Chapter 11
Nyxen's body hit the ground hard.
The storm of swords had vanished, the colossus gone, but the weight remained. Every breath felt like shards of glass carving through his lungs. His vision blurred; the cracks along his arms and chest pulsed with black light, deeper than ever before.
Liuying knelt at his side, her brows furrowed. She pressed two fingers against his neck, then pulled back instantly as a surge of corrosive qi stung her skin.
"You're burning from the inside," she said coldly, though her voice carried the faintest tremor.
Nyxen laughed weakly, blood running from his mouth. "Heh. That's… normal for me. Don't… look so worried, snow maiden."
But he wasn't fine. He knew it. His soul felt like it was tearing itself apart.
The Guardian's strike hadn't just tested him—it had cracked something open.
Darkness pulled at him, dragging his mind under.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was gone.
He stood in a void without end, a mirror-like surface beneath his feet reflecting a shattered sky. Floating shards of memory drifted around him—faces, voices, lives not his own.
And in the center of it all, a throne of black stone.
On it sat a figure.
It looked like him, but not. Taller, sharper, with eyes that burned silver instead of crimson. The figure's presence was suffocating, ancient. It smiled as Nyxen staggered closer.
"So," the figure said, voice smooth, echoing. "The Guardian's blade finally tore open the seal."
Nyxen's fists clenched. "What… are you?"
The figure tilted its head. "Not 'what.' Who. I am you—or rather, the one you were meant to become. The one who failed in your world, who was devoured by time. The will that clung to survival so fiercely that the heavens spat it out and threw it here."
Nyxen's heart pounded. Transmigration. He'd known he wasn't meant for this world—but this?
"You're saying…" His voice cracked. "I'm not just a transmigrant. I'm… a fragment?"
The silver-eyed reflection rose from the throne, stepping closer. Every word made the void tremble.
"You are the vessel. I am the original intent. When you died forgotten, when your name vanished from the world, I made a vow: Never again. To survive at any cost, even if it meant corrupting everything. That vow is me."
Nyxen stumbled back. His body screamed, the cracks glowing brighter. "So what—you're the real me, and I'm just the leftover trash?"
The figure smirked. "No. You're the flame I left burning. But flames die if they aren't fed."
It leaned close, silver eyes boring into Nyxen's crimson.
"Fuse with me, vessel. Take what was denied to you. Survive not as a man, not as a demon, but as a will the heavens cannot erase."
Nyxen's breath came ragged. The offer was intoxicating—raw power radiated from the figure, enough to shatter worlds. But deep in his chest, something resisted.
Because he recognized it.
That hunger, that endless devouring survival instinct—it wasn't just power. It was madness.
If he accepted, he might never be himself again.
"Choose," the silver-eyed reflection said, extending a hand. "Fuse… or fade."
Back in the physical world, Liuying watched Nyxen writhe on the ground, his qi flaring uncontrollably. Black flames erupted around him, burning the sword forest to ash.
Her eyes narrowed. "What in the heavens are you?"
Then she saw his expression—caught between agony and savage ecstasy. Whatever trial he was facing now, it wasn't something she could cut for him.
She tightened her grip on her sword and stood guard. If he survived, fine. If not… she would strike him down before his corruption spread.
The choice was his alone.
Inside the void, Nyxen's hand trembled. He stared at the reflection's outstretched palm, then at his own.
Blood dripped between his fingers. His body was breaking. His will was burning.
Survive… or die.
His crimson eyes locked with the silver.
And he smiled.