In Damon's path, the air was thinner now.
Damon emerged from the mist into a hallway lined with obsidian mirrors—hundreds of them. Each reflected not only his appearance but variations of himself. Some grinned manically. Others bled from the eyes. One had no face at all.
They whispered.
"Why did you live and not me?"
"I would've done better."
"They'll never follow you, Damon."
He tuned them out.
But the air ahead shimmered—different from the rest of the illusion. It wasn't trying to deceive him anymore.
It was waiting.
He stepped forward—and the mirrors shattered.
From the debris, a creature formed. Humanoid. Silver-haired. Identical to him. But this one pulsed with real magic essence. As though it was entirely crafted from magic essence itself.
Damon's eyes narrowed. "You again. Stop trying to be me!"
But this time, it didn't speak.
It attacked.
