Episode-870
Chapter : 1739
The sensation was like floating in a giant, cosmic lava lamp that had been shaken way too hard. Lloyd felt weightless, drifting through a space that defied all the laws of physics he knew—and he knew quite a few, considering his background in engineering and blowing things up. But this wasn’t a place of gears, circuits, or even mana. It was the messy, chaotic soup of his own subconscious.
Colors swirled around him—violent reds clashing with melancholic blues, creating a kaleidoscope that would have given a sober man a headache and a drunk man a spiritual awakening. It was quiet here. Too quiet. The kind of silence that usually preceded a very loud explosion or a very awkward conversation. Lloyd tried to "swim" through the void, kicking his legs against nothingness, but he didn't move. He was just a passenger in his own head.
"Great," Lloyd muttered, his voice echoing weirdly, sounding like it was coming from inside a tin can. "Trapped in the psychedelic waiting room of my own brain. If I’m going to be stuck here, could I at least get a chair? Or maybe a magazine? ‘Weekly Void’ perhaps?"
He looked around, trying to find an exit or at least a distraction. That’s when he saw him.
Standing in the distance—though "distance" was a relative term in a place where space folded like a cheap napkin—was a figure. He had been there for what felt like months, a silent statue in the chaos. It was a man. A man who looked exactly like Lloyd, but... less impressive. He looked tired. His shoulders slumped, his eyes were dull, and he had the general vibe of someone who had just dropped his ice cream cone in the sand.
It was the Original Lloyd. The version of himself from the first timeline. The "failure." The guy whose bad decisions had basically paved the highway to hell for everyone involved.
Usually, the Reflection just stood there, staring blankly into the abyss. Lloyd had tried shouting at him, throwing mental rocks at him, and even making rude gestures, but the guy never reacted. He was like a glitchy NPC in a video game that had lost its scripting.
But today was different.
The colors around them shifted, darkening from vibrant hues to somber greys and deep purples. The Reflection moved. He took a step forward, then another. The movement was jerky at first, like a rusty machine waking up after a century of neglect, but then it smoothed out. He walked toward Lloyd with a purpose that sent a chill down Lloyd’s spine.
"Oh, look who decided to wake up," Lloyd said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you finally run out of brooding time? Or did you just realize how boring you are?"
The Reflection didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stopped a few feet away, his eyes locking onto Lloyd’s. Those eyes were the worst part. They were filled with a weary, ancient wisdom that didn't belong on a face that young. It was the look of a man who had seen the end of the world and lived—or rather, died—to regret it.
"You are loud," the Reflection said. His voice was soft, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "Even in here, you are loud."
"And you’re quiet," Lloyd retorted. "It balances out. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve been haunting the back of my mind like a bad smell, or can I wake up and go back to my actual life?"
"You think you know the truth," the Reflection said, ignoring the jab. "You think your hatred is a shield. You think your anger is a weapon. But you are fighting a war based on a map drawn by your enemy."
Lloyd rolled his eyes. "Cryptic metaphors. My favorite. Look, buddy, I know the truth. I lived it—well, you lived it, and I inherited the hangover. Rosa Siddik is a traitor. She betrayed the family. She’s cold, calculating, and she let us all die. I’ve got the 4K ultra-high-definition memories to prove it."
"No," the Reflection said. The word was simple, but it hit Lloyd like a physical blow. "You have memories. But memories are like paintings. They can be forged."
Lloyd frowned, his defensive sarcasm slipping for a moment. "What are you talking about?"
"Rosa Siddik," the Reflection said, saying the name with a tenderness that made Lloyd uncomfortable. "She was never the monster you believed her to be. In the first life... she never betrayed us."
Chapter : 1740
Lloyd let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Okay, now I know you’re hallucinating. I remember it. I remember the cold. I remember her standing there while the estate burned. I remember her eyes. They were empty. She didn't lift a finger to help us."
"You remember what you were shown," the Reflection corrected him gently. "But you did not see what happened in the dark. You did not see the final hours."
The void around them began to ripple. Images flickered in the air like ghostly projections. Lloyd saw a scene of devastation—a burning battlefield, the sky choked with smoke. And in the center of it was a woman.
It was Rosa. But not the cold, composed statue Lloyd was used to. Her hair was wild, whipping around her face in a freezing wind. Her dress was torn, stained with blood and soot. She was surrounded by a horde of nightmares—cultists, beasts, shadows. And she was fighting.
She was fighting with a ferocity that terrified him. Massive spikes of ice erupted from the ground, skewering enemies. She moved like a blizzard, a force of nature unleashed. Her face was twisted in a scream of pure, desperate rage.
"In the final hours of the first world," the Reflection whispered, narrating the scene, "when the walls fell and the fires consumed everything... she was the only one left standing. She stood against Bael, the Devil King of Pride. She fought him alone."
Lloyd stared at the image, his heart pounding against his ribs. This didn't make sense. This didn't fit the narrative. "Why... why would she do that? She hated us. She hated me."
"She never hated you," the Reflection said sadly. "She was cold because the world was burning, and she was trying to keep the fire out. Her coldness wasn't malice, Lloyd. It was a shield. A defensive wall she built to protect herself from a world that had already begun to rot from the influence of the Abyss."
The image shifted. He saw Rosa facing a towering figure of shadow and flame—Bael. She was exhausted, bleeding, her mana drained. But she didn't run. She stood her ground, shielding something behind her—the ruins of the Ferrum banner.
"She fought until her spirit core shattered," the Reflection continued. "She fought until her blood turned to ice in her veins. She died trying to save a memory of a family that had already been destroyed. And you... you died hating her for it."
Lloyd felt a sharp pain in his chest, like a rib had just snapped. He stumbled back, shaking his head. "No. No, that’s not right. I saw her. I saw her walk away."
"You saw an illusion," the Reflection said, his voice hard now. "A psychic scar planted in your mind by a much darker entity. A creature that feeds on discord. You have been hating a ghost, Lloyd. You have been directing your vengeance at the only person who actually tried to save you."
The revelation hung in the strange, shifting air of the void like a heavy fog. Lloyd felt dizzy. His entire motivation, the fuel for his cold demeanor towards Rosa in this second life, was built on the foundation of her betrayal. If that foundation was a lie... then what the hell had he been doing?
"An illusion?" Lloyd repeated, his voice sounding small. "You're telling me someone hacked my brain? In the middle of a massacre?"
"The enemy we face is not just strong," the Reflection said. "They are insidious. They do not just break bodies; they break truths. They knew that if you and Rosa united, even in that broken first timeline, you would be a threat. So they made sure you would never trust her."
Lloyd looked down at his hands. In the real world, he knew he could summon chains of steel from his blood. Here, in the dreamscape, that power reacted to his emotional turmoil. Ghostly, translucent chains began to manifest around him, rattling and clanking against each other like restless snakes. They coiled around his arms, tightening as his distress grew.
"So," Lloyd said, watching the chains vibrate. "I’ve been a jerk. A massive, colossal, history-book-level jerk. I treated her like an enemy. I insulted her. I divorced her in my head about a thousand times. And she was... she was on my side?"