Chapter 151 ‒ The Mirrorborn
Chapter 151 ‒ The Mirrorborn
Tyler didn’t wait. He leapt onto one of the wide, curling leaves, gripping the ridged veins as the entire stalk rocketed skyward. Wind screamed past his ears, slamming against his chest, tearing at his hair and cloak. His heart pounded so violently he feared it might shatter.
The world below shrank rapidly, Noobia collapsing into a tiny mosaic of coloured dots. Higher and higher he rose, past drifting clouds that soaked his clothes in cold mist. Every breath burned in his chest, the thin air slicing into his lungs like icy blades.
When the stalk finally slowed, Tyler opened his eyes. Suspended above the world, wrapped in a crown of endless sky, hovered a gleaming temple.
A crystalline lake circled it, its mirrored surface so perfect that the temple’s reflection looked like a second structure floating upside down. The temple walls were so purely white they almost hurt to look at, decorated with hundreds of windows of every shape and size. They caught the sunlight, refracting it into dancing shards of rainbow that shimmered across the drifting clouds.
Tyler’s knees shook as he stepped from the leaf onto the clouds. The surface wobbled beneath him — soft and insubstantial — but somehow it held. He forced himself forward, each step a quiet prayer against the dizzying drop beneath. Far below, the earth looked like a tapestry of smudged watercolours.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, chest heaving with strain and awe. The pain in his temples throbbed with every heartbeat. Yet he pressed on, eyes fixed on the towering white doors of the temple ahead.
When he finally reached them, he raised a trembling hand and pressed his palm to the cold surface.
The doors creaked open without resistance, revealing an endless white light within.
[Entering Sanctuary: Sanctum of Mirrors]
Tyler stood frozen at the threshold, a single thought echoing in his skull like a chime.
At last… the final truth.
---
The silence inside was absolute.
No hum of wind. No shifting footsteps. No ambient noise of insects or birds. Just the low, breathless stillness of a world that had forgotten sound.
The Sanctum of Mirrors was vast — a cathedral of light and silence. The polished white floors reflected Tyler’s every movement, and towering walls of glimmering glass stretched upward, catching the faintest flickers of motion and multiplying them into an infinite kaleidoscope of Tyler’s own image.
As he walked, his footfalls made no sound. But his reflection matched each step with flawless precision.
Dozens of Tylers walked beside him — behind glass, in polished floors, in arching ceiling panels. Each version held the same scythe, the same storm-touched armour, the same dark helmet wreathed in red lightning. Yet with every step, a sense of discomfort bloomed in his chest. Not fear, but unease.
It wasn’t that the reflections were distorted.
It was that they were too perfect.
Every blink, every breath, every tiny tilt of the head — mirrored exactly. Unnervingly so.
Tyler’s eyes flicked left, then right. No delay. No hesitation. His mirrored selves moved in precise harmony. He sped up, heart thudding. They followed.
He halted. So did they.
He waved suddenly, erratically — and the reflections matched it to the millisecond.
Still, the air felt thick. Not with heat or magic — but with a kind of pressure. Like being watched from within the glass itself.
He clenched his jaw. “It’s just glass,” he muttered. “Just reflections.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
And yet… his gut churned.
He pressed forward, the corridor narrowing until it finally opened into a vast, domed chamber.
The walls here were entirely mirrored — seamless, circular, towering hundreds of feet high. But directly ahead stood one enormous mirror — a monolith — easily twice Tyler’s height and framed in a gleaming arc of silver etched with ancient runes. Unlike the others, this mirror did not reflect the room or the light.
It reflected only him.
Tyler stepped forward, his footsteps silent as snowflakes. He stopped a few paces from the monolith and stared at the reflection before him. His dark cloak shifted gently behind him. His crimson eye flickered faintly. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.
He saw himself.
No delay. No distortion. Just Tyler.
He took one more step closer.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he said, low and steady,
“Come out now. I’ve had enough of your games.”
The reflection tilted its head.
And smiled.
Not a friendly smile. Not even a mocking one.
It was wide — far too wide. The edges of the mouth stretched beyond what any jaw should allow, exposing rows of jagged, unnatural teeth that shimmered like shards of glass.
Then, as Tyler stood frozen, the mirror rippled.
Like water disturbed by a falling stone, the surface trembled — and from within, the reflection stepped forward.
No crack. No portal. No sound. He simply walked out, as if reality was nothing more than a curtain to be drawn aside.
His boots touched the marble floor with a heavy, unnatural grace. The smile did not fade.
The creature stood tall — identical in height and armour. The scythe he carried glowed with the same golden energy. His left eye blazed with crimson light.
Yet everything about him was wrong.
His movements were slightly delayed, as though lagging behind Tyler by a breath. His limbs bent just a little too far when he walked. His body swayed with a puppet’s rhythm — boneless, fluid, deliberate. And worst of all, his eyes — or its eyes — had no soul behind them.
A system message rang out, echoing like a bell in the chamber:
[Final Boss: Miridiel, the Mirrored Soul] [Level 9999]
The entity cocked its head and spoke.
“Welcome… to the Sanctum of Mirrors… Tayeeeler.”
Its voice grated against the walls — too low, too high, fractured and stitched together like torn silk. The name stretched unnaturally across its jaw, as if it didn’t quite know how to shape the syllables.
Tyler’s mouth twitched in a tight, weary line.
“…Another version of me. Of course.”
He glanced at the scythe in his hand — the weapon that Vitamin Ape had reforged for him and delivered just before his departure to Ashborough. The golden energy along its blade pulsed with steady purpose, humming like a heartbeat beneath his palm.
He exhaled, slowly drawing the blade to his side, the golden arc pulsing gently along its curved edge.
“I’ve fought myself before — shadows, rage, grief, illusions…”
He took a step forward, the red lightning crackling around his boots.
“This won’t be any different.”
[Player: Tyler] [Level 223]
[HP: 1000/1000] [PE: 50/50]
Stats:
> Attack: 60 (+100)
> Defence: 60 (+120)
> Agility: 10
> Speed: 20
> Power Regen: 40
> Accuracy: 15
> Dodge: 15
> Health Regen: 10
Remaining Attribute Points: 0
His armour shimmered with dark energy, crimson bolts dancing down its edges like creeping fire. The helm crackled with streaks of light, illuminating his eyes from within like burning coals.
He raised the scythe, the blade humming with ancient purpose. Forged from death. Guided by hope.
“For Milo. For me. For all of them… I will win.”
Miridiel’s head jerked in a twitching nod. A sound like a mirror shattering erupted from his throat — bright, broken, echoing in every direction. He laughed.
“Let’s see… if the real one… can survive himself.”
The laughter faded, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the Sanctum.
Miridiel took a single step forward, boots gliding across the white marble floor. Around them, the mirrored walls shimmered faintly — not alive, not hostile, just… reflecting. Tyler could see himself from every angle. So could Miridiel.
Their duel — before it had even begun — had already been multiplied a thousandfold.
Dozens of Tyler and Miridiel reflections stood in eerie silence across the walls, floors, and ceiling. Each moved in perfect unison with its source, like ghostly echoes waiting to record history.
Tyler narrowed his eyes.
Then he moved.
With a sharp exhale, he lunged forward, crimson lightning arcing from his armour as he swung his Ancient Scythe in a wide, furious arc. The golden blade cut through the air, its humming edge slicing down toward Miridiel’s chest.
But Miridiel didn’t flinch.
He simply took a graceful step backward and bent at the waist — his spine arching in an impossible angle, a fluid backward curve that dodged the scythe by mere inches.
It wasn’t just evasive.
It was effortless — like he had seen the attack coming seconds ago.
As his body righted itself with unnatural fluidity, Miridiel locked eyes with Tyler.
And smiled.
“You missed…” he whispered, his voice dragging through the air like broken silk.
Before Tyler could react, Miridiel’s scythe was already in motion — a blur of silver and shadow.
The blade whooshed past Tyler’s face, so fast he barely saw it move. He felt a sudden tug of air, and a single strand of his hair fluttered to the ground.
The edge had missed him by a whisper.
Miridiel straightened, eyes glowing dimly, grin stretching once more.
Tyler gritted his teeth and stepped back, tightening his grip on the scythe.
The mirrored walls watched in silence — their reflections now showing two figures locked in the stillness before a storm.