“Beware… the reflection.”

  The scene cut, and the man seated at the couch, weeping into his hands. The screen stopped flickering.

  For a long minute, Freddy just sat there, frozen in disbelief. “Uh…? What?” He put a sweaty palm to his forehead. “Bloodshed. Remind me to find this fucking director and feed him his own balls once I’m out of here.”

  Bloodshed remained quiet.

  He glanced at it, and then, his eyes slowly moved to the remote resting beside him on the bed. With a shaky hand, he reached for it. Then, with a reluctant twist, he rewound the footage.

  The man walked into his apartment. Slowly, he moved to the bathroom. There was no flickering. Once the man stepped inside, he stood before the mirror, staring himself into the eyes with an expression of pure, distilled fury. Then he laughed darkly as if mocking the reflection in the mirror. “Who even are you, you bastard?” He threw a punch, breaking the mirror into pieces.

  The movie continued with him breaking down on the living room couch.

  “Bloodshed,” Freddy whispered. “Did you see the same thing I did?”

  The skeleton remained quiet.

  “Are you fucking deaf? Huh? I asked you a question!” He leaned forward. “Did you see the same thing I did?”

  It refused to respond.

  “You knew about this, didn’t you?” he accused. “You knew that there was more to this place than just solitude. Why didn’t you tell me? Why!? Why, Bloodshed?”

  “Master,” it said. “During my time in this dungeon, I saw no such thing.”

  He wanted to accuse it of lying. But it couldn’t lie. It was telling the truth. “But you did notice that it was strange when I entered.”

  It slowly nodded.

  Freddy scoffed. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  “You never asked.”

  He slammed a fist into the bed frame. “You should know damn well that this is important!”

  Bloodshed slowly turned to face him. “Is it really?” It cocked its head. “And what’s wrong with going a little insane?”

  He winced, pulling away from it a bit. “Bloodshed. While I enjoy the thought of you as my cute little pet skeleton, I am damn well aware of what you are.” He reached over, grabbing it by the top of its head. Like a doll, it surrendered itself to his grasp as he pulled it in and hugged it. “But you don’t need to do this. I have plenty of good reasons to give you exactly what you want. So please. Don’t push me. Please.”

  The skeleton remained still for a few moments, and then nodded. “I will do whatever you want, Master. Just say the word.”

  Freddy sighed, bringing the spirit back into its shell in his soul. He needed to be alone for a moment.

  The movie was still running in the background, so he turned the BC off. He was in no mood to keep watching. He chuckled. “That was cheap,” he said. “Could you have found a cheesier way to try to scare me? Please. You think I’m some kind of pussy? Try harder.” He got off the bed and walked outside, heading over to train.

  In a sense, he felt a little relieved. For a long time, he had been convinced that he was slowly losing his mind. But now that he knew this was a part of the challenge, it was no longer so intimidating. His mind was still sound. He was going to make it out.

  For a long time, he single-mindedly dedicated his focus to growing Ten Thousand Wet Hells. It barely moved forward in progress, but he had plenty of time to keep working on it.

  Day after day after day after day. And then one day, finally, he finally updated his notebook.

  GATHERING:

  Second star—199% essence capacity

  2-star satellite

  TALENT:

  1% Lifesteal: Dynamic-quality healing

  SOUL CONSTRUCT:

  Scythe: Essence Extraction

  TEMPERING TECHNIQUES:

  Blood affinity:

  Lake of Blood: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Crimson Mercury: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Purifying Crimson Spring: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Water affinity:

  Adaptive Water Body: Stage 1—Complete

  Ten Thousand Wet Hells: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Abyssal Depths: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Water Body: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  ACTIVE ABILITIES:

  Blood affinity:

  Gore Knuckles: Stage 2—80% Progress

  Blood Javelin: Stage 2—70% Progress

  Absorb Blood: Stage 2—30% Progress

  Accelerate Blood Projectile: Stage 2—64% Progress

  Sanguine Beheader: Stage 2—95% Progress

  Knuckle Blade: Stage 2—76% Progress

  Crimson Wing Shield: Stage 2—71% Progress

  Dissipate Wave: Stage 2—99% Progress

  Crimson Dragon Scales: Stage 2—25% Progress

  Water affinity:

  Tsunami Strike: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Hydraulic Flex: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Create Water: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Hydraulic Throw: Stage 2—80% Progress

  Perished water affinity:

  Perished Water: Stage 0—50% Progress

  Ghosts of the Drowned: Stage 0—50% Progress

  UNIQUE CURSED ITEMS:

  Warrior King’s Pendant: Adds 8% damage and 8% durability to equipped weapons.

  Blood Ring: -9% essence cost, +8% power for blood-affinity abilities. Can be used to release Bloodshed. Attacks inflict moderate bleeding.

  Ocean Medallion: -13% essence cost for water-affinity abilities.

  And with that, all his tempering techniques had reached their full potential.

  He already knew that there would be a few abilities that wouldn’t be able to get to the peak of stage 2. Namely, Absorb Blood and Crimson Dragon Scales. The first needed him to absorb different types of blood to keep moving, and the second would grow as he faced more diverse opponents. As for most of the others, he was confident he could get them to stage 2, given that he didn’t run out of time.

  Just as he was about to get up, he felt something strange. It was a fulfilling sensation, overwhelming his chest with a warmth long forgotten. “Huh?” he blurted as he took a look at his soul.

  His star. It was overflowing. At that moment, he could ascend to the third star.

  He nearly screamed from the joy.

  Had he upgraded any of his stage 2 abilities, he would have qualified a long time ago. In fact, with two spirit abilities and not a single stage 3 ability, it was a bloody miracle he had managed to qualify.

  That being said, he had no reason to go through with ascending yet. Doing so before upgrading his abilities would be beyond idiotic. The difference in achievement was indescribable.

  Yet again, he found himself excited to keep training.

  However, as hard as he worked to put on a hard front, that experience with the BC had really disturbed him.

  He worked hard not to let it get to him, but with the merciless march of time, he felt his defense crumbling.

  More and more often he thought he caught movement in the corner of his eye. There was nothing there. Bloodshed was also keeping watch, just in case, and it never spotted anything.

  He found himself avoiding the sight of his reflection in the edge of reality. And, at times, he found himself watching it, observing it for any signs of anything strange. As soon as he noticed this, he did everything in his power to fight against these impulses.

  Even if the reflection was some kind of spooky demon or whatever, what was it going to do? He asked the question rhetorically at first. But the sweatier his neck felt when his back was turned to the mirror, and the more unsettled he felt staring at his own reflection, the more he wasn’t sure of the answer to that question.

  One night, he went to sleep. And again, that bizarre, shadowy figure appeared.

  He took a deep breath. Sleep paralysis. Again.

  It will be over soon, he told himself. Just ignore it.

  But something was different. He shifted in his sheets uncomfortably. Then, he froze.

  He wasn’t paralyzed.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Immediately, he leaped out of the bed and conjured Sanguine Beheader, swinging it at the shadowy figure with all the strength he could muster. The sword tore through the intruder, splitting it in half and causing the shadow to dissipate.

  And then, Freddy woke up.

  Covered in sweat and breathing heavily, he pressed a shaky palm to his forehead. “What the fucking hell was that?” he muttered.

  That didn’t feel like a dream. Not in the slightest.

  From that night onward, the discomfort amplified drastically. He found himself covering the edge of reality with a sheet of blood, just to ensure he never caught sight of his own reflection.

  As hard as he tried to ignore it, there was this… dread. Overwhelming. Omnipresent. Like a cold hand touching the back of his shoulder.

  The time he spent awake kept increasing. More and more often he woke up in a random spot, having fallen asleep on his feet from the exhaustion. And on the nights he actually went to bed, he simply lay there, eyes wide open, watching every shadow around him for movement.

  He no longer listened to music.

  He no longer read.

  He no longer turned on the BC.

  He simply couldn’t focus on any of them.

  Something was clearly trying to get into his head. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t give it the opportunity.

  And then, one day, as he had dreaded for so long, he fell asleep again, and once more, a shadowy figure waited for him.

  Unhesitantly, he leaped to his feet, pulling his weapon out and swinging it. But this time, the shadowy figure ducked under his blade, swinging a pitch-black sword at him in return. He weaved around it, twisting his sword mid-air to slice into the phantom’s shoulder. And again, he woke up.

  But this time, he didn’t leap to his feet. He merely remained there, frozen under his torn and worn blanket, surrounded by pale posters and dusty furniture. By the time he even felt like getting up, he was already tired enough to go to sleep again.

  The food pills were becoming increasingly bitter. They wouldn’t go bad. Even after a hundred years, they would just taste very bad and be slightly less caloric. With every fiber of his being, he was praying that their rancid taste, one not even he could tolerate anymore, was a sign that his time there was nearing the end.

  After a particularly intense training session, he opened his notebook to write his progress down.

  He turned the page. And found something was already written there.

  KILL YOURSELF.

  He slammed the book shut and screamed, “Leave me alone! Just fucking leave me alone!” He broke into tears. “Please… Just leave me alone.”

  Nobody answered.

  He could no longer even fall asleep. But the sheer exhaustion caught up with him again. And he yet again found himself facing the shadow.

  With a mad groan, he rushed it. It dodged his swing, kicking his midsection in turn. He was sent flying back, right into the shack he called home, but he quickly recovered. It rushed him. He conjured a Knuckle Blade and, with a swift strike, pierced its head.

  He woke up laughing maniacally, but his laughter soon turned into an undeniable urge to vomit. The whole world looked like it was spinning around him. Every shadow appeared to squirm at his gaze.

  Again and again, the shadow kept appearing in his dreams.

  Every time he defeated it, it returned stronger. Smarter. Eventually, he slipped up. And then he was the one to die.

  The sensation of being cut apart into pieces, just waiting for an opponent to finish him off—he wasn’t a stranger to it. But he’d made it out every time before. This time, he learned the price of failure. The hopelessness. The uncertainty of whether he would even wake up.

  The reality that one day, even if he left this wretched place, this was what his end would most likely look like.

  But he did indeed wake up.

  A strange calm washed over him, sobering him up. He spent a day beating the spark of undeath to heal up, to ensure that his brain wouldn’t be wounded by the stress he was being put under.

  The next time he had that same dream, he was ready to fight.

  When he was composed, the shadow was an easy opponent. He regained his confidence. Even if he died in the dream, he would still wake up. If anything, he thought he could use this to his benefit. He had forgotten what it was like to fight an opponent other than Bloodshed.

  This would allow him to brush his skills up a bit.

  But every time he came out victorious, the next dream was more challenging. And with the unending, uncountable days, it was always just a matter of time until he reached his limit.

  He appeared in the dream and immediately cast a double-starred Crimson Dragon Scales. Within the time it took him to take a breath, he had all his gear on him: his shields, Gore Knuckles and Knuckle Blade, Sanguine Beheader, and the Blood Javelin.

  Unhesitnantly, he threw the Blood Javelin, double-starring all relevant abilities. The shadow raised a spear, and with all the force it could manage, it redirected the javelin, which tore a part of its stomach out but didn’t kill it.

  Freddy conjured the orb of blood and prepared to strike it, but the shadow twisted its torso, throwing its spear and hitting the orb out of the way of Freddy’s ability. Freddy used Dissipate Wave and conjured another Blood Javelin, but the phantom created another spear and dashed forward, aiming at his throat. He dodged, countering with his sword.

  The shadow sped out of the way, but Freddy released his grip on the sword. Imbued with Accelerate Blood Projectile, it sped up, slamming into the phantom’s side and knocking it off its feet. With its balance gone, Freddy thrust his Gore Knuckles into the shadow’s torso. Just before he reached, the spear flew right through his defense and stabbed him in the eye. “Wha—” Before he could turn this around, the shadow twisted the spear, scrambling his brain and ending the fight.

  He woke up. “Ah, fuck. I was close, too.” He slumped. “Well, whatever. At least it ended quickly.”

  Ever since he’d started fighting the shadow, he had been getting inspiration for novel ways to use his abilities. With the awareness of what worked in a fight and what didn’t, he could lock in on the parts that worked to get the most out of his practice.

  His abilities were still slowly making progress. But he was no longer writing it down.

  His life without entertainment felt hollow and miserable. But he took solace in the fact that it was likely that more time had passed than he could reasonably estimate. He was awake for long stretches and slept for an unknown period. His “days” were almost certainly over half a week long.

  And that would mean that he only really had like a hundred days per year, for a total of ten thousand days.

  Admittedly, this outlook was a bit of a stretch. But he had to cling to anything that would allow him to keep his sanity. At any rate, he could bet his soul that he didn’t have that much longer left.

  Training kept him occupied for the most part, but there were times when he deeply ached for any entertainment whatsoever.

  Occassionally, he returned to reading or music or watching the BC, but it just wasn’t fun. He constantly worried that something strange would pop up, or that the dungeon would try to spook him again. It made him feel pathetic.

  But even if he avoided entertainment, he found himself playing with random objects.

  After finishing up with another round of training, he returned to his room and fell right into the bed. He had stopped bothering with cleaning himself a long time ago. He probably smelled like a landfill.

  He twirled what was left of his shirt, eyes wondering across the faded posters. He got lost in thought and started putting together small objects out of his blood, like a miniature sword or a carriage with functional wheels. But he got bored of that, too.

  Turning around, he spotted the label on his blanket. The text on it was faded almost to the point of unintelligibility. But with his enhanced eyesight, he could still read the text.

  GADLAND TEXTILES.

  HIGH-QUALITY BLANKET.

  100% COTTON.

  YOU HAVE BEEN HERE FOR 48 YEARS, 5 MONTHS, AND 15 DAYS.

  He froze, slowly letting the label go. He heard nothing but static. His eyes remained frozen on a random spot on the wall. “I’m being lied to…” he muttered, but those words provided him no comfort. “Hey… This is a joke, right?”

  There was no answer.

  “This is a joke… This is a joke…” He started believing it. “Right. This place is made to fuck with my head.” He sighed, slowly breathing out. “Don’t let it get to you. And so what? Even if it has been that long, who cares? I had already made it through almost half the time. Just another half to go. And then I’m free.”

  For a while, his days were as they always were.

  And then one day, he woke up. The realm felt quieted than usual. His thoughts felt calmer than usual.

  He felt more free than usual.

  He even laughed, feeling genuinely joyful. “Oh, man. Coming here was a stupid idea. But that’s how I’ve always been, no?” He started cackling. “I’m just a total fucking idiot. I ruin everything I touch. And what was I even gonna fix by doing this, huh? What, the world will have a couple fewer assholes? What a joke.”

  His steps took him to the exercise area, and he sat on the bench. Reminiscing on the time he’d spent there. It was almost black at that point. There was an impression of his back on the bench, solidly embedded into the metal. He’d achieved soo much during his time in this dungeon.

  It was a shame it would all go to waste.

  Without hesitation, he walked over to the corner containing all the essential equipment keeping him alive. If anything inside broke...

  Anything.

  Anything at all.

  He stood right before the metal barrier, breathing calmly. He cocked his fist back. He activated a double-starred Tsunami strike. It coursed through his body. And with a swing of his hand, he spotted his reflection in the mirror, the small patch of nothing he was yet to cover up.

  Dissipate Wave! he urged himself mentally, cancelling the ability just in time. His punch still landed, sending cracks across the blackened metal.

  He pulled his shaking fist back and looked at his reflection. For the first time in what felt like forever, he finally met face to face with his reflection.

  He smirked. Then he started chuckling. “Oh, man. I get it.” He wagged his finger. “I finally fucking get it. Beware the reflection.” He laughed vociferously. “Oh my fucking… It was never going to move in funny ways! There’s no demon that’s gonna crawl out of nothing! And yet, I just saw my reflection about to kill me!” he shouted, his amusement rapidly turning to anger. He took a deep breath and walked over to it.

  “I get it. I’m the only real danger here, aren't I? As long as I keep myself in check, I win.” He grinned. “Easy enough.” His fist flew right into the side of his head. And with a deep thump, he knocked himself out.

  The sleep was dreamless. He didn’t know how long it took him to wake up. But once he did, he walked over to his bed. There, he beat the spark of undeath just to keep himself topped up. He ate a food pill to keep himself fed. And then he knocked himself out again.

  Over and over, he did everything he could to just avoid being awake.

  At times, he faced the phantom. And he fought it earnestly. Might as well. If he had no entertainment at hand, he might as well have fun fighting against an opponent.

  Again and again, he found himself in that fight. A thing he appreciated was that it was always slightly different. The shadow used different weapons. And at times, it became a caster, using ranged abilities against him.

  For the most part, he lost the fights. It was already so fast that even if he used Leviathan’s Fury, it could get out of the way in time.

  He desperately swung his sword, but he only managed to partially block an attack that tore his side out, and then, before he could even react, a vibrating sword had pierced his throat. “Leviathan’s Fury,” he mouthed, and the phantom leapt, raising its sword to block the giant jaw.

  Well, it was a good try.

  The longer this went on, the more he experimented with the slightly more bizzare combinations of abilities. And at times, he found some decent inspiration, even choosing to stay awake a bit longer so he could check whether these insights would grow his abilities.

  Once more, he felt himself making progress, and this time, he had no more doubts.

  Solitude he couldn’t bear.

  The creepy hallucinations were a bit much.

  But pure, unfiltered, escalating violence? In a sense, it was almost like he was right back outside.

  The phantom was always too much. But he always surprised himself. He always found a way to win, even when it became so fast and powerful that a single blow could tear him into pieces. The more resourceful he was forced to get, the more he discovered about his abilities. And the more he discovered about his abilities, the more they grew. One by one, he felt them locking in.

  Gore Knuckles: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  And again.

  Blood Javelin: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  And again.

  Accelerate Blood Projectile: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Sanguine Beheader: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Knuckle Blade: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Crimson Wing Shield: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Dissipate Wave: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Hydraulic Throw: Stage 2—99% Progress (Ready to Upgrade)

  Other than Absorb Blood and Crimson Dragon Scales, which were impossible to grow in this limited space, everything else was absolutely maxxed out.

  Just as he was about to lament having nothing else to do for the rest of his time there, he saw something strange appear. A light shone right outside his small hut. Brighter than the sunlight lamp. Purer than even the edge of reality. He gulped, getting off the bed and pushing the barely-intact curtain aside.

  There was a portal. Right about the size of a regular door. Pearly white.

  “The exit…” he said, completely numb. “Hah. Has it really been 50 years already?” He grinned. “So that was a goddamn lie. Mother—fucker.”

  His reaction could wait. He had to leave. After quickly making sure he left nothing of importance behind, he walked up to the exit. There, he paused, slowly turning around.

  He had been here five times longer than outside. Technically, he was over 120 years old.

  But somehow, despite the excruciating wait, in hindsight, it really didn’t feel like a lot of time. After all, not much had really happened. It was a lot of the same.

  He didn’t feel like a different person. He certainly didn’t feel as mature and grown as a real 120-year-old.

  The world had been waiting for him all this time. And he’d been waiting to come back.

  A bit over an hour had passed outside. Problems were waiting to be resolved.

  But he knew. No matter who arrived, he was ready.

  With one final glance behind him, he stepped forward, walking through the portal.

  The blinding light enveloped him, and he briefly vanished into a white void. Then, he appeared outside in a—

  “Wait, what?”

  A meadow. Right beside a serene lake. With a picturesque forest around him. “Huh?”

  He turned around.

  There was a small log cabin.

  Its doors were pushed slightly open. And an inviting smell was coming from inside.

  BOYS. GIRLS.

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