forget who you are. Look in a mirror to see your true self.“An actor’s power, tied to performance. Odd description, but this is incredible for blending in, hiding, or deception,” Lucien thought, thrilled by its potential for subterfuge.

  Reflection:Description: “A mirror is a small stage. Each role is a piece of your soul.”Abilities:Reflected Self: Create a mirror-born clone, reversed in personality, actions, and perception.Reflective Illusion: Induce hallucinations via reflective surfaces.Counterstrike: Detach a mirror shard from your body to create a decoy or clone, imbuing it with a sigil. When attacked, reflect physical or mental strikes back.“Damn, these are even more insane,” Lucien cursed, awed by the abilities’ versatility. “My powers lean toward deception, mental torment, and defense. Shame there’s no direct attack.” A question nagged: “What does detaching a mirror shard from my body mean?”

  To answer, Lucien didn’t linger in this mental sea. He resolved to test it quickly, needing to find his team. Opening his eyes, a headache struck, but he’d adapted to the relentless pain. His tattered clothes bore no wounds from the battle. Unfazed, he began his experiment. Raising his scarred, calloused left hand, he gripped his index finger with his right, imagining it as glass, and pulled. Astonishingly, the finger vanished, no blood or bone, just a void. In his right hand, the finger morphed into a glass shard, no longer human. “So my whole body can become glass shards, but I sense I shouldn’t overdo it,” he thought, reattaching the finger. Not bad, he mused, standing and stretching. His body felt stronger, stranger. “Time to find the team, leave this forest, and learn more about this world. My knowledge is still shallow.” Without delay, Lucien sprinted from the ruin toward a cliff.

  Far from the ruin, in Circle 2’s toxic marsh, Audrey’s group struggled in the Black Forest’s darkness. Audrey, sword bloodied, stood on a mound, eyes blazing with rage and exhaustion. She hacked through a thorny red plant, roaring as Lantern Widows’ whispers taunted her brother’s death. Her mind wavered, but iron will kept her lucid, though her pale face betrayed despair: “Graye, everyone, where are you?” She fought on, breaking through to find her team, refusing to let the forest claim them.

  Kai, silent as a specter, hid in a cave, his dagger slick with black ichor from an unnamed creature. His face was stone, but his hands trembled, haunted by Widows’ illusions of fallen comrades. “Not again,” he whispered. Sounds approached, slithering, wingbeats, heavy steps. Kai’s gaze sharpened; though drained, he wouldn’t yield.

  Zim cowered in a thicket, clutching his bag, tears streaming. Mist Wraiths’ howls made him shrink, his light chants failing. Fear twisted his face, memories of abandonment tormenting him. “I don’t want to die here!” He crawled, seeking refuge, unaware of the Widows’ lights flickering behind.

  Annie, blood dripping from an arm wound, ran through the marsh, dagger slashing fog. Her wild eyes reflected chaos as Widows’ hisses revived memories of betrayal by clan and friends, her deepest torment. “Shut up!” she screamed, voice breaking, nearly mad. She stumbled but gritted her teeth, rising to find the others, body spent.

  Thomas, axe caked in mud and blood, stood amid Shadow Leeches, roaring like a beast. His swollen face and bloodshot eyes wept as he cleaved a leech, the Void gnawing his mind with visions of his family in flames. “No one stops me!” He fought maniacally, but the Widows’ lights loomed, waiting for his collapse.

  At their weakest, broken, memories chained them, no matter their strength. Lucien scaled the cliff, using glass shards to cling and climb. Glancing at the drop he’d been forced to jump, he sighed, “Luck or curse?” A familiar shout, Zim’s, cut through. Without hesitation, he unleashed his new power, rocketing forward like a m

  issile to save his team.