Mimicry of The Abyss

chapter 6

The arrow whistled past Rhael’s ear, the fletching stinging his cheek like a hornet before the iron tip buried itself deep into the stone wall behind him. The vibration of the strike hummed through the masonry, a low, ominous note that seemed to harmonize with the rhythmic tapping of his shadow.

"Nira, stop!" Ilyra’s voice cracked like a whip. She swung her saber, not at the archer, but into the space between them, the steel flashing in the dying firelight. "You fire another shot and I’ll take your arm!"

"Look at the wall, Ilyra!" Nira screamed, her fingers already fumbling for a second arrow from her quiver. Her eyes were wide, the pupils blown with a manic terror. "He’s talking to them! He’s giving us away in a code I don’t even understand! He’s a goddamn radio for the monsters!"

"I’m not doing it!" Rhael shrieked, pressing his back so hard against the wall he felt the rough stone biting through his tunic. "I can’t control my shadow! It’s like... it’s like it’s made of lead! It’s moving on its own!"

"He’s right," Mavin grunted, his pike leveled at the darkness. "His hands are shaking, but the shadow’s fingers are tapping a steady beat. It’s not him. The dungeon is hijacking his reflection."

"Does it matter if it's him or his ghost?" Kaelen roared, his bow still aimed at Jessa, who was still sobbing on the floor. "We’re being broadcasted! Every secret we just spilled is being tapped out onto the floorboards for every shadow-dweller in a mile radius!"

"Shut up and move!" Ordan commanded, his claymore held high. He kicked the heavy iron door open, the hinges screaming in protest. "The waypoint is compromised. If the kid is a beacon, we don't stay in a box. We move to the Hall of Mirrors. It’s the only place with enough light-refraction to scramble a signal."

"The Hall of Mirrors?" Mirra gasped, her face turning ashen. "Ordan, that’s suicide! The reflections there—"

"Staying here is suicide!" Ordan countered, grabbing Rhael by the collar and hauling him toward the exit. "Move, Rhael! Keep your eyes shut if you have to, but don't you dare stop walking!"

"I'm moving! I'm moving!" Rhael stumbled, his boots skidding over the charred remains of the Tarek-mimic. "Just don't let her shoot me! Nira, I swear, if you kill me, I’ll haunt you as a very annoying, very talkative ghost!"

"Keep talking, kid, and I might just do it for the silence," Nira spat, but she lowered her bow, falling into line as they sprinted into the corridor.

The transition was jarring. The dark, weeping stone of the second floor gave way to a chamber that felt like the inside of a diamond. The walls weren't stone anymore; they were sheets of jagged, translucent quartz and polished obsidian. The light from their torches didn't just illuminate the room—it shattered. Thousands of tiny, flickering flames danced in the facets of the walls, creating a dizzying kaleidoscope that made Rhael’s head spin.

"Don't look at the walls," Ilyra hissed, her hand gripping Rhael’s shoulder to keep him steady. "Keep your gaze on the back of Ordan’s armor. Focus on the metal. Nothing else."

"It’s a bit hard not to look when the entire world is screaming 'Look at me!'" Rhael muttered, though he stared intently at the scuffed plates of Ordan’s back. "Is it just me, or is it getting louder in here? I thought this was the Silent Dungeon."

"It’s not sound," Mirra whispered, her staff glowing with a protective, dim blue light. "It’s the visual noise. The dungeon is trying to overwhelm your senses. It wants you to lose track of which 'you' is the real one."

"Great. Another existential crisis," Rhael sighed. "Just what I needed for my afternoon stroll."

They moved in a tight diamond formation, their footsteps echoing with a strange, metallic chime. As they deeper into the hall, the quartz panels grew larger, smoother, and more reflective. Rhael tried to keep his eyes down, but a movement to his left caught his peripheral vision.

He froze.

"Rhael, what did I tell you?" Ilyra snapped, not stopping. "Keep moving!"

"Ilyra... wait," Rhael whispered, his voice trembling. "Look at the panel on the left. The big one."

"Don't look, you idiot!"

"I’m serious!" Rhael cried out. "Look!"

The group slowed to a halt, weapons raised. In the massive sheet of black glass beside them, their reflections were visible. But they weren't moving in sync anymore.

The reflection of Ordan was still walking forward, his claymore swinging, even though the real Ordan was standing perfectly still. The reflection of Mirra was looking at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream, while the real Mirra was staring at the glass with wide, horrified eyes.

And Rhael’s reflection?

The version of Rhael in the glass had stopped walking. It wasn't panicked. It wasn't shaking. It was standing with its arms crossed, a smug, terrifyingly confident grin plastered across its face. It was staring directly at the real Rhael, its head tilted in a mockery of curiosity.

"Oh, gods," Jessa whimpered, clutching her medic bag. "My reflection... it’s not crying. Why is it smiling at me?"

"Because it’s done learning," Ilyra said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "It’s not just recording anymore. It’s individualizing."

"Ilyra, my reflection is... it’s waving at me," Rhael said, his voice reaching a high, frantic pitch. "It’s actually waving. That’s—that’s not a reflection! That’s a person in a window!"

"It’s worse than that," Nira said, her voice eerily calm. She pointed her bow at the glass. "Look at the edges. The frame is melting."

The quartz began to ripple like the surface of a pond. The sharp, crystalline edges blurred and softened, turning into a substance that looked more like liquid smoke than stone.

"Everyone, back away from the walls!" Ordan roared. "Center of the room! Now!"

They scrambled toward the middle of the hall, but the floor itself was beginning to reflect. Under their boots, the obsidian tiles showed their faces, and those faces were already climbing upward.

Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

The sound of nails on glass filled the air.

"They’re coming out," Mirra sobbed, her staff's light flickering. "They’re stepping out of the glass!"

Rhael watched in paralyzed fascination as the "Confident Rhael" in the wall placed a hand against the surface of the quartz. The stone didn't stop him; it yielded like silk. He stepped through, his body transitioning from a flat image to a three-dimensional horror in a heartbeat. He was followed by a silent Ordan, a twisted Nira, and a version of Ilyra that held two sabers instead of one.

"Well," the Mirror-Rhael said, his voice a perfect, melodic version of Rhael’s own. "This is a bit awkward, isn't it? I’d say it’s like looking in a mirror, but I think I’m wearing the look much better than you are, 'Original.'"

"Shut up!" Rhael yelled, his shield held high. "Ilyra, what do we do? We can't fight ourselves! They know every move we’re going to make!"

"They know what we would do," Ilyra panted, her eyes darting between the real group and the glass-born copies. "So do something stupid! Do something unpredictable!"

"Unpredictable?" Rhael squeaked. "I’m a coward! The most unpredictable thing I could do is actually fight! Is that what you want?"

"Yes! Fight, you brat!" Ilyra lunged at her own reflection, her saber clashing against the copy's blade with a shower of sparks that looked like broken glass.

The room erupted into a chaotic symphony of steel and shattering quartz. The reflections were faster, more fluid, and they didn't bleed—when a blade found their skin, they leaked a fine, silvery dust that smelled like ozone.

"Rhael, stay behind me!" Ordan shouted, swinging his claymore in a massive arc that forced two of the copies back.

"I'm trying! But there's too many of me!" Rhael cried. Two more versions of him were stepping out of the floor tiles, grabbing at his ankles with translucent, cold hands. "Get off! Bad reflections! Bad!"

He swung his shield, bashing one of the copies in the face. It didn't break; it just rippled and reformed, the grin never leaving its face.

"Is that the best you've got?" the Mirror-Rhael laughed, dodging a desperate thrust from Rhael's shortsword. "I remember when we were kids, Rhael. You used to practice with a stick in the backyard and pretend you were a knight. You were pathetic then, and you're pathetic now."

"How do you know that?" Rhael gasped, his lungs burning. "That’s a private memory!"

"I am your private memories," the copy said, its eyes flashing with a cold, crystalline light. "I am everything you’re too afraid to be."

Suddenly, a massive shockwave of blue light erupted from Mirra’s staff. "Get back!" she screamed. "I’m breaking the resonance!"

The floor beneath them shattered. The obsidian tiles disintegrated into a million flying shards. Rhael felt the ground vanish beneath his boots.

"Ilyra!" he screamed, reaching out.

"Rhael!" she yelled back, her fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second before the shifting gravity of the dungeon pulled them apart.

He tumbled through a void of refracting light, the world spinning in a nauseating blur of silver and black. He hit a hard, cold surface and slid for several yards before slamming into a pillar of quartz.

He lay there for a long moment, the air knocked out of his chest, listening to the thumping of his own heart. The silence had returned—that heavy, suffocating silence of the first floor.

"Ilyra?" he croaked, pushing himself up. "Ordan? Nira? Anyone?"

There was no answer. He was in a small, enclosed grotto of glass. The light was dim, coming from a single, glowing vein of ore in the ceiling. He looked around, his heart sinking. He was alone.

"Great. Fantastic. Lost in a hall of funhouse mirrors from hell," he muttered, reaching for his torch, which had somehow stayed lit. "At least it can't get any worse."

"You really should stop saying that, Rhael," a voice said from the shadows behind the pillar. "It’s like you’re inviting the dungeon to prove you wrong."

Rhael spun around, his sword shaking in his hand.

A man stepped out of the gloom. He was wearing the same leather armor, the same tattered tunic, and the same dented heater shield. He even had the same small scratch on his cheek from Nira’s arrow.

But he didn't have the grin of the reflections. He looked tired. He looked terrified. He looked exactly like Rhael had looked three minutes ago.

"Who are you?" Rhael hissed, his knuckles white. "If you're another one of those glass things, I’ll—I’ll—"

"I'm Rhael Dorne," the man said, his voice cracking with the same nervous tremor. "I was just with Ilyra and Ordan. We were in the Hall of Mirrors. The floor broke. I fell."

"No," Rhael said, shaking his head. "I'm Rhael. I just fell."

The other man looked at him, and for the first time, Rhael saw a mirror that didn't ripple.

"I know," the man whispered. "That’s the problem, isn't it? Only one of us gets to be the original. And I remember being the one who reached for Ilyra’s hand."

"I reached for her hand!" Rhael shouted.

"So did I," the other Rhael said, drawing his sword with a shaky, uncertain hand. "So, Choice C, then? Let's find out which one of us is the snack."