My Final Enemy is Me

7. The Capital Infiltration

The road to the Spire wasn't a road at all; it was a winding, jagged scar etched into the landscape, leading toward the obsidian monolith that pierced the bruised, crimson sky. Frathan moved through the shadows of the outer perimeter, his stolen guard’s tunic reeking of stale ozone and antiseptic.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a passing transport drone’s hull. The helmet hid his face, but his eyes—those burning, stubborn eyes—looked ready to snap.

"System," Frathan muttered under his breath, keeping his head down as a patrol marched past. "How's the scan suppression holding?"

"Frequency dampening at 84%," the system replied. "Lower your heart rate, Subject 01. Your pulse is erratic."

"Yeah, well, it’s not every day I decide to break into the literal center of a hellscape," Frathan whispered.

He reached the checkpoint. A massive guard captain with cybernetic plating covering half his face blocked the path.

"Hey, you," the captain barked, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. "Why are you out of formation?"

Frathan stopped, keeping his posture slumped. "Transmission relay failure in Sector 4. They’re losing their minds back there. Said I needed to report to the inner sanctum for a tech-swap."

The captain stepped closer, his scanner-eye whirring as it swept over Frathan’s armor. "Sector 4 is locked down. Why aren't you on the perimeter?"

"You want to tell that to the Lieutenant? Because I’m just the guy carrying the parts."

The captain snorted, leaning in close. "You’ve got a loose tongue for a grunt. Show me the authorization."

"It’s in the bag. You want to see it, or you want to keep playing gatekeeper while the boss asks why the relay is still dark?"

The captain hesitated, his hand hovering over his electrified baton. "You better not be lying, kid. If I find out you're a stowaway, I’ll feed your fingers to the furnace."

"Relax, chief. I'm just here for a paycheck."

"Move through. And don't make me regret it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Frathan slipped past, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He rounded the corner into the damp, lightless corridors of the dungeon levels. The air here smelled of copper and rot.

"System, location of the primary detainee," Frathan whispered.

"Cell block 9. High-security manifestation. Danger level: Extreme."

"Extreme. Good to know. Are we talking 'angry dog' or 'reality-warping horror'?"

"The occupant is registered as a Class-A anomaly. Approach with extreme caution."

Frathan rounded the final bend. Two guards stood in front of a reinforced blast door. They were hulking, their armor glowing with faint, pulsed energy.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards growled.

"Official override," Frathan said, stepping into the light. He held up the device he’d rigged back in the cellar.

"Override? We didn't get a notification."

"That’s because it’s a high-priority sweep," Frathan said, his thumb hovering over the activator. "They want the data cleaned. Now, step aside, or I’ll have to report your refusal as a security breach."

"Let me see the clearance code," the second guard said, raising his pulse rifle.

"How about I show you a lightning show instead?"

Frathan slammed the device into the door’s interface port.

"Hey! What the—"

Zap.

A surge of white-hot static exploded from the port. The guards screamed as their armor short-circuited, the internal wiring melting into their skin. They collapsed in a heap of sparks and twitching limbs.

"Sorry, boys. Nothing personal," Frathan said, stepping over them.

He punched the manual release. The door hissed open, swirling with a thick, sickly violet mist.

"Seraphina? You in here?" Frathan shouted, his voice echoing into the void.

He stepped inside, his blade drawn. The cell was massive, but empty of people. In the center, a single, flickering holographic terminal stood—the source of the violet glow.

"Seraphina?"

He approached the console. It wasn't a cell; it was a recording studio. A chair sat empty in the corner, with a pile of her torn gear discarded like trash.

"System, where is she?"

"Signal detected: Originating from the interior of the console."

Frathan reached out, pulling a data-shard from the terminal. As he touched it, the room shifted. A face materialized—not Seraphina’s. It was his own face, but with a cold, hollow grin.

"Looking for her, Frathan?" the hologram whispered.

"Where is she, you glitchy piece of garbage?" Frathan growled, his blade trembling in his hand.

"She’s exactly where she needs to be," the double said, leaning into the projection. "But you... you aren't the one I was expecting to find."

The cell door groaned behind him. Frathan spun around, his heart stopping.

Standing in the doorway wasn't a guard. It was a mirror, a shimmering, vertical surface that shouldn't have existed. And inside the mirror, he saw not himself, but a cage.

Inside the cage sat a man who looked exactly like him—older, scarred, and covered in blood.

The man in the cage looked up, his eyes widening. "Frathan? Is that you? Did you actually make it this far?"

Frathan froze, his pulse deafening. "Who are you?"

"I’m the last one," the man rasped, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "And if you’re here, then that means the cycle is already starting over."

The terminal behind Frathan turned a deep, blood-red.

"Subject 01," the system droned, the voice now perfectly matching the man in the cage. "Reset initiated."

The floor beneath Frathan’s feet began to dissolve, the cell walls crumbling into white noise. He lunged for the man in the mirror, but his fingers slipped through the glass like water.

"Wait!" Frathan screamed. "Where’s Seraphina?"

"She isn't the prisoner, Frathan," the man in the mirror whispered as the world turned to white. "She’s the jailer."

The cell vanished, the reality collapsing in on itself, and Frathan was once again falling into the void. But this time, he wasn't alone. He heard her laugh, soft and cruel, echoing from everywhere at once.