The chamber shook as the last shards of the Glass Crown scattered across the marble floor like crystalline rain. The sound lingered—sharp, brittle, unnatural—a ringing that wormed into Reiji's skull as if the fragments carried whispers of every lie the Crown had enforced.
Akari stumbled back, her boots skidding across the slick floor. "Reiji—!"
But she didn't need to finish.
He had already moved.
The collapsing throne platform groaned under its own weight, ancient mechanisms grinding beneath the floor as symbols—once dormant—flared violently to life. Reflections of the room formed and disappeared along the mirrored walls, each one distorted, delayed, showing versions of Reiji that weren't perfectly synced with his movements. Some were slower. Some faster. Some… not moving at all.
One lifted its head and stared back at him with a smile that didn't belong to any living human.
Reiji's breath tightened.
Not illusions.
Not projections.
The Mirror Corps… were waking.
---
1 — Echoes That Shouldn't Exist
A heavy vibration pulsed through the room, and the mirrored walls rippled like water struck by a blade. Figures stepped out—first blurry, then painfully precise. Each one tall, armored in obsidian-like plating, their helms blank except for a thin slit of cold light.
Mirror puppets.
Constructs created to enforce the Monarch's will.
But these weren't the simplistic replicas Reiji had fought in the lower floors.
These were Refined Constructs—faster, smarter, able to adapt.
And there were seven.
Akari hissed through her teeth. "You've got to be kidding me."
The first construct moved.
Its speed broke the air.
Reiji barely leaned aside in time, its blade grazing his cheek, slicing a clean line across his skin—thin but burning. His hand shot out, grabbing its wrist, twisting—metal slammed against stone with a thunderclap—but the construct did not falter. It reacted immediately, wrenching its arm free with inhuman torque.
They were learning.
Already.
"Akari—keep left!" Reiji barked.
She didn't hesitate. Her daggers flashed, carving an arc of sparks across the nearest puppet's leg joint. The strike should have cut through—but the armor shifted, plates rearranging mid-motion to absorb the blow.
Adaptive plating.
Worse than expected.
Reiji lunged forward, grabbing the puppet Akari was fighting, smashing its head into the mirrored wall. The reflection in that section broke—and so did the puppet's coordination. Its limbs spasmed, stuttering as if its body was controlled from elsewhere.
A weak point.
Reiji didn't waste a second. His blade split its core cleanly, and the puppet collapsed in on itself like wet paper.
Akari raised a brow. "One down."
Reiji didn't answer.
Because something was wrong.
When the puppet fell, its reflection remained in the mirror.
Still standing. Still watching.
Unmoving but aware.
Reiji's chest tightened.
"This chamber… copies will keep coming."
---
2 — The Mirror With His Face
Three constructs surged forward at once—coordinated, no hesitation, no emotion.
Reiji met them head-on.
His sword clashed with the first, redirecting its thrust. He pivoted, using its momentum to force the second construct back. But the third came from behind. Reiji dropped low and spun, blade sweeping in a tight arc that severed its ankle—only for the limb to regrow, the material reconstituting mid-air.
"What—?!" Akari shouted. "They can regenerate?!"
"No," Reiji growled. "They're being rewritten."
The walls.
The reflections.
They weren't just mirroring movement.
They were repairing the constructs according to their perfect form.
This...was a kill box.
A trial hall built to break Monarch candidates.
Reiji's vision tightened.
His pulse sharpened.
He couldn't let the room control the pace.
He needed to shatter the cycle.
But before he could act, a shadow moved in the far mirror—one not belonging to Akari or any construct. It stepped forward, its silhouette long, lean, familiar.
Reiji froze.
When the figure came into clarity, his breath locked.
It was him.
A perfect reflection.
But darker.
Carrying a blade shaped like his own, yet stained a perpetual deep crimson—as if dipped in dried blood that refused to flake.
The other Reiji raised his head.
The eyes were empty.
Not cold.
Not dead.
Empty.
Akari whispered, "Reiji…?"
The reflection spoke first.
"You shouldn't have broken the Crown."
Its voice was his voice—but hollow, stripped of everything human.
Reiji felt the air constrict around him.
"The chamber is generating copies of me?"
"No," the reflection murmured.
"The chamber is showing you what you could become."
Then it stepped out of the mirror.
And the temperature dropped.
---
3 — When Your Worst Enemy Wears Your Face
The False Reiji moved—no flash, no tell, just instantaneous, overwhelming force. Their blades collided, the impact sending a shock through Reiji's arm, numbing it for a fraction of a second.
A fraction too long.
The reflection kicked him square in the ribs, sending him flying into a mirrored pillar. The surface cracked like ice beneath him, splintering long fractures upward.
Akari darted in, trying to intercept, but three constructs blocked her path simultaneously—working in tandem, adjusting their positions with surgical precision.
"Reiji!" she yelled, trapped in her own clash.
He didn't answer.
The reflection stood before him, blade pointed down.
"Every step you take," it said, "you drift closer to me."
Reiji pushed himself up, jaw tight. "You're nothing but a projection."
"And yet," the reflection tilted its head, "I am stronger."
It lunged again.
Reiji parried high, redirecting the reflection's blade—but the reflection mirrored the adjustment an instant later, continued the momentum, and slashed at his side. Reiji twisted, but the edge still tore through his coat, cutting shallowly across his ribs.
He grimaced.
The reflection looked almost disappointed.
"Even your pain tolerance is lower than mine."
"I'm human," Reiji hissed, wiping blood from his side.
"That is your flaw."
The reflection came again—this time pressing harder, its movements too precise, too clean, like a perfect mathematical solution to combat.
Each strike was optimized.
Each angle unavoidable.
Each feint layered with another trap beneath it.
Reiji fell back step by step, forced defensive, every block vibrating through his bones.
The reflection whispered:
"You're slowing."
Reiji's breath deepened.
Not fear.
Focus.
"You talk too much."
He shifted his weight, letting the next strike slide past his shoulder, and slammed his elbow into the reflection's throat—if it had one. The blow didn't stagger it, but it disrupted the rhythm for a heartbeat.
One heartbeat was enough.
Reiji kneed the reflection in the stomach, using the recoil to propel himself backward—and toward a mirrored column.
Akari's eyes widened.
"Reiji—don't—!"
He ignored her.
He sprinted straight toward the mirror.
The reflection followed instinctively, blade raised.
At the last second, Reiji pivoted.
His boot slammed into the mirror—shattering the entire column into a thousand shards.
The reflection faltered mid-strike.
Cracks formed along its armor.
Lines of instability crawled across its body.
Akari yelled triumphantly, "Yes! Its core is tied to—"
She didn't finish.
Because every shattered fragment on the ground…
reflected the reflection.
Not one copy.
Dozens.
Hundreds of tiny fragments.
Each fragment twitched.
Reiji's eyes widened.
"…you have got to be kidding me."
The fragments crawled together, forming—
Not one reflection.
But three.
Akari whispered a curse.
---
4 — Breaking What Doesn't Want to Break
The three reflections advanced in unison, each slightly different—
One moved faster.
One hit harder.
One watched, analyzing every motion with unbearable calculation.
Reiji gripped his blade.
Akari shouted over the chaos, "Reiji—don't separate! They're syncing—!"
Too late.
The fastest one lashed out, its blade grazing his jaw. The second struck from above, forcing him to block and nearly crushing his guard. The third slipped behind him—
Reiji dropped, rolled, and narrowly avoided being stabbed through the spine.
He exhaled.
Short.
Controlled.
If he hesitated at all, he would die.
The three reflections circled him, their movements interwoven like a single entity wearing three bodies.
"You are fragmented," they said together.
"We are the truth you refuse to accept."
Reiji spat blood.
"Truth? You're a malfunctioning mirror."
The room pulsed again—
And the remaining puppets reactivated simultaneously, joining the assault.
Akari fought her way toward him, carving a path with sheer precision—but she was being pushed back by coordinated waves of constructs.
"Reiji! I can't get through—they're adapting too fast!"
He didn't look her way.
He couldn't afford even a second.
The reflections attacked.
Reiji met them.
Steel clashed.
Blood flew.
The chamber's mirrored light flickered violently.
He cut down one puppet—
Only for another to replace it instantly.
He pierced one reflection through the chest—
Only for it to solidify and push forward, impaling itself deeper to get closer.
He couldn't keep this up.
Not like this.
Not by matching them.
Then—
His blade slid against the analytically perfect reflection's sword, and for the briefest moment, the reflection spoke quietly, almost gently:
"You can't win by being who you are."
Reiji's eyes darkened.
"…I know."
He stepped in—
Not away.
Not back.
Forward.
Into the reflection's strike.
The blade pierced his shoulder—
Clean through.
Agonizing.
Blinding.
Akari screamed his name—
But Reiji didn't falter.
His hand snapped up, grabbing the reflection's wrist, trapping it inside him.
"You think I need perfection," he whispered, blood dripping down his arm, "but I only need one thing."
His blade rose.
"One opening."
He drove his sword upward, cutting through the reflection's arm, splitting through its head in a single brutal, unrefined motion.
The reflection shattered.
Not cleanly.
Not neatly.
It broke like a mirror struck by a stone—irregular fractures radiating outward, destabilizing the remaining two reflections. Their forms jittered, destabilizing violently.
Reiji ripped the blade out of his own shoulder, blood spraying.
He turned toward the others.
"Come on," he said, voice low, trembling, furious.
"I'm not done."
---
5 — When the Room Realizes It's Losing
The remaining reflections lunged—
But their patterns had changed.
They were unstable.
Overcompensating.
Reiji tore into them brutally—
Not prettier, not cleaner, but human, vicious, unpredictable.
The second reflection fell first, its core rupturing under a powerful downward strike. The third tried to retreat toward the mirror wall, but Reiji caught it, slammed it into the surface, and crushed its throat until its form dissolved into dust.
When the last one vanished, the constructs faltered, losing synchronization, allowing Akari to dispatch the final ones with practiced brutality.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Akari ran to him immediately, grabbing his arm. "Reiji—your shoulder—"
"I'll live," he muttered, though the room was spinning slightly.
Blood dripped steadily down his arm.
Akari glared at him, furious. "You impaled yourself."
"It worked."
"That doesn't make it smart!"
He didn't argue.
He didn't have the energy.
Instead, he looked to the far end of the chamber.
Because the mirror wall there hadn't shattered with the rest.
It was intact.
Perfect.
Untouched.
And in its surface…
someone was standing.
Not Reiji.
Not Akari.
Not a construct.
A man with pale hair.
Cold eyes.
A long coat bearing the insignia of the Old Directorate.
The Director.
Waiting.
Watching.
Smiling faintly.
Akari inhaled sharply. "So he's been—"
Reiji's voice ground out like steel dragged across stone.
"…He wanted me to come to him."
Blood dripped from his fingertips.
He closed his hand into a fist.
"And now I will."