The ritual chamber reeked of blood, incense, and something older—like rot buried beneath centuries of stone. Carvings lined the walls, jagged and worn, as if scratched out by clawed hands. Chains dangled from the ceiling. A faint humming filled the air.
Rudeus stepped forward, drawing a circle with chalk infused with dark mana. Glyphs lit up around the chamber floor—one by one, forming a cage of light.
Aden stood in the center, sword in hand.
"Don't fight what you see," Rudeus said, voice cold. "Let it provoke you. Let it hurt. That's the only way we draw the Wrath out."
The moment Rudeus stepped out of the circle, the glyphs flared. Red light burst around Aden, and the world twisted.
The chamber vanished.
He was standing in a void—crimson and endless, like a dying sun. Fog swirled at his feet.
Then he heard footsteps.
Click. Clack. Click.
From the mist emerged a man, dressed in the same Academy robes he once wore… but tattered, soaked in dried blood. His face was identical to Aden's—but twisted into a sneer, his eyes gleaming with arrogance and scorn.
The phantom raised its chin. "Look at you," it spat. "Pretending to be a hero now? Trying to play noble while wearing my skin?"
Aden's eyes widened, now standing before him was the original Aden Vasco.
Aden's grip tightened on his sword.
"You think you're different? Better?" The phantom paced around him like a vulture. "You're not. You're just a coward who ran from death and stole a second chance."
"I didn't steal anything," Aden said coldly.
"Oh?" The phantom grinned. "Then why do you flinch when you think about me who died so you could live? Or the lives you crushed to get this far? You buried the truth with your memories."
It lunged.
Aden blocked the first strike—but barely. The phantom was fast. Precise. It moved like a mirror of himself, but sharper, crueler. Their swords clashed again and again, each impact sending echoes through the void.
But what it said was right, He had stolen Aden's life, his original life, his body, even living as him all while possessing his body.
Aden gripped his teeth, but what could he do about it, he had not chosen to live like this. He did not chose to posses Aden Vasco.
As the battle wore on, the phantom began to shift—its form warping, growing horns, its skin darkening. Eyes burning red.
Aden's breath grew ragged. The fog thickened. His mind throbbed.
"You can't run from me," the creature hissed. "I am you."
Pain surged through Aden's chest. A crimson mist bled from his body, swirling around him.
The phantom spoke once more, "Give me back my body."
Aden's vision blurred. His heart pounded like a war drum.
The Wrath was rising.
His veins turned black. His irises glowed faint red. The sword in his hand vibrated, as if feeding off his rage.
"Not yet," Aden grunted, biting down on the fury. "Not like this."
But it wasn't listening.
The phantom struck again, and Aden finally lost control.
The moment the phantom's blade carved into his shoulder, something inside Aden shattered.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Restraint.
A scream ripped from his throat—inhuman and feral. Blood-red mist exploded from his skin, surging outward like a storm given form. The air around him distorted, vibrating with malice. His eyes burned a deep crimson now, veins bulging like black roots crawling up his neck.
The fog parted as the force of his Wrath pulsed out like a shockwave.
The phantom took a step back, grinning with satisfaction. "There you are," it whispered. "There's... me."
Aden lunged.
He was faster now—so much faster. His swings weren't elegant; they were brutal. Animalistic. Each slash came with the weight of rage long buried. The phantom parried at first, but it was clear—it was losing ground.
Aden wasn't fighting like a man. He was fighting like something that wanted to devour.
He howled as his blade crashed down, again and again, sparks flying from every clash. Cracks split the void beneath their feet. The air howled with pressure. And as Aden pressed the phantom against the edge of the platform, he raised his blade high—preparing to split it in half.
But the phantom didn't resist.
It opened its arms. Welcoming the final strike.
And that's when Aden hesitated.
His blade stopped—just inches from the phantom's chest.
"You see now?" it whispered. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid of what happens when I disappear."
Aden's hands trembled. Wrath surged, begging to be released, begging for blood.
And then—
A snap echoed through the chamber.
A surge of purple mana crashed into him like a tidal wave, and the hallucination shattered into dust.
Aden's body went limp. The Wrath aura sputtered out like a dying flame.
He collapsed.
And standing over him was Rudeus Vasco—his blade resting calmly on his shoulder, as if he hadn't just shattered a ritual that was moments from ending in death.
"Tch. Not bad for your first time," Rudeus muttered.
Aden didn't respond. His body was broken. His mind worse.
But somewhere within that pain, a question echoed like a heartbeat:
Was that really… me?