Book 7: Chapter 23 - The Shape of Enmity (RAW) (Patreon)

The figure within the dark glass possessed my armor, my halberd, my proportions, and even the narrow bands of gold ornamentation running along the black Adamantine plates. The serpent helm covered its face exactly as mine covered my own, while the weapon resting loosely in its gauntleted hands reproduced every cruel line of the halberd Gaston Vries had forged for me. Yet the reflection did not obey me as a reflection should. When I shifted my weight, it remained still. When I tilted the halberd several degrees, its weapon did not follow. 

The other mirrors behaved in much the same fashion. Vaska stood before an image of himself whose broad shoulders and patchwork armor had been perfectly reproduced, while Jean’s reflection stared back from behind a shield identical to his own. Roberts faced another Roberts already carrying both axe and spear, and Kristoff’s counterpart appeared to be studying him like a cat preparing to pounce. Lorn’s reflection had an arrow nocked despite the real bowman keeping his hands well away from his quiver. Clara alone seemed different. Her mirrored self stood with both hands resting upon a staff of dark glass, watching the young Magister with an expression of calm patience.

“Do not move!” Vaska warned.

Suddenly, purple light erupted from the sand between us before any of us could properly react, racing across the arena floor in lines. Those lines passed between each member of the company, curved outward toward the surrounding walls, and then rose into translucent sheets of violet energy that divided the arena into separate compartments. The barriers were not entirely opaque, and through their purple haze I could still see the Crimson Blades in the neighboring sections, though their bodies appeared faintly distorted, as if I were looking at them through several feet of moving water.

Jean immediately withdrew his shield and looked around with an expression that suggested he intended to deny responsibility before anyone accused him. “Wasn’t me.”

“No one said it was,” Roberts called from two sections away.

Their voices passed through the barriers, but the magic stretched and distorted them strangely, making Roberts sound farther away. Vaska had already begun examining his confinement without touching it, walking from one end of his section to the other while measuring the wall with his eyes. Clara crouched beside hers and held one hand near the surface without actually making contact, her expression growing steadily more concerned as she studied whatever magical structure she could perceive.

I found the matter considerably simpler and struck mine. Ignoring my mirrored image for the moment, I reversed my grip upon the halberd, and drove the Adamantine butt point into the purple wall with enough force to have punched through a stone wall. The barrier answered immediately. A cluster of luminous hexagons appeared around the point of impact, layered one over another like scales. It stopped the impact completely, and the recoil traveled back along the haft and into my shoulders, forcing my sabatons to slide half a pace through the sand before I arrested the movement.

The purple wall remained entirely untouched, and Jean laughed from somewhere to my left. 

I replied byswinging the axe blade of the halberd into the barrier with considerably greater force.

Once again the violet hexagons blossomed beneath the impact and spread outward in overlapping layers. For a moment the entire wall glowed brightly enough to paint the black of my armor purple, but the energy gradually faded without leaving so much as a scratch behind. Before I could make my third attempt, however, every mirror in the arena became black.

This darkness did not resemble an ordinary absence of light. It possessed depth and movement. Vaska raised his sword, Jean finally brought his shield into a proper fighting position, and Roberts backed several steps from his mirror so that he had enough space to use either spear or axe. Lorn had already drawn his bow, while Kristoff’s hands disappeared beneath his coat and returned holding a pair of knives.

Then, something stepped from Vaska’s reflection. Its boot touched the sand with almost no disturbance, followed by a body that was an exact reproduction of the leader of the Crimson Blades in every respect except material. Vaska’s patchwork armor had become carved gray stone, his beard was rendered in sharp mineral ridges, and even his enormous sword appeared to have been cut from a single piece of blue-gray rock. The creature possessed no proper eyes, merely smooth depressions beneath a stony brow, although its head nevertheless turned toward the man whose form it had stolen.

Jean’s mirror produced another statue, followed almost immediately by those belonging to Roberts, Lorn, and Kristoff. Clara stared in silence as her own stone duplicate emerged, carrying a staff seemingly carved from the same material as its body. The young Magister took several cautious steps backward and tightened both hands around her own weapon.

I turned toward my mirror and waited for my imitation to appear, but nothing happened. For several seconds, I entertained the pleasant possibility that the Trial had discovered that reproducing me exceeded whatever limits governed its construction. It would have been a gratifying confirmation of my superiority, although the thought survived only until the darkness within my mirror rippled once more.

The first shadow stepped through. Unlike the stone copies facing the Crimson Blades, this creature possessed no true surface. It was my silhouette filled with a darkness deeper than the black armor I wore. Where the visor of its helmet should have been there was nothing at all, only a featureless void that somehow seemed to be looking directly at me.

Then a second shadow followed it through the mirror, and something inside me responded to their presence. It was not fear, nor even precisely recognition, although the latter came closer to describing the sensation. There was a resonance between us, a faint vibration moving through the deeper architecture of my magic. Improved Entropic Aura stirred without being summoned, and beneath the plates covering arm the Mimic shifted uncomfortably. Several tiny eyes briefly opened between the joints of my vambrace, regarded the newcomers, and disappeared again into the living armor.

More curious still, the voices inside my head had become silent. That concerned me rather more than the shadows themselves.

“Gilgamesh!” Vaska shouted from somewhere beyond the barrier, drawing my attention just as his stone duplicate attacked.

The imitation moved with Vaska’s own economy rather than the clumsiness one might expect from animated rock. It stepped into range, turned the enormous sword through a compact arc, and forced Vaska to catch the attack upon his own blade. Stone struck steel with a crack that carried even through the magical walls, and Vaska gave ground before recovering and driving a thrust toward the construct’s neck. His sword struck cleanly and shattered away a considerable portion of stone, only for the wound to begin flowing together almost immediately.

Similar battles erupted throughout the arena. Jean’s duplicate hammered its mace against the man’s shield. Roberts fought his imitation spear against spear until both apparently reached the same conclusion and discarded their longer weapons for axes. Lorn and his copy began exchanging arrows along the narrow length of their compartment, while Kristoff had the particularly unenviable task of engaging in a knife fight.

Clara had not yet attacked when her stone double raised its staff. The sand beneath her feet erupted upward in a violent spray of earth and broken stone, forcing the young Magister aside as she hurriedly countered whatever spell the imitation had used. I had only enough time to register her predicament before my own opponents reached me.

The first shadow attacked with Improved Rush Strike. I recognized the movement almost before it began. The posture, the set of the hips, and the sudden transfer of weight into the forward foot were intimately familiar because I had performed the same technique often enough. I moved before the ability properly unfolded, allowing the shadow halberd to pass beside my helm and miss by less than the width of two fingers.

Unfortunately, the second creature appeared to have anticipated precisely that reaction, and its counterweight struck me in the side with a respectable amount of force. My Adamantium armor absorbed the majority of the impact, the strange underarmor beneath it consumed another portion, and what remained removed so little Health that my Regeneration began correcting the damage almost immediately. I answered by catching its weapon beneath the hook of my own halberd, wrenching the haft aside, and driving the spear point directly through what passed for the creature’s face.

The shadow tore apart beneath the attack. Its upper body burst into black ribbons that scattered through the air, and for a moment I expected the comforting appearance of a death notification.

Nothing appeared. Worse, the scattered darkness gathered again before the pieces had even reached the sand. The shadow possessed a head once more within a heartbeat, its featureless face turning toward me with what I chose to interpret as insolence.

I cut the creature in half. It reformed. I destroyed its torso with the counterweight of my halberd, only to see darkness close around the absence and restore the missing substance. The second shadow continued attacking during this process, striking my shoulder and back several times while I tested the durability of its companion. The blows were increasingly annoying, though still incapable of causing damage that my armor and Regeneration could not comfortably manage.

“This is irritating,” I muttered.

I crushed the second shadow’s chest with the counterweight, swept its legs from beneath it, and split the first from collar to waist as it approached. Both restored themselves almost immediately. I was beginning to suspect it was one of the “set pieces” of the game.

Across the arena, the Crimson Blades were discovering comparable difficulties. Vaska could wound his duplicate, but every fracture eventually ground itself shut. Jean managed to knock the head from his imitation, only for the severed piece to collapse into sand while a new one grew from the shoulders. Roberts drove his spear completely through his double’s chest and was rewarded by receiving a stone spear through the outer plates of his own shoulder.

Lorn’s position was considerably worse. His duplicate possessed neither fear nor fatigue. One stone arrow grazed the side of his head, leaving a line of blood above his ear before he threw himself behind the narrow protection offered by the projecting frame of his mirror.

Only Clara appeared to be making genuine progress. Her first exchanges had been no more successful than those of her companions. She called stone from the arena floor, and her duplicate responded with the same. Walls rose and collapsed, spikes emerged only to be redirected, and sheets of compacted earth collided between them in bursts of dust and rubble. Yet the longer their contest continued, the more apparent the distinction between the two became.

The construct possessed Clara’s magic, or at least an imitation of it. Clara understood Earth on a more intimate level. 

Eventually she stopped attempting to overpower the creature altogether. She planted the end of her staff in the sand and closed her eyes while the duplicate raised both hands. Stone accumulated around the false woman’s arms until they resembled enormous gauntlets, and with ponderous steps it began advancing toward her.

Clara waited until the last possible moment before opening her eyes and whispering something too quiet for me to hear through the intervening barrier. The stone woman stopped so abruptly that grains of sand slid from its feet. A tremor passed through its body, and its right arm collapsed into gravel.

The construct looked down, if a thing without eyes could properly be said to look, while Clara spoke again. Cracks spread upward from its feet, and the stone did not explode or fracture beneath some greater force. One leg dissolved into sand, then the other, followed by the lower torso. The imitation raised what remained of its staff in a final attempt to retaliate. Clara twisted one hand, and the entire construct collapsed into a mound of lifeless stone.

For several breaths she simply stood staring at the remains while recovering from the effort. Behind her, the mirror darkened completely.

“Clever girl,” I murmured, as I dodged a savage strike, Sage’s Sight telling me where the blow would land before my double even fully launched it. 

The other shadow thrust at me, and I redirected the spear point with the haft of my halberd before driving a gauntleted fist through its chest. The other struck me repeatedly from behind while I tore its companion apart, landing three respectable blows and one particularly competent strike against the back of my helm. My Health fell by several points before Regeneration patiently restored the loss.

The damage was almost insultingly trivial. Between the Adamantine harness, the futuristic underarmor beneath it, my Constitution, and the regenerative Gift, these creatures lacked the raw offensive power required to endanger me. Their inability to kill me, however, did not make the situation harmless, because the Crimson Blades did not share those protections.

Jean was bleeding now. Roberts had begun favoring one leg, while Lorn had abandoned his bow after his stone duplicate broke the weapon and was attempting to survive with a long knife. Vaska remained the strongest among them, but even he was gradually being forced backward by an enemy that could afford mistakes he could not.

I turned toward the barrier and let Improved Entropic Aura crash against it. The Trial resisted immediately, just as it had resisted beside the lake, but that resistance was not absolute. Gray waves pressed against the purple wall, and where the two forces met I perceived something ordinary vision could not reveal. The barrier possessed structure, layer after layer of imposed permanence. Entropy found the joins between those layers and began its patient work.

A dark stain appeared within the nearest hexagonal segment. Another followed beside it, and I allowed myself a small smile until several seconds of observation revealed how slowly the corruption was spreading.

Given sufficient time, I could certainly destroy the barrier. Ten minutes seemed plausible. Five might be possible if fortune chose for once to behave generously. Unfortunately, judging by the condition of the others, they did not possess five minutes to spare.

I struck the barrier again while Entropy weakened it. The usual field of purple hexagons appeared, although the first flickered noticeably before stabilizing. It was progress, but progress accomplished too slowly was simply failure given a more flattering name.

A shadow halberd struck the back of my armor while I studied the wall. I turned and removed the creature’s head, watching it begin to reform with the same aggravating inevitability.

Then something whispered close to my ear.

It is not through enmity that enmity is overcome.

For the smallest fraction of a second, I stopped moving.

The voice sounded like mine. It was not merely similar to mine, nor did it resemble Elwin, Enkidu, or one of the other dead companions whose memories occasionally emerged through the strange chorus living inside my thoughts. It possessed my cadence, my tone, and even the faint contempt which had become my staple.

I struck one of the shadows hard enough to scatter it halfway across the compartment. “That is sentimental tripe.”

It is not through enmity that enmity is overcome.

“Then perhaps enmity has merely suffered from insufficient application.”

I invoked Holy Strike. Golden radiance flooded along the blade of my halberd, shining so brightly against the darkness that even the surrounding purple walls seemed pale by comparison. I drove the weapon through the nearer shadow. Holy power detonated throughout the creature.

For an instant the shadow vanished completely, leaving nothing behind but fading motes of gold. Satisfaction began to rise within me, only to die when blackness seeped upward from beneath the sand, crawled through the empty air, and reconstructed the creature from its feet upward.

Something had changed. Thin golden cracks now ran through its darkness. The imitation attacked so quickly that its halberd struck my breastplate before I had fully registered the movement. The blow remained nowhere near powerful enough to endanger me, but it had unquestionably become stronger and faster.

The second shadow approached from the side. I caught its weapon and invoked Entropic Strike, sending gray dissolution rushing down the length of my halberd and into the creature. Its arm unraveled, then its shoulder, followed by half of its torso as darkness collapsed beneath the concept of inevitable decay.

It reformed, and this time gray lines moved alongside the gold within its body.

“Cheating scum,” I spat.

Both creatures attacked together, and their movements were noticeably better than before. Not vastly better, but sufficiently improved that someone possessing my experience could immediately recognize the difference. One used a variation of Improved Dash while the other feinted toward my head before turning the halberd into a hooking blow aimed behind my knee. I blocked the first, ignored the second, and smashed the front of my helm into whichever shadow happened to be nearest.

The Trial, it seemed, was learning from me. Every technique I demonstrated became instruction. Every spell I used gave the shadows another piece of information about what I was capable of doing, while each attempt to destroy them merely forced their recreated forms to adapt further.

Their attacks continued with greater speed and precision. One turned its halberd through a novel combination, while the second anticipated my movement. Neither could seriously harm me yet. The operative word being, of course, yet.

Across the arena, Jean dropped to one knee beneath a blow from his duplicate. I did not particularly like Jean. Nevertheless, he was presently my so-called companion.

It is not through enmity that enmity is overcome.

I ignored the whisper and attacked harder. And for a time the compartment became a continuous storm of black metal and shadow. I shattered one clone with a Power Strike before tearing the other open with the hooked axe blade of my weapon.

Every time they returned. Every time they were slightly faster. Every time their attacks came with greater precision.

They still could not threaten my life, but neither could I make meaningful progress against them. We had achieved perhaps the purest form of stalemate imaginable. I could destroy them indefinitely while they could attack me indefinitely. Given enough time, perhaps their adaptations would eventually make them dangerous. Given enough time, my Entropic Aura would consume the barrier. However, the others did not have enough time.

Vaska took the edge of his stone duplicate’s sword across the ribs and staggered. Jean’s shield had developed a long fracture from rim to boss, while Lorn was barely keeping the stone bowman away from him. Roberts continued fighting despite the stiffness in his injured leg.

My irritation finally became anger. “Enough of this.”

I released the halberd and allowed it to fall into the sand.

The heavy weapon landed with a dull impact. Both shadows hesitated, although only briefly, before the nearest drove its weapon toward my face. Rather than evade, I stepped inside the reach. The shadow blade scraped across the upper edge of my pauldron while my right hand closed around the creature’s throat.

There was substance beneath my armored fingers. It was neither flesh nor stone, but something cold and yielding that felt almost like liquid smoke. The second shadow immediately struck me from behind, driving its halberd into the plates covering my back. I ignored it. Another blow landed, shaving away a small amount of Health that my Regeneration immediately began replacing.

The shadow in my grasp twisted violently and raised both hands toward my wrist. I tightened my grip around its throat but deliberately stopped before crushing whatever structure held the imitation together.

I did not try to destroy it. The words whispered through my thoughts once more.

It is not through enmity that enmity is overcome.

The philosophy remained insufferably sentimental, but perhaps even sentimental nonsense could contain practical advice by accident. Greater Drain awakened within me.

Ordinarily the spell reached outward, invisible threads of hunger fastening upon living things and drawing Health, Stamina, and Mana into the emptiness waiting inside me. This time, however, I did not cast the spell outward in the normal sense.

Instead, I opened myself to the thing I already held, and for one strange moment, nothing happened. Then the shadow screamed without possessing a mouth. Darkness rushed into my gauntlet, and the sensation nearly weakened my knees.

Pleasure flooded through me, deeper and more complete than the ordinary satisfaction accompanying Greater Drain. This was not merely stolen Health, Stamina, or Mana. Something within the creature resonated with something already inside me, and once the connection opened, the distinction between us became increasingly difficult to maintain.

The shadow collapsed inward. Its arms stretched into black ribbons that flowed across my armor, while its chest hollowed and its legs dissolved into strands of darkness. The entire imitation began pouring toward the point where my hand gripped its throat.

I drank it.

Images flashed through my thoughts that were not truly memories. I saw my own halberd moving from the opposite perspective, watched my armor from the outside, and felt my attacks observed without anger, ambition, pride, or fear. They were cold measurements of movement, timing, weight, and possibility, reflections of myself stripped of intent.

Then those impressions vanished beneath pleasure.

There came the extraordinary sensation of something alien and yet familiar being drawn into a place prepared to receive it, as though some absence within me had been waiting for precisely this substance without my knowledge.

The shadow disappeared. And this time, it did not reform.

You have learned Void Clone (lvl.1).

For several moments, I simply stood there while the second clone continued holding its weapon. Gray and gold lines moved sluggishly through its body, and I realized that its entire posture had changed. The shoulders were lower, the weapon no longer perfectly steady, and something that might almost have been uncertainty entered its stance.

The two shadows had been connected. This understanding brought a slow smile beneath my visor.

“Well,” I murmured, “look how the tables have turned for this puzzle encounter.”

The remaining shadow stepped backward.

I crossed the compartment before it could devise another solution, accepting the blow it aimed at my side and allowing the shadow halberd to scrape almost harmlessly across the Adamantine plates. One hand closed around its throat while the other seized the creature by the shoulder.

The imitation struggled desperately, and I let Greater Drain feast again. This time there was almost no resistance.

The second shadow folded into me with a long, silent convulsion. Darkness streamed across my gauntlets and vanished beneath the black-and-gold armor, bringing another wave of intoxicating strength and pleasure. Whatever stolen fragment had animated the second creature followed the first into that waiting space within me, leaving only a few fading threads of darkness hanging in the air.

You have learned Void Clone (lvl.2).

For several breaths the arena itself seemed distant. There was only the lingering sensation of completion and an almost narcotic satisfaction produced by the strange resonance. 

I had become something more.

The mirror before me developed a crack running from its upper edge to its base. A deep note sounded beneath the arena, more vibration than sound, and the purple barrier to my left began flickering. Hexagons appeared across its surface one after another, but this time they were not reinforcing the structure. The uppermost segments disappeared first, followed by another row as the violet wall broke apart into drifting fragments of light that faded before touching the sand.

Beyond the failing barrier, Jean remained upon one knee. His shield had been split almost completely in half, and his stone duplicate stood above him with its mace already raised for another blow. Jean turned toward the disappearing wall, his battered face showing first confusion and then something approaching relief when he saw me standing beyond it.

His stone imitation turned as well.

I bent down, closed one gauntleted hand around the haft of my halberd, and lifted the weapon from the sand while the last fragments of violet light disappeared between us. As I stepped across the boundary separating our sections, the stone Jean abandoned its wounded original and turned fully toward me.

I regarded the thing for a moment, still savoring the strange warmth left behind by what I had consumed, and smiled beneath my serpent helm as I advanced to meet it.