The ground of the arena had become nothing but a swamp of clotted blood, its stench suffocating, as if the air itself had turned into the breath of the dead. The giant graves around stood like pillars of a forgotten world, and the coffins hanging in the sky swayed slowly with the beat of drums, as if they were dancing to the rhythm of extinction. Each drumbeat was like a thunderclap, sending tremors through the earth and through Ashen's bones.
Ashen stood in the middle of this hell, his body covered in blood from head to toe, his eyes glowing red like two embers in the dark. The aura of blood frenzy surrounding him made him look like a beast born from slaughter, but the price was eating away at his insides moment by moment. Every cell in him was burning slowly, every muscle tearing apart to grant him more power, every bone cracking just to keep him standing.
In front of him stood the distorted version of himself… half of its face melted, exposing cracked black bone, while the other half was a pale copy of his features, smiling with a twisted grin. The bloody aura surrounding its body was worse than any nightmare, like a soulless savagery made real. In its eyes, there was nothing but Ashen's own mad reflection.
"Am I… really fighting myself?"
The question shook inside him, but the only answer was the roar of the drums.
The distorted version suddenly stepped forward, its steps shaking the ground, each step leaving a hole in the bloody mud. It raised its arm, a thick bloody aura forming around its twisted hand, shaping into a misshapen bear's fist, crude but strong enough to shatter the air itself. The strike rushed toward Ashen like a black storm.
Ashen did not back down. The primitive iron skin wrapped his body in a black metallic shade, cold hardness flowing through his pores. The strike slammed into his chest, his body shaking as if hit by a meteor wall. Blood burst from his mouth, but he did not move. With a savage roar, he summoned the Rune of the Sky Leopard, glowing bloody steps bursting on his legs, his speed exploding like a flash of lightning.
In an instant, three blood chains shot from his back, dark red like molten iron. They rushed out like hungry snakes, wrapping around the distorted version, piercing its flesh, and driving their sharp heads into its chest. Blood gushed out, energy flowing into Ashen, but at the same time… pain exploded in his own chest!
The same wound appeared in his heart, his chest tearing open in the same way, blood pouring out until he fell to his knees, gasping.
"Damn it… every wound… is my wound too?"
The scream inside him was like an explosion. He was not fighting an enemy outside, but a mirror of his own existence.
As his body staggered, the drums grew harsher. From the shadows around the chained coffin, four twisted creatures emerged. Their bodies were unnaturally long, their limbs bent at wrong angles, their faces featureless except for mouths full of sharp teeth. In their hands were crude weapons, deformed clubs dripping black blood.
They stood in a line before the coffin, their hollow eyes reflecting bloody flames. Then they began to strike their weapons against the ground in rhythm with the drums, before rushing at Ashen all at once.
The distorted version roared, its bloody aura exploding, merging its attack with theirs. In a moment, Ashen found himself in the middle of a storm of savagery: blows raining down from front and back, deadly auras tearing the air, murderous intent stabbing into his brain like needles of fire.
Ashen used the Bloody Bear Fist, thick bloody arms wrapping his arms, his fists turning into hammers crushing everything nearby. He blocked the first strikes, but the mirrored wounds inside him still bled. He summoned the Rune of the Blood Crocodile, bloody scales covering his body, his defense doubled, but the weight crushed him, as if his body was sinking.
The fight was no longer just a battle… but a dance of death.
Every time he struck a creature, he felt a blow to his own head.
Every time his chains pierced the distorted version, his own chest was pierced.
Every time he defended, his bones cracked from the rebound.
And yet, he laughed.
A hoarse, broken laugh, spilling from his blood-soaked throat:
"Hahaha… what kind of hell is this? What kind of absurd play have I been thrown into?"
But the laugh was only a mask, hiding the truth… that he was falling apart.
The bloody mud swallowed his feet, the air grew heavier than iron, his eyes flickered between sanity and madness. The four creatures circled him like rabid wolves, while the distorted version walked forward with steady steps, like death itself.
In a decisive moment, all the attacks came together:
A crude club crashing down on his head.
A bloody claw ripping into his side.
The distorted version's strike exploding toward his chest.
He raised his three chains, weaving them into a net in the air, blocking the attacks, but his limbs cracked from within. Blood poured from his nose and ears, his vision painted red.
Even so… he remained standing.
As if something inside him refused to fall.
Something beyond ordinary willpower, a mix of regret and savagery.
"If this is me… if this is my reflection… then I will not run. I will dance with you until the end."
He took a deep breath, his eyes shining with madness, his body trembling with blood.
In the middle of the death field, surrounded by the distorted version and the four creatures, he raised his blood-soaked hands and let out a roar like a primeval beast.