Chapter 175: The Trial (32)
Verena’s breathing was heavy, but steady. Her knuckles ached from impact, and the faint burn of celestial energy crawled along her arms where her mimicry strained to keep up with the demands of the fight. But despite the exhaustion, a crooked, defiant grin curled across her lips.
"C’mon then," she muttered under her breath, eyes locked onto her shadow-self as it reformed again, smoke-like strands knitting together with eerie precision. "You’re not half as terrifying as my GPA."
The shadow lunged, an identical replica of Verena’s fighting stance — sharp, calculated, predatory. But this time, Verena didn’t meet the assault head-on. Instead, she sidestepped with fluid grace, Saphira’s scaled form coiling up her arm in a shimmer of astral energy.
"Blend your rhythm with mine," Saphira’s voice echoed within her, steady and grounding. "You’ve been mimicking constellations. Now mimic yourself."
The words clicked into place. Verena’s mimicry had always been about copying — systems, patterns, spells. But what if she mimicked something no one else could? Herself. Her chaotic, relentless, utterly infuriating self.
The next strike wasn’t a clean, rehearsed move. It was messy, unexpected — a shoulder feint, a low sweep, an elbow jab that broke every ounce of predictable combat flow. The shadow faltered, its replication magic stuttering as it failed to keep up.
Across the field, she noticed similar breakthroughs. Raphael, stubborn as ever, practically set the arena alight, his ignition magic roaring with reckless abandon as his shadow flinched under the sheer, overwhelming heat. Isolde, cool and meticulous, used her bind threads to unravel her doppelgänger piece by piece, like pulling apart an intricate tapestry until nothing but loose strings remained.
But it was Vivienne that caught Verena’s attention the most.
The girl stood still, her expression soft — almost... dreamy. Around her, the battlefield warped. The illusion was subtle at first: shadows bending wrong, walls seeming further than they were. Then the air shimmered like water ripples, and Vivienne’s shadow-self staggered, eyes clouded with confusion, caught in the ebb and flow of Dreamtide Magic.
Vivienne wasn’t fighting head-on. She didn’t need to.
She turned the battlefield into a dreamscape, where perception wavered, and enemies lost themselves in doubt and haze.