The air in the hallway thrummed with a low, resonant hum that vibrated not just in John's ears, but deep within his bones, a sensation that seemed to resonate with the complex structure of his being. It was a physical sensation, a subtle vibration that ran through him like a current. Mirrors, or rather, something that resembled mirrors, lined the walls. They didn’t offer a clear reflection; instead, they presented distorted, unsettling images of John: one with bulging muscles and a cruel sneer twisting his lips, another gaunt and hunched, his eyes hollow and filled with a deep, gnawing fear. He gripped the bamboo fly rod, the smooth wood cool and reassuring against his sweating palm, a familiar anchor in this unsettling place. He took a cautious step forward, the echoing hum intensifying with each movement, as if the hallway itself were reacting to his presence.
At the entrance of the corridor, glowing letters flickered into view, spelling out "The Hallway of Self-Reflections." John stepped forward cautiously, his grip tightening on the bamboo fly rod as the air thrummed with an unspoken challenge.
A shadow detached itself from one of the distorted reflections, peeling away from the mirrored surface like smoke. The smoke began to coalesce, forming a three-dimensional, twisted smoky version of John. Its eyes and teeth shone a vivid, unnatural white, standing out in stark contrast to its swirling, shadowy form, giving it an eerie, almost predatory aura. It moved with an exaggerated, almost unnatural speed, blurring across the hallway in a warped imitation of John’s own fighting stance. John calmed himself, taking a deep breath, and unsummoned his fly-rod. He wasn't sure if these smoky forms could summon weapons as well, and he didn’t want to make this harder than necessary. As soon as he unsummoned his fly-rod, he braced himself for the creature’s next move. It lunged; a flurry of wild, uncontrolled punches aimed at John’s head.
Cool air filled John's lungs as he centered himself, drawing on the quiet focus within. Time-Chi. He felt a subtle shift within him, a momentary acceleration of his internal processes. As the chi flowed through him, he sensed something deeper: a connection with Max that seemed to grow stronger, as though their bond was merging at a profound level. He wasn’t sure if this was due to his recent leveling up or his higher cultivation stage, but the sensation added both comfort and mystery.
It wasn't that he moved faster; it was that his perception of time slowed, the hallway elongating, the Echo's movements drawing out like brushstrokes in slow motion. The Echo’s exaggerated speed, which had moments before been a blur, now became a series of distinct movements, each punch telegraphed with agonizing clarity. He saw the openings—the slight tremor in its shoulder before a punch, the brief hesitation as it shifted its weight—moments that would have been invisible to the naked eye. He didn’t try to match its speed; he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he used its own momentum against it, deflecting its wild punches with precise, economical movements, redirecting their force and landing sharp counterstrikes that connected with a satisfying thud. The Echo shattered like dark glass, the fragments dissolving into shadow, and the mirror it had emerged from cracked and fell apart with a sharp, resonant shatter.
John barely had time to breathe before another shadow pulled free from a nearby mirror. This one moved with a slower, more deliberate menace, but its intent was no less dangerous. He steadied himself, his heightened perception picking apart its movements as he engaged it in combat. Each time he landed a decisive strike, the smoky form shattered, and the mirror it had come from broke in a cascade of sharp, splintering echoes.
More figures emerged, each one a distorted reflection of himself, each more grotesque and challenging than the last. He danced between them, his focus unyielding, each victory marked by the shattering of another mirror. The hallway grew quieter with each broken pane, the oppressive hum receding as the final mirror cracked and fell to dust. John stood amidst the fragments, breathing heavily but unbroken, the sense of Max’s presence within him like a steadying hand on his shoulder. The remaining mirrors now reflected only the empty hallway ahead, and John knew he had passed this test of will and skill.
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The hallway abruptly ended, opening into a vast orchard. Phantom trees, their forms indistinct and shimmering at the edges, stretched as far as the eye could see, laden with fruit that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. But interspersed among the trees were mirages: tables laden with impossible delicacies that shimmered like jewels, crowds of faceless figures cheering his name, a vision of himself standing atop a mountain of gold coins that glittered under a nonexistent sun. The air hummed with whispers, not distinct words, but feelings—a phantom touch of celebratory hands on his shoulders, the echo of laughter that wasn't there, the weight of gold pressing against his skin. Small, ethereal creatures, like wisps of moonlight given form, flitted through the orchard, emitting alluring glows. They didn’t attack, but they tugged at John’s attention, whispering promises of fulfillment. One wisp led him to a tree bearing plump, crimson fruit. It looked delicious, the scent intoxicatingly sweet, almost too perfect. He reached out, his fingers brushing against its smooth skin. The fruit instantly crumbled to ash, when john went to take a bite from fruit leaving a bitter taste lingering on his tongue, the pang of disappointment sharp in his chest. He recoiled, realizing the trap. It wasn’t about the fruit; it was about the distraction, the constant desire for something just beyond his grasp. He looked around the orchard, noticing how the mirages shifted and changed as he moved, always just out of reach, always promising something more. They were tied to his movement, his desire to progress. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Time-Chi. He visualized a small bubble forming around him, slowing the movements of the wisps. But as he opened his eyes, he noticed something unsettling. The wisps within the bubble were still flitting about at their normal speed, unaffected. Time-Chi was affecting him, not the illusions. They weren't bound by time at all. They were affected by his perception, his movement, his desires.
The connection clicked into place. If the illusions were tied to his perception and desires, then stillness was the key. He took a deep breath and stood perfectly still, focusing on emptying his mind. He stopped moving his eyes, stopped focusing on any one point. He simply was a point of stillness in the illusory orchard. The whispers began to recede, like the tide pulling back from the shore. The vibrant colors of the mirages dulled, their forms flickering and dissolving into the hazy air. One by one, they winked out of existence, leaving behind only the ghostly outlines of the phantom trees. The Desire of the Wisps, their purpose thwarted by his stillness, drifted away, their alluring glows dimming into the background mist. The orchard, stripped of its illusions, revealed its true form: a silent grove of indistinct, shimmering trees, their ghostly outlines barely visible in the dim light. He took a step forward. Nothing happened. He took another. Still nothing. The illusions were gone, as long as he remained still, both physically calm and mentally firm. He could move through this place, not by chasing after illusions, but by simply being present, by accepting the reality of his situation. He could move on, the stillness within him a shield against the temptations, his path forward unfolding with each deliberate step.
Max could feel her connection within the nano-machines in John's body deepening, almost as if the nanos were linking directly to John's soul. this was very strange to max. Normally, as John's AI, her responses were purely programmed, logical reactions. Now, it felt as though she were experiencing what it meant to have a living, physical body. It was like she was starting to be the one half of johns brain. She realized there was little she could do to stop this transformation, but a thought echoed in her core: why should she? John was the first of his kind, a new race of Admin, and she was becoming an integral part of that evolution.
