Echoes of the Lost Elf-Chapter 39 - 38 : Haunted (3)

No one spoke.

The breathing from beyond the door was too loud. Too close. It didn't belong to any of them.

Adriana exhaled sharply. "Yeah. No. That's a bad idea."

Leon took a step back. "Agreed. Let's find another way—"

The door slammed shut.

Not the strange door.

The one they had entered from.

A heartbeat of silence. Then Zephyr swore. "Of course. Of course, it did."

Kael knocked an arrow, scanning the walls. "So, what now? We stand here and wait to die?"

Historias hummed, unconcerned. "Hardly."

He strode forward without hesitation.

Straight through the open door.

"Historias—!" Adriana cursed under her breath and ran after him. The others had no choice but to follow.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, the door behind them vanished.

Again.

Leon groaned. "I hate magic. I hate magic so much."

The corridor stretched endlessly.

Lined with mirrors.

No—not mirrors. Reflections.

Each one showed a different version of them.

Historias glanced at the one nearest to him. The him in the glass was wrong.

Too tall.

His hair longer, unkempt.

His golden eyes dull. Hollow.

The thing in the reflection smiled.

He did not.

A whisper slithered through the air.

"You do not belong here."

Zephyr grabbed Historias' sleeve. "Yeah, yeah, we got the message—let's leave."

The moment he spoke, the reflections moved.

Stepped out.

And they looked hungry

The moment the reflections lunged, Historias sidestepped, drawing his sword. His double mirrored the motion perfectly, their blades flashing in the dim light.

Clang!

The impact reverberated through the air as steel met steel.

Historias narrowed his eyes. Perfect synchronization. Every feint, every slash—his reflection copied him exactly.

"Annoying," he muttered.

Without hesitation, he tried summoning a spirit. A familiar incantation flowed from his lips—

Nothing happened.

Instead, a violent pull surged through his core. His mana plummeted.

His chest tightened as if something had devoured a massive chunk of his energy. Even by his standards, the depletion was... absurd.

A smirk tugged at his reflection's lips.

Historias exhaled, shaking off the sensation. No spirits, then.

Fine.

He shifted his stance, gripping his sword tighter. He would end this the old-fashioned way.

Behind him, the battle raged.

Leon grunted as his double caught his fist mid-punch and yanked him forward.

"Hey, hey, personal space!" he yelped, barely twisting out of the way before getting slammed into a wall.

Adriana's reflection matched her swordplay strike for strike. Their blades danced, sparks flying. But Adriana was faster. She switched footwork abruptly—her reflection failed to keep up. A clean slash across the chest.

It staggered, dark mist oozing from the wound.

Kael loosed an arrow—his reflection fired back at the exact same moment. Their arrows collided midair and shattered.

"Damn it," Kael growled.

Meanwhile, Zephyr was, as expected, running.

"This is beyond unfair!" he shouted, narrowly dodging a flying dagger. "How are they this good?!"

Historias didn't answer. His focus was locked onto his opponent.

His reflection smirked.

Then—it attacked.

Faster. Sharper. Unrestrained.

Their blades clashed in rapid succession. But Historias noticed something—its strikes weren't quite perfect anymore. Small hesitations. Delayed reactions.

A flaw.

Without warning, Historias dropped his stance completely.

His reflection hesitated.

Too slow.

Historias lunged, blade flashing.

A clean, decisive cut—

His double froze.

Cracks webbed across its body before it shattered into nothingness.

One down.

He turned, eyes scanning the battlefield.

"Stop fighting them like reflections," he called out.

The others barely had time to question him before their doubles suddenly twitched.

Their movements became erratic. No longer mirroring—but moving on their own.

The real fight had just begun.

..........

Zephyr barely dodged another strike from his reflection, panting. "A little help here?!"

Before Historias answered, Zephyr raised his hand, preparing to summon a spirit.

"Do not."

Historias' voice cut through the battlefield like a blade.

Zephyr hesitated, turning. "What?!"

"If you summon a spirit, you'll die from mana depletion."

Zephyr blinked, confused. "What do you mean—?"

"This place is consuming our mana." Historias sidestepped another attack, his sword flashing as he parried. "I tried summoning one myself. It nearly drained me."

Zephyr paled. "Wait—you almost ran out of mana?"

"For the first time in a millennium."

Leon, mid-punch, cursed. "Great. So magic's off-limits?"

"No, just summoning," Adriana corrected, parrying her reflection's blade. "Which means—"

Zephyr groaned. "I have no attacks without spirits!"

"Then start running," Kael muttered, loosing another arrow.

"Like hell I will!" Zephyr snapped—before immediately dodging another strike.

Historias smirked. "Then adapt."

Zephyr gritted his teeth, his usual arrogance faltering. No spirits. No magic tricks. Just raw instinct.

"Fine," he muttered. "Guess I'll have to use my fists."

Zephyr exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. No spirits. No crutches. Just him.

He grinned. A wild, feral grin.

"Alright then," he muttered, flexing his fingers. "I'll fight like the demon I am."

His eyes gleamed—a sharp, predatory glint. His stance shifted, no longer the relaxed posture of a summoner but something more primal. More dangerous.

His reflection lunged.

Zephyr moved.

Not with hesitation. Not with fear. But with instinct, with brutality.

He twisted low, evading the blade by a hair's breadth, his claws extending ever so slightly as he lashed out. His nails ripped through flesh—not deep enough to kill, but enough to draw blood. Enough to hurt.

The reflection staggered.

Zephyr didn't stop.

He surged forward, movement erratic, almost unhinged. He didn't fight defensively—he fought ruthlessly. A punch to the gut, a clawed hand gripping his reflection's arm, twisting it unnaturally before slamming his knee into its ribs.

The reflection let out a garbled sound, stumbling back.

Zephyr grinned wider.

"Oh," he murmured, cracking his knuckles, "this is gonna be fun."

Across the battlefield, Historias watched him with mild amusement.

"Interesting," he mused, parrying a strike with the slightest movement of his sword. "Looks like he's finally remembering what he is."

Adriana, mid-swing, glanced at Zephyr with a mix of awe and mild horror.

"Is he... enjoying this?"

Kael fired another arrow. "He's definitely enjoying this."

Leon, dodging a kick, snorted. "I mean, wouldn't you? Dude's been holding back his whole life. He finally gets to cut loose."

Zephyr let out a low, delighted chuckle, dodging another attack as his reflection swung again.

Then, for the first time—he spoke directly to his double.

"You're just a cheap imitation."

His voice was lower, darker. His eyes burned with something ancient.

"And me?" He cracked his neck, stepping forward. "I'm the real deal."

The reflection hesitated.

And Zephyr?

He tore into it.

Zephyr didn't hold back. His movements became wilder, more instinctive—less human, more demonic. He didn't fight with technique, he fought with carnage.

His reflection tried to match him, but it was slower, weaker—fake.

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Zephyr grinned. "Pathetic."

His fist slammed into its gut, sending it flying across the darkened room. Before it could recover, he was already there, grabbing it by the throat and slamming it into the ground. The floor cracked beneath the impact.

The reflection let out a gurgled gasp, struggling, clawing at his arm. Zephyr didn't flinch. His claws dug deeper.

"Wonder what happens if I break you?" His voice was almost amused.

Then he squeezed.

The reflection shattered.

Not like a body breaking—but like glass fracturing, splitting into nothingness. The moment it disappeared, an eerie whisper echoed through the room, and a wave of nausea rolled over Zephyr.

His knees buckled. His vision blurred for a second. His mana—it felt like it had just been ripped out of him.

"Zephyr!"

Adriana was at his side in an instant, catching him before he fell. "What the hell was that?!"

Zephyr blinked, shaking off the dizziness. "No idea," he muttered, "but I don't think I wanna shatter another one."

Meanwhile, Historias was finishing off his own reflection. A simple slash—clean, effortless. His swordsmanship was almost lazy in its precision.

But there was something... off.

Normally, when an opponent fell, he would already be moving to the next one. This time, however, he frowned as the reflection disintegrated. Something was missing.

His grip on his sword tightened slightly.

"No souls," he murmured.

Kael, barely dodging a strike, glanced his way. "What?"

"These reflections," Historias said calmly, stepping forward to engage another, "they have no souls. They fight, they mimic, but they aren't alive."

Leon grunted as he blocked a heavy blow. "Okay, great. So why does that matter?"

Historias's gaze sharpened. "Because something else is controlling them."

Adriana swore. "You think Annabeth Higgins is still here?"

Historias didn't answer immediately. He deflected another attack with a flick of his wrist, his sword slicing cleanly through the reflection's torso. It fell, disintegrating just like the others.

"No," he said finally. "I think something far worse is."

Just then—the walls trembled.

A deep, unnatural whisper crawled through the air, slithering against their ears. The temperature plummeted. The once-empty corridor was suddenly filled with shadows—twisting, writhing.

And then—

The door at the end of the hall creaked open.

A single eye stared from within the darkness.

And it was watching them.

.............