Chapter 11
2564words
No delay. No warning.
Just pure, raw intent.
A sudden blur. A flicker of red energy burst mid-air — then a fist smashed toward Gama’s chest.
It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t light.
It was dark cherry-red mana, condensed like poison — and it wanted to crush bone.
But Gama wasn’t caught off guard.
He raised Roarsong, his massive katana, just in time. The blade screamed as it caught her blow, the force ringing out like a temple bell across the ruined village. Dust spiraled upward, scattering embers.
Gama slid back a few feet.
His arms shook — not from weakness, but the raw feedback of her strength.
“She hits hard…” he muttered.
Viti didn’t miss the opening.
In the same moment, his Butcher Blade formed with a flicker of silver light. Swift. Sharp.
He activated D-Force and dashed in with precision — no overthinking, no hesitation.
His strike landed.
Not deep. But definite.
A quick slice across her side.
Vridia smiled. Not in pain — in amusement.
Then she disappeared.
She reappeared behind Gama.
Then vanished.
Then behind Viti.
Then again, behind Gama.
Like a whisper of mist. A flicker in candlelight. Too fast to trace. Too smooth to anticipate.
Viti backed up a step, catching his breath.
“She’s insanely fast.”
"You’re right," Gama said between heavy breaths. His arms felt heavy, starting to lower slightly.
"And… what the hell is that?" he added, eyeing the strange seal-like aura that shimmered in Vridia’s palm every time she reappeared. It pulsed — like a heartbeat. As if it was reading them. Or worse... predicting them.
“She’s not just fast — she’s tracking our attacks before we move.”
Viti gritted his teeth. “It’s like that seal’s watching our souls…”
Gama swung Roarsong again, this time in a broad arc to disrupt the rhythm — blow after blow, wide and punishing, forcing Vridia to dodge.
But with each clash… Roarsong felt heavier. Not in weight — in resistance.
Like something was eating his strength.
Still, Gama didn't stop.
He pushed forward, sweat on his brow, lips curled into a grin.
“I’m not gonna let a teenager outdance me in my own arena.”
“Big talk,” Viti said, repositioning.
He shifted his stance, his D-blade rotating to its South head — a form built for mid-range control. He calculated his strikes from afar, knowing Gama had already committed to close combat.
The battlefield changed.
Blades danced.
Energy rippled through the air in chaotic streams.
Viti’s rose/punch mana — sharp, disciplined, graceful.
Gama’s lemon/cyber mana — wild, aggressive, overwhelming.
And between it all…
Vridia’s cherry-red poison pulsed, twirled, twisted — like she was painting across the air with blood and rhythm.
None of them had time to speak.
Only breathe. Only react.
The ground cracked beneath their feet.
Blades clashed. Steel roared. Sparks bit the air.
But suddenly…
Everything stopped.
No sound. No wind. Just—
It rolled in like a slow tide. Sweet-smelling, cherry-scented.
Too soft to notice at first. Too gentle to fear.
Until it wrapped around their limbs.
Until it slithered into their breath.
Until the battlefield… faded.
Gama fell into a white void.
Everything around him faded — no ground, no sky, no direction. Just white. His vision blurred as he rubbed his eyes. Slowly… the shapes began to form.
A girl. Maybe 20 or 23.
Sitting at the edge of a calm river.
Her white dress drifted in the breeze. She gently moved her fingers through the water, her eyes soft, half-closed — like someone who hadn’t slept in years.
Gama froze.
The moment he saw her… his chest stung with a sharp, electric pain.
The word rose in his throat, but it didn’t escape.
He didn’t believe it.
His body moved, as if dragged by something deeper than logic.
"This isn’t real," he muttered.
But his legs didn’t stop.
Deep down, some part of him — the one that had suffered in silence — wanted it to be true.
The grief alone from seeing her figure was too much.
He dropped his katana.
He wrapped his arms around her, tightly. His voice cracked.
"Are you real? How is this possible?"
"Do you know… how happy I am to see you?"
His words spilled without a single breath.
Then — a sudden lump caught in his throat.
Flashes erupted behind his eyes.
— Her reading books in the corner of the library.
— Her yanking him by the collar into a tight, silent embrace.
— Her soft laugh, playfully scolding him, flicking his forehead with tears in her eyes.
Every image flickered like a reel — spinning faster, too bright, too much.
He hugged her tighter.
But the figure didn’t move.
It wasn’t her.
Just a memory.
A pretty illusion.
Constructed from the deepest corner of his heart.
And yet… the illusion smiled.
She touched his face softly — lovingly.
Gama closed his eyes.
Like glass breaking.
The dream shattered.
He was back in the void.
"How did it feel… meeting your love again?"
A soft, mocking voice slithered behind his ears. He jolted — reflexes sharp — and landed a clean blow.
Vridia backed off, laughing.
"Ohhh, why so rude?"
"Didn’t I give you a gift? Why so ungrateful?"
Gama’s hands trembled.
"You think this is amusing? Using people's memories like that?"
"Is this… pleasure to you?"
"You disgust me."
His voice cracked.
But the fire behind it — that was real.
"Aww, do I really disgust you?" she giggled, spinning in slow circles.
"Too bad — I’ve known that about myself for a long time."
Then her tone darkened.
"Do you know why humans are idiots?"
"Because you always believe things will go the way you want."
"But this world doesn’t care what you want."
She circled him like a ritual.
Gama’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his blade.
“We’re ‘idiots,’ huh? That’s the only reason you’re killing them?
I didn’t know demons had become that… petty.”
For a second, Vridia said nothing.
Her lips parted just slightly —
She gulped.
Not in fear. Not in shame.
But like she was swallowing something far heavier than words.
Then softly — almost too softly — she whispered:
Her eyes didn’t blink.
“That’s exactly why I hate humans so much.”
She took a step forward, her bare feet barely making a sound on the void floor.
“Because you always think what you do is called justice.”
“And what we do... is just ‘petty.’”
Her voice didn’t rise.
She didn’t shout.
She didn’t break.
She giggled.
“Wanna see something”
The void pressed in, a suffocating darkness thick with the cloying scent of rot and an ominous hum of dark energy. Manipulation isn't usually this weak, Viti thought, his mind racing. As a dream manipulator, or rather, an invader, he knew better than anyone that the effectiveness of such power hinged on the host's mental or emotional stability. The fact that he had broken free so quickly from that last illusion indicated that the one behind this wasn't merely toying with minds or trying to kill them through manipulation. Something else was at play here, something Viti didn't yet understand.
"Where did that idiot go?" Viti muttered aloud, the silence of the void echoing his words. "It's too calm here."
He jolted —
like someone plugged lightning into his spine.
Viti gasped and looked down.
At his feet...
Just an arm.
Fresh blood still leaking.
The rotting smell curled up into his lungs —
his gut twisted.
But he held it.
He clenched his teeth and turned his face —
and what he saw almost made him collapse.
So many bodies.
A twisted mountain of corpses, piled together like discarded puppets.
Some with eyes wide open —
still mid-scream, like they were never given the chance to say goodbye.
Others had their eyes closed —
as if still waiting for the end to arrive.
His stomach churned.
His knees buckled.
He dropped to the ground and—
"Uhhh— lblaahhh—"
The bile spilled from his mouth, warm and bitter.
Sweat clung to his face.
His heartbeat was racing, uneven, wrong.
“That’s not true… that’s not true…!”
He slapped his face. Hard.
“I’ve already seen this.”
“Every night. Every time I sleep.”
“But this… this is worse.”
He slowly forced himself upright, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
The air was thick, heavy, humid with death.
He glanced around, sharp-eyed despite the haze.
“What is this place?”
“Is that demon using some kind of manipulation…?”
His breath slowed.
His body tensed.
He was waking up — mentally, emotionally.
“Before anything else…”
His eyes narrowed.
“I need to find Gama.”
A beat of silence.
“God, I hope that idiot didn’t fall for this illusion.”
On the other side…
Gama was no longer trapped in the gentle illusion. He was fighting.
Hand to hand. Blow for blow.
His knuckles cracked against her forearm —
hers snapped against his ribs.
Dust kicked up beneath their feet.
The world blurred around their motion.
He panted, his breath ragged.
"How is this girl so strong…?"
He ducked, twisted, and slammed a punch straight into her gut.
Vridia flew backward —
but twisted in mid-air like a dancer, landing smoothly on her feet.
She was graceful. Too graceful.
It didn’t feel real.
"Still… it feels wrong. Fighting a child… even one like her."
He grimaced, shifting his stance again.
“Why are you doing this?!”
“It’s really low of you—killing children. They didn’t even know what was happening!”
For a split second —
something flickered in her eyes.
She screamed, not from pain, but from rage.
From the center of her palm, a seal burst open,
unleashing a glowing chain laced with blood-colored needles.
It coiled around Gama's neck like a serpent,
tightening with each breath he tried to take.
He clawed at it, his muscles straining, vision darkening.
But Gama was Gama.
He didn’t just survive — he fought.
Even with the chain strangling him,
he drove his elbow hard into her vital point — just under her ribs.
The strike landed. It was sharp, precise, brutal.
She didn't scream.
But her body shuddered.
She staggered back, holding her side — the wound small, but stinging.
Even if she didn’t feel pain,
the body she wore still remembered what it meant to bleed.
She looked up.
And smiled.
That same unsettling, eerie smile.
“You really are strong,” she whispered.
Her voice was calm.
As if this was all just a test.
And Gama had passed the first round.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the void’s torment…
The oppressive darkness had solidified, morphing into a vast, featureless arena. The air, though no longer thick with the scent of rot, hummed with a raw, unstable energy. Across the stark expanse, Viti stood, his D-blade held ready. It was a single, sleek weapon, but Viti knew its twin heads intimately. The one angled for swift, brutal close-quarters combat – North. The other, designed for precise, surgical strikes at range – South. Its ethereal glow pulsed, casting sharp, unnatural shadows. Facing him, less than a hundred paces away, was his doppelganger. An exact replica – same stance, same lean build, same intensity in its eyes, and in its grip, an identical D-blade.
The moment the thought formed, a shadow materialized behind him. It moved with a disturbing fluidity, a dark ripple in the suffocating stillness. Viti didn't wait; he didn't even turn fully. His instincts screamed danger. With a guttural roar, his D-blade appeared in his hand, its ethereal glow cutting a luminous arc through the oppressive dark as he brought its North headto bear.
Their blades met. Not with a clang, but a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated through the void itself. Sparks, like dying stars, exploded from the point of impact, momentarily illuminating the figure. It was familiar, unsettlingly so, a silhouette that mirrored his own stance, his own build. There was no time for introductions, only the primal dance of battle.
Viti pushed forward, a rapid succession of thrusts and slashes, each one a whisper of steel against air before connecting with the phantom blade. The figure parried with unnerving precision, deflecting every attack, their movements a mirror image of his own. Their blades didn't just clash; they seemed to sing a duet of destruction, sliding against each other with a terrifying familiarity.
"What is this..." Viti grunted, forcing a powerful overhead chop, which was met with an identical block. "Why does this feel familiar?"
He leaped back, creating a fraction of a second's distance. In a blur of motion, his wrist flicked, twirling the D-blade so the South head now faced forward. It wasn't a separate blade; it was a seamless transition, the weapon's balance shifting for a different kind of attack. He thrust it forward, launching a concentrated burst of energy, a ranged projectile designed to test his opponent's long-distance capabilities.
The doppelganger, without missing a beat, also executed the identical wrist flick, its D-blade now presenting its South head. An identical energy burst met Viti's mid-air, dissolving both attacks in a flash of light.
Damn it. It knows my limitations too. Viti cursed internally. The D-blade system was powerful, but rigid. The North head was for close-quarters, a perfect extension of his body in a brawl. The South head was for range, a precise tool for picking off enemies from afar. He tried to force a close-range maneuver with the South head, but its longer, balanced-for-distance form felt awkward and unwieldy in the confined space. Conversely, attempting a ranged energy projection with the North head was possible, but lacked the precision and power of the South. This replica knew it. It would perfectly counter every tactical switch of his blade, exploiting the inherent inefficiency of using the 'wrong' head at the 'wrong' range.
He decided to force the issue. Viti lunged forward again, closing the distance at blinding speed. As he came within striking range, his hand automatically rotated the D-blade, presenting the North head once more. The doppelganger mirrored, a blur of motion, its own blade's North head ready to meet him.
Their blades met in a vicious dance. Viti's style was elegant brutality – flowing movements that masked devastating power, unexpected angles, and feints within feints. He aimed for joints, for exposed vitals, trying to exploit any subtle shift in balance. But every strike was met with an identical defense. A diagonal slash to the neck was blocked by a precise upward parry. A low sweep was effortlessly hopped over. A feigned thrust to the chest, followed by a pivot for a backhand slice, was met by a mirror image, leaving him locked in a symmetrical stalemate.
Sweat beaded on Viti's brow, not from exertion, but from the sheer mental strain. It wasn't just physical; it was a battle against his own mind, his own patterns, his own instincts. Every tactical decision he made, the doppelganger had already made it, or anticipated it.
"Come on," Viti growled, pushing more force into his D-blade, trying to overpower his reflection. "Show me something I don't know!"
The doppelganger remained silent, its expression a perfect, chilling replica of his own grim determination. It simply pushed back, matching his strength perfectly, its eyes holding the same calculating intensity. The arena felt like a cage, and he was trapped with the only enemy he truly couldn't defeat: himself.
