[Third Person POV]
Arthur rushed toward Merlin, kneeling by her side, his hands grasping her arm as he helped her back up. His expression was torn between confusion and worry, his voice tight with urgency. "What—what just happened? What did you do?!"
For a moment, Merlin only stared at him, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Finally, she let out a long, weary sigh. Her lips twitched into a humorless smile, a mask to hide the dread curling in her chest.
"It seems…" She said slowly, voice hoarse yet steady, "that my desires were too strong for the Mirror to bear."
Merlin dusted herself off, brushing the rubble from her robes with deliberate, sharp swipes. Her breathing was slightly uneven, her chest rising and falling as she straightened her back. "I'm fine, Art—" she began, her tone steady at first, but the words faltered as her eyes followed Arthur's line of sight.
Arthur wasn't looking at her. His expression had shifted, his once concerned gaze now distant, transfixed by something else entirely. His lips parted faintly, his pupils dilating as if in disbelief. He stood unnervingly still, his body rigid yet his hand moved on its own, crawling slowly, almost instinctively, towards the pendant that always rested against his chest.
"Arthur?" Merlin asked cautiously, her voice holding a note of unease. She could see the way his brows knitted together, the subtle stiffness in his hand.
Arthur swallowed before speaking, his tone hesitant, cautious, as though every syllable weighed heavily on his tongue. "Mel…" He glanced at her but quickly looked back at the fractured glass. "Tell me I'm going mad—tell me I'm imagining things. Because right now, I swear to God I see glowing red eyes staring straight at us from that mirror."
Merlin's blood ran cold. "What?" she snapped, her head jerking toward the cracked surface.
And then she saw them.
Twin eyes, glowing like molten rings of fire, burned from within the reflection. They weren't just glowing—they pulsed, flickered, alive like coals. Their pupils radiated raw heat, shimmering as though the glass could not contain their presence. The eyes followed them, unblinking, filled with malice and hunger.
"For Satan's sake!!" Merlin hissed, her voice a mixture of disbelief and irritation. She whipped her wand forward, the small instrument shifting and stretching in an instant, transforming into a tall, ornate staff of silver that gleamed in the dim light.
She slammed the base down with a crack that echoed like thunder. A ripple spread outward, and from beneath her feet a glowing circle flared into existence, etched with intricate runes and the delicate bloom of a pink cherry blossom at its center. Magic coursed outward from her, petals unfurling into existence as though spring itself had answered her call.
The petals swirled, multiplying into a flurry of color before dissolving into white flakes. The air grew colder, their breaths fogging in the sudden chill. In moments, the chamber was gone—transfigured, almost as if they had been transported elsewhere. Snow rained gently around them, carrying on the currents of a mild storm. The once ruined stone floor became an endless blanket of white stretching in every direction. Towering mountains rose far in the distance, sharp and jagged, their peaks hidden by pale fog.
But amidst this frozen sanctuary stood the mirror, still fractured, still holding the image of those glowing eyes. Every crack within it was like a portal, each one reflecting that same burning gaze, a dozen pairs of fiery irises watching them.
Merlin moved instinctively, stepping forward and seizing Arthur's arm. She pulled him behind her, planting her staff firmly between them and the mirror as a shield. Her stance radiated defiance, protective instinct rising above unease.
Arthur's voice cracked, not with cowardice but with the strain of trying to keep up. "Merlin, what is that?! And what's going on—I don't… I don't understand what's happening!" His words spilled out quickly, his mind reeling, overwhelmed by how rapidly everything had shifted.
Merlin tightened her grip on her staff, forcing herself to remain calm even as her own pulse raced. "Alright, listen, I'll be quick with the explanation," she said rapidly, her tone clipped, each word fighting against the growing storm around them. "I stared into the abyss, Arthur… and the abyss had the audacity to look back. And for that insolence, it has chosen to send me punishment." Her voice lowered, filled with grim certainty. "That punishment came in the form of Ifrit. The Fire Jinn."
Arthur's eyes widened at the name. His breath caught as the fractured mirror suddenly flared with light, the eyes retreating into darkness before the image spread outward. The cracks became windows, and through them emerged a monstrous visage.
A dark, inhuman face pressed against the glass. Its smile was wide, unholy, its lips curled with cruel amusement. The eyes—those same burning points—pierced them. Its skin was shadow, its hair a mane of roaring flame, every strand alive and writhing like a serpent of fire. Jagged horns curved from either side of its skull, lending its presence the undeniable shape of a demon. Though shirtless, its body radiated heat, clothed only in traditional Arabic garments that seemed too fragile for the inferno they adorned.
One by one, the fractured pieces of the mirror glowed hotter, the glass vibrating with a sharp hum. Then, with an ear-splitting crack, each shard released its gathered energy. Light and flame converged before the mirror, condensing into a form that bled into the physical world.
When its feet touched the snow, the field hissed. Steam exploded upward as the snow melted instantly, water vanishing into vapor before it had a chance to spread. The creature stood tall, arms crossed casually, head tilted as if it were studying prey.
Arthur's heart thumped like a war drum in his chest, he could feel it, he was growing excited. He leaned toward Merlin, his voice laced with curiosity. "Merlin, I still don't understand it fully. But that thing—that thing standing before us—it's some kind of demon, right?"
"In most cases, yes," Merlin admitted grimly. "They're often called Demonic Spirits… and this one is ancient."
Arthur's smile slowly grew, his hand finally closing around his chain. With one harsh tug, he ripped it free from his neck, the pendant gleaming in his palm. "Good," he said, a dangerous determination lighting his eyes. "That means a holy weapon will cut the deepest."
The pendant's glow spread across his hand as the sword began to manifest, placing the scabbard at his hip. Arthur grasped the hilt, steady and unyielding, and drew it free with a swift motion. The blade sang as he swung it lightly through the air, testing its weight, his stance settling instinctively into position.
He stepped forward to stand beside Merlin. His eyes, though uncertain moments ago, now carried resolve.
Merlin turned to him, her expression caught between admiration and worry. She spoke quietly, solemnly. "It's too soon for you to face a demon… you're not ready for this kind of battle. But fine." She tightened her grip on her staff, the frost of her magic swirling at her feet. "With me here, I'll make sure you survive it."
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