What color do you think the world is? Black and white? Maybe gray?
No.
The world is painted in purple, green, red… a splash of blue, a smear of yellow, and just a little black and white for contrast. Every soul is composed of one of those shades, and every one of them can be manipulated.
Damien's gaze flicked to Jenna just as his fiery mimic lunged, a blur of orange light tearing through the night. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes wide with dread, lips pressed into a thin, trembling line...She was nervous.
Blood burst from her stomach in a vivid arc as the blade plunged in deep. The sound she made was part scream, part sob, as she crumpled into the sand. The mimic laughed wildly and gleefully, its eyes glowing like coals.
Damien's lip curled into a satisfied smirk.
Jenna… she's green. Greedy to the core. The kind of girl who'll lick blood off a blade if it means she gets to breathe another day. She disgusts me, and yet, here she is, giving herself over to her opposite color red, just to survive... who would have guessed?...
me
He nodded once to the Grey Monk, who was panting hard, his robes ragged and soaked in sweat. Without a word, the two surged forward, weapons gleaming, spear and dagger flashing through the cold air.
And you, Damien thought, eyes locking on his mimic. You're complicated. Just like me, too many colors to name, too much chaos in one frame. No one's ever figured us out, not in life, not in death.
But I know you better than anyone.
And I know exactly what you can't resist—
Killing a nervous, helpless girl you hate.
Damien and the Grey Monk circled behind the glowing orange mimic. Its fiery dress shirt flared in the cold, subtle wind, casting flickers of light across the sand.
In one hand, the mimic held Jenna aloft like a ragdoll, his blade still buried deep in her gut, impaling her clean through.
She gagged and gasped, eyes wide and brimming with tears
Their footsteps stirred the grit beneath them, barely audible over the hiss of cooling blood. They closed in, one step at a time, until they stood directly behind the mimic.
Blades raised. Breaths held.
They moved to strike…
Or did they?
Damien's shackle flared to life.
Agony surged through him, but he forced his body to obey, grinding his teeth as he pushed through the pain.
You can't resist easy prey, he thought. But you're no fool. You'd never let yourself be cut down from behind.
The mimic twisted around to face them.
His face contorted into a savage grin, pale eyes burning with recognition. The crown atop his head pulsed with light as Jenna let out a fresh scream. With a sickening rip, he yanked the katana from her gut and slashed at Damien and the Monk.
The blade tore through the air like lightning, but they were already moving.
A feint. Their bodies darted back just in time, the steel meeting only wind and dust, before disappearing. His sword completely vanished, leaving the mimic briefly confused.
Then it hit.
An invisible force crashed down like a falling planet. The pressure folded them in half, slamming them into the sand. They couldn't breathe, couldn't rise. The mimic, wreathed in fire, loomed above them, grinning wide as he prepared to drop Jenna and finish what he started.
Got you.
The mimic's expression faltered.
He looked down. Jenna hadn't let go.
Her blood-soaked arms clung to his, fingers trembling but locked in place. Her face was twisted with pain, tears, and blood mixing freely, but her voice came steady, soft, and sure.
"Die."
His pale eyes widened. He jerked, trying to fling her off, but her grip held firm.
The crushing pressure lifted from Damien and the Monk as the mimic's attention shifted, no longer focused, no longer controlled. His power unraveled.
Damien and the Monk bolted, their retreat a blur across the dunes.
Just as I thought, you're casting a magical pressure over us. So what happens when someone else's magic fuses with yours?
The oppressive weight receded, starting at the outer edges of the battlefield, creeping inward toward the heart of the conflict.
But it was already too late; she detonated the blood.
BOOM.
An explosion tore the sky open.
A pillar of fire erupted upward, consuming the dunes in a blazing cylinder of heat and chaos. The roar was deafening, the shockwave fierce enough to rattle Damien's bones even from afar. The night turned white. Sand and flame collided in a symphony of destruction.
Normally, Jennas corruption ratio would have been to low to damage the mimic, but it seemes I was right.
Jenna's scream merged with the mimic's as they vanished inside the blast.
Even at this distance, next to the tent, Damien and the Monk could feel the heat lick at their skin.
She had done it.
She'd played her part beautifully.
After the explosion subsided, Damien and the Grey Monk hurried toward Jenna, weapons still in hand—Damien clutching his dagger and two of the oasis fruits, while the monk carried the third.
The freezing desert had become scorching, at least in the aftermath of the blast. The air felt like an oven, heat waves rippling from the blackened sand.
Jenna was charred nearly pitch black, her limbs somehow still attached, dangling by threads of scorched muscle and shredded skin. Her face remained expressionless, but her chest rose ever so slightly, shallow breaths fighting their way out.
Beside her lay the mimic. Its flames had dwindled to embers. The smug grin that had haunted them was gone. Its crown of thorns was half-melted, and its once-imposing figure was riddled with burns and ash.
Without hesitation, Damien tossed two fruits to the Grey Monk, who dropped to Jenna's side, panic written clearly across his face.
"It looks like we won't need your sloth ability, he's already finished..."
He glanced at Jenna.
"She'll probably need all three," Damien muttered, more annoyed than concerned. He had hoped they might keep one for the journey ahead.
But the frustration didn't last long.
His plan had worked.
He had exploited Jenna's will to survive and her blood-bound ability, using her as bait in a perfect sacrificial setup, and she had played her role to the letter.
A twisted smile slid across Damien's face as he looked down at his fading doppelgänger.
How had Jenna put it?
Die.
He gripped his dagger tightly and drove it into the mimic's flickering skull. Satisfaction surged through him as the mimic shattered into motes of orange light, disintegrating into the dry air.
But just before it vanished completely, he caught a glimpse of something.
A smile.
What are you smiling at? You lost.
Then it hit.
Pain. Not the kind Damien had mastered, not the organization's torture, not the burn of his shackle, not even the searing trials of physical enhancement.
This was something else.
A scream tore from his throat as his body spasmed, convulsing in the sand. His nerves lit up like an electric wire, every inch of him being stabbed a thousand times over.
"Purgatory's Cha...XP," The system's voice played in his head, but the pain washed it away.
The Grey Monk froze for a heartbeat, torn between helping Damien and saving Jenna, before returning his focus to squeezing the fruit's juice between her cracked lips.
It felt like a million blades piercing him all at once.
And then his forehead.
A searing, white-hot ring etched itself into the skin above his brow. It felt like the sun itself was carving symbols into his skull.
Another scream.
And then nothing.
The pain stopped. Gone, as if it had never been there.
Damien sat up slowly, panting, drenched in sweat. He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, sizzling in the cold.
The dunes had gone dark again without the mimic's orange flames to light the way.
"Was... that... really... the... only... way... douche." Jenna's dry, strained voice cracked through the silence, each word dragged out between ragged breaths.
Damien couldn't see her through the dark, but he answered without hesitation, his tone warm and filled with false praise.
"I already told you ten times it was the only way. If there was another, I wouldn't have put you through so much pain...You were amazing."
His shackle pulsed to life again, sending a flicker of pain through him. He didn't so much as flinch. Compared to what he had just endured, it was nothing, like a fly brushing his skin.
Maybe there were other ways... but none that would bring as much joy, he thought, a cruel grin curling.