Yan Zhi's footsteps felt heavier with every step, as though the ground itself clung to him, eager to drag him down. Beside him, the one man he had trusted—the only presence that seemed sane in this cursed veil—walked with calm precision.
"Just a little farther left. Ahead lies our way out," the man said softly, his voice like a balm against the howling madness of this place.
Yet beneath that soothing tone, another voice clawed at Yan Zhi's ears—hoarse, guttural, and dripping with malice.
"Watch his steps. Each time he smiles, his foot tilts half an inch to the right. That's not the man you know. That's an empty skin… worn by something else."
Yan Zhi clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it. His breath came ragged, his chest tightening. But the deeper they ventured, the more the world twisted.
Above, the sky—dark crimson—began to fracture. From each crack seeped fragments of memory: his mother's gentle smile, the laughter of his sect brothers… and then, in the blink of an eye, blood and ruin. The fragments fell like shards of glass, embedding themselves into the ground—a ground that rippled like black liquid mirrors.
One shard landed before him. He glanced down.
It showed himself—kneeling atop a mountain of corpses, his hands drenched in blood. And then… he smiled.
Yan Zhi's breath caught.
"I… never… smiled then…"
The shadow beneath his feet twisted, grinning in the exact same way.
"You enjoyed it, didn't you? All their suffering… You just pretended to care."
Yan Zhi stumbled back, trembling. His "ally" turned to him with calm, reassuring eyes.
"Stay calm, Yan Zhi. This is all just illusion. Trust me."
Illusion.
The word rang hollow here. Everything felt too real.
Suddenly, the ground split apart, and black fluid gushed upward, coalescing into figures from his past—the disciples of his sect who had died when he failed them. Their skin pallid, eyes vacant, blood dripping from their lips.
"You left us…" they whispered in unison, a chorus of layered voices that dug into his skull.
"You chose to live alone… You traitor… You coward…"
He tried to back away, but a hand gripped his shoulder—his "ally's" hand.
"Don't listen to them. I'm the only one left with you," the man said softly.
But at that same moment, Yan Zhi's shadow screamed from below:
"HE killed them! HE will gut you the moment you drop your guard! Don't be a fool!"
His chest felt crushed. Cold sweat drenched his back. His vision wavered between the gentle face of his companion… and the shadow rising from the ground, taking form as himself—taller, thinner, with an inhuman, crooked smile.
"You cannot escape the truth," the doppelgänger hissed. "Betrayal is your fate, Yan Zhi. The only question is—will you commit it… or will you suffer it?"
Then—silence.
All whispers ceased. The world emptied. Only three remained: Yan Zhi, his "ally," and the shadow.
"The exit is near," his ally said, pointing forward.
There, amidst the darkness, stood a door of light, warm and inviting. Salvation.
Yan Zhi stared at it. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. The shadow whispered one last time:
"Step through… and you'll die with a knife in your spine."
"Trust me, Yan Zhi," his ally urged, smiling.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. And in those eyes—Yan Zhi saw it: a tiny crimson fracture pulsing… just like the sky above.
He froze. The world around him seemed to crumble in slow motion. And deep within him… something cracked.
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