2025-10-16 00:24:40Rain of data fell from the broken sky, each drop a flash of red code that hissed when it hit the ground.
Jayden stood amid the ruins, chest heaving, ash and pixel-light clinging to his clothes. “Eli!” he shouted into the smoke. “Answer me!”
No reply, only the hum of static where a friend should have been. He turned, jaw tight. The message burned into the cracked street still pulsed faintly: “Welcome to the Core Tower, Code Breaker.”
His fists clenched. “Code Breaker… what does that even mean?”
A soft chime answered from within his mind: [New Quest: Enter the Mirror Tower. Reward, Truth Fragment.]
He stared at the words, anger and dread twisting together. “Truth, huh? Then you’d better be ready for mine.”
The Tower rose in the distance, a black spire splitting the clouds. Every wall reflected fragments of the city, each reflection showing a different version of him, smiling, bleeding, dying.
He stepped inside. The door sealed shut with a metallic sigh. “System,” he muttered, “scan for threats.”
[Warning, Environment unstable. Psychological hazards detected.]
Great. Psychological. Just what he needed. A voice echoed down the corridor, soft and mocking. “Jayden Cross… hero of Zone Two, savior of the ghosts. Tell me, do you even know who you’re saving?”
He spun around. “Show yourself!”
The mirrors lining the hall rippled. Out stepped another Jayden, same face, same eyes, but his smile was cruel. “What is this?”
“I’m you,” the reflection said. “The version that stopped pretending.”
Jayden raised his sword. “You’re not real.”
The other smirked. “Real enough to bleed you.”
They clashed, steel against steel, sparks scattering across the mirrored floor. Every movement echoed like thunder.
“Why fight yourself?” the reflection taunted. “You wanted power. You wanted to win. Admit it, you like killing.”
“Shut up!” Jayden shouted, striking harder.
The mirror version caught his blade bare-handed. Blood, real, red, dripped onto the floor. “See? Even now, you hesitate. That’s why she’ll die.”
Jayden froze. “She?”
“Luna,” the reflection whispered. “She’s fading faster every minute you waste.”
Jayden’s heartbeat thundered. “Where is she?”
The reflection smiled sadly. “Ask the one who made this world.”
The walls trembled. Lines of code crawled across the mirrors. One by one they shattered, revealing endless copies of Jayden staring back.
He fell to one knee, clutching his head. Voices overlapped, his own voice, hundreds of it. “You failed. You couldn’t save her. You don’t deserve to leave.”
“System!” he gasped. “Override! Purge memory loop!”
[Denied. Host must confront himself.]
“Fine,” he growled. “Then I’ll face it.”
He slammed his sword into the ground. Light exploded outward. Each reflection screamed as it dissolved into white dust.
Silence returned, until footsteps echoed from deeper inside. Jayden looked up. Luna stood there, pale and shaking, her eyes glassy. “Luna!”
Relief flooded his chest. He ran forward, but stopped. Something was wrong. Her movements were too smooth, her smile too empty. “You came,” she said softly. “You always come.”
He swallowed hard. “You’re not her.”
“Does it matter?” she whispered, stepping closer. “You need me. You can’t fight alone.”
He backed away. “Where is the real Luna?”
The copy tilted her head. “Real? She’s code now. Like everything else you love.”
Rage flashed in his eyes. “You’re lying!”
She reached out, touching his face. “Then prove it. Kill me, if you can tell the difference.”
Jayden’s grip trembled on his sword. Her voice, her warmth, it felt too real. The system pulsed.
[Warning: Emotional Corruption at 70%.]
He shouted through clenched teeth, “Get out of my head!”
The fake Luna smiled sadly. “You already let me in.”
She lunged. He barely blocked, sparks flying. Her strength was inhuman. Every strike forced him backward until his back hit the mirror wall. “Stop!” he yelled. “I won’t fight you!”
“Then die,” she whispered, blade aimed at his heart.
At the last instant, Jayden twisted, catching her wrist and plunging his sword through her chest. Her eyes widened. “Jayden.”
The image flickered, breaking apart into light. Her final words were a whisper. “Find me… before he deletes me.”
The light burst, shattering every remaining mirror. Jayden fell to his knees, breath ragged, sword dripping with pixel-blood.
[Mirror Trial Completed. Reward, Truth Fragment Unlocked.]
A small crystal hovered before him, glowing softly. Inside it, Luna’s face. “System,” he said hoarsely, “play it.”
The crystal projected a recording, Luna, alive, terrified. “Jayden… if you’re seeing this, I’m trapped in the central core. The system, my brother’s mind, it’s rewriting Eden. It thinks pain makes people evolve. Please… stop him.”
The image vanished. Jayden gripped the crystal, tears burning his eyes. “I swear… I’ll bring you back.”
A low laugh filled the air, smooth and metallic. [You still believe you can save her? How touching.]
Jayden looked up, fury replacing grief. “Game Master.”
[You’ve proven strong, Code Breaker. Strong enough for the next layer.]
The ground split beneath his feet, forming a spiral of light. [Welcome to the Sky Isles, where even gods fall.]
Wind roared upward. Jayden tried to resist, but the pull was too strong. The crystal slipped from his fingers as he was dragged into the vortex. “Luna!” he shouted as the world dissolved into blinding white.
The last thing he saw was the crystal shattering, and her voice, faint but clear, echoing through the storm. “Don’t forget me.”
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Chapter 136. Children of Light
The town of Solstice hummed quietly beneath its early morning sun, a fragile peace stretched thin over decades of rebuilding. The streets smelled of warm brick and wet asphalt, faintly mixed with the tang of solder and machinery from ongoing repairs. Children ran ahead of their parents, laughing, kicking pebbles and spinning in circles.Among them, small hands raised to the air, tracing invisible patterns. Clara, five years old with tangled hair and scraped knees, froze mid-spin. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Her little fingers twitched, reaching toward a shimmer that didn’t exist to anyone else.“Clara?” her mother called, a note of caution threading through her voice. “Come here, sweetie.”Clara blinked, stepping backward as if resisting. The shimmer seemed to ripple, a soft echo that resonated through her chest. Other children nearby stopped too. Some rubbed their eyes; others tilted their heads, smiling faintly at empty air.Fr
Chapter 135. Lyn of the Threshold
The wind tore across the ridge before dawn, scattering loose dust and the remnants of scorched stone. A single figure stood at the edge, silhouetted against the first pale light of morning. The air hummed faintly, as if carrying a memory too old to be spoken.She moved without sound, stepping over cracked earth and jagged concrete. Each footfall was deliberate. She carried nothing, yet the weight of unseen burdens seemed to cling to her shoulders, bending the cold air slightly around her. The ridge overlooked a small town still waking, its streets empty, save for a few early risers shuffling toward markets or wells.From below, a child’s cry echoed, fragile and unsteady. Lyn froze. Her gaze tracked the sound. A small boy stumbled into the street, chasing a rolling hoop that had slipped from his hands. He barely noticed the figure on the ridge. The wind carried her presence closer, but not threatening. She did not speak. She simply watched.The boy tripped over a loose stone. The
Chapter 134. The Last Vigil
The flame refused to light on the first strike. Old Commander Rhyse struck the ignition rod again. Sparks jumped, sharp and brief, then died. The square stayed dark. Wind moved through the empty avenue, carrying dust and the faint smell of ash from the old ruins beyond the barricades. “Again,” someone said behind him.Rhyse did not answer. He adjusted his grip and struck the rod a third time. This time the flame caught. A thin line of fire climbed the wick and steadied. The Halo symbol carved into the stone plinth glowed faintly as the fire fed its channels. The vigil had begun.The square was smaller than it used to be. Reconstruction crews had taken half of it months ago, turning rubble into foundations. Metal frames rose where command tents once stood. The old banners were gone. Only the plinth remained, scarred and chipped, set at the center like an artifact no one wanted to move.Rhyse stood alone in front of it. He wore his Stormguard coat, faded and patched at the elbows. T
Chapter 133. Names Without Faces
The hammer rang against stone at dawn. Each strike echoed across the square. Dust lifted in short bursts and settled on boots and coats. The monument stood half-finished, its surface pale and rough. Workers moved along scaffolds, measuring, carving, stepping back, carving again. Names filled the slab in tight lines.A man wiped his hands on his trousers and leaned back to read. He mouthed a few names and frowned. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and checked it. He nodded and went back to work.A woman crossed the square with a basket on her arm. She slowed when she saw the monument. She looked at the names for a moment, then turned away and kept walking. A child ran after her, dragging a stick along the ground. The stick scraped and caught. The child tugged it free and glanced at the stone. “Who are they?” the child asked.The woman did not stop. “Soldiers,” she said.The child frowned. “From when?”“From before,” the woman said.They disappeared into the street. By midmor
Chapter 132. Ashes into Soil
The first hammer strike echoed too loud for a quiet morning. Metal hit stone. Sparks jumped. Dust rolled across the broken avenue. People froze for half a second, then went back to work. The city had learned how to keep moving.Cranes stood where towers once leaned. Steel frames rose from foundations cut through layers of ash and glass. The ground still carried faint lines that glowed when the sun was low, thin traces of the ghost network sealed beneath concrete and rebar.A worker lifted his visor and wiped his face. Sweat cut clean lines through gray dust. “Mark the edge again,” he said. “The scanner’s off.”Another worker knelt and pressed a handheld sensor to the ground. The device hummed, then steadied. “No spike,” she said. “It’s quiet.”They both paused at that word. Quiet still felt strange. Above them, the skyline held its shape. No drifting figures. No screaming light. Just buildings under repair and scaffolds wrapped in orange mesh. Wind pushed through open frames and c
Chapter 131. The Dual Requiem
The first sound was not birds or wind. It was the soft click of settling metal.A tower’s fractured edge pulled itself straight. Panels slid back into place with dull thuds. Glass stitched together in slow lines. The city did not celebrate. It steadied itself.Morning light crept over the skyline. It was pale and low, filtered through a thin haze that caught on the air like dust. The haze moved on its own. It drifted, then paused, then bent as if listening.On the hill above the city, Lyn stood with her boots planted in wet grass. The soil was dark from melted frost. She kept her hands loose at her sides. She did not speak. She watched.Below her, streets filled carefully. Doors opened halfway, then wider. People stepped out and stopped. They looked up. They looked through each other. They looked again.Luminous forms moved between buildings. They were not fog. They were not shadows. They held shape. Some walked with clear steps. Some floated with slow turns. Light threaded through t
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