The chamber was wide and circular, its floor uneven and slick, as if water had once pooled there and never fully left. Light bent strangely across every surface. Walls, ceiling, even the ground were layered with mirror-sheen stone, reflecting angles that never quite lined up. Nothing echoed properly. Sound felt swallowed before it could settle.
At the far end stood the guardian.
It was humanoid in shape, tall and broad, carved from something that looked like stone but behaved like glass. Beneath its surface, clear liquid veins flowed in slow, looping paths, like water trapped under ice. They did not drip. They did not spill. They circulated endlessly, tracing patterns that never repeated.
Floating before it was the altar.
It was not solid in any normal sense—more like a sheet of polished reflection given weight. Its shape shifted without resistance, flattening, stretching, bending inward on itself as though mirrors had forgotten they were supposed to be rigid.
From the corridor beyond the chamber entrance, movement spilled in.
Thousands of flesh-fish forced their way through.
They swam through the air as if it were water, pale bodies folding and unfolding, boneless and soft. Their mouths opened and closed uselessly, rows of small teeth clicking without sound. They pressed against one another, squeezing through gaps far too small, reshaping themselves just to fit. The chamber filled with the faint, wet sound of bodies sliding past bodies.
The mirror altar flattened.
Not slowly. Instantly.
It became a thin, gleaming arc and swept sideways.
Rows of flesh-fish were cut cleanly in half. Their bodies split without resistance, collapsing midair before hitting the ground in soft, shapeless heaps. The altar shifted again, narrowing into rotating blades that spun with surgical precision, sealing the entrance completely. Any elemental residue left behind by the creatures touched the mirror and vanished—reflected back as warped bursts of force that shredded more flesh-fish behind them.
The guardian did not step forward.
Its feet never moved.
Only its arms shifted, slow and exact, guiding the mirror as if conducting an execution rather than a defense.
Kai appeared in the center of the chamber.
Mist spread outward from him the instant he arrived—thin, pale, clinging close to the floor before rising in wavering sheets. It did not conceal him completely, but it broke the lines of sight, softened the edges of his form.
Time did not slow.
It crowded.
The flesh-fish reacted immediately, turning toward him as one mass, bodies twisting in midair. At the same moment, the guardian redirected the mirror altar. Its surface thickened, sharpened, becoming a wide slicing plane aimed straight at Kai.
Two threats closed in from opposite directions.
Kai raised his hand.
A cube formed around his body.
The moment it locked into place, the mist, the mirror blade, and the charging flesh-fish passed through the position where Kai had been without touching him. Inside the cube, Kai was cut off from the chamber entirely. Sound dulled to a distant hum. Pressure vanished. Even the pull of the ground disappeared, like standing in the pause between heartbeats.
Outside, the mirror blade continued forward, cutting through mist and flesh alike.
Thirteen seconds passed.
Kai snapped his fingers again.
The cube around him collapsed outward and reformed instantly—this time around the mirror altar.
The reflective construct vanished from the chamber, sealed inside its own isolated space.
The guardian reacted immediately.
One arm was still extended when the cube formed. Its hand intersected the cube's boundary, passing partially through before resistance kicked in. The liquid veins beneath its surface flared bright, water surging as it tried to pull free.
Before it could retract, several flesh-fish followed the altar's last trajectory.
They struck the cube.
They did not hit the statue.
They entered the isolated space.
Inside the cube, the flesh-fish continued moving, unaware they were no longer in the chamber. They collided with the guardian's trapped arm and torso. Their bodies tore against the glass-like surface, splitting open as water-veins lashed outward in sharp arcs, slicing them apart from the inside. Limbs, faces, and pale flesh scattered in slow, weightless spirals.
Kai did not wait.
His breathing was already heavy. Sweat ran down his spine. The cube holding the altar strained, its edges trembling like cracked ice. Maintaining two spatial actions at once burned through his energy fast—too fast.
He activated the Crimson Eyes of Truth.
The world shifted.
Lines sharpened. Distance became measurable, foldable. The cube flickered and vanished from the chamber, reappearing deep down the corridor beyond the entrance, far from the guardian's reach.
Kai moved.
He stepped through the chamber exit the moment the cube disappeared, mist trailing behind him like torn fabric.
Behind him, the guardian was still fighting inside the isolated space, its water-veins carving through trapped flesh-fish with tight, controlled motions, movements precise despite the chaos.
Ahead, the corridor was already full.
Thousands more flesh-fish packed the space wall to wall, their bodies pressing together until the air itself seemed clogged. There was no clear path forward—only movement, endless and consuming.
Kai formed another cube around himself.
The fish struck it in waves. Their bodies slid along its edges, compressed and flattened, unable to reach him. He moved forward inside it, feet barely touching the ground as the cube carried him through the corridor like a drifting coffin of glass.
Then the edges flickered.
The cube cracked.
The isolation failed.
In the same instant, the flesh-fish surged inward. Their bodies collapsed onto Kai from every direction as the corridor disappeared beneath a mass of pale flesh. Teeth scraped against his coat. Cold, wet pressure wrapped around his limbs.
Kai reacted on instinct.
His body moved faster than thought.
The first trial had changed him long ago. Awakening had carved speed into his muscles, sharpened his reflexes beyond anything human. He twisted free as the cube shattered, slipping through a gap that closed an instant later. The mirror altar—still sealed within its smaller cube—hung at his side, drawn there by the pull of the wristbands wrapped around his arms.
Of course you'd want the shiny thing, Kai thought grimly, teeth clenched.
He shrank the cube around the altar further, gripping it with one hand. With the other, he called his dagger.
Fire condensed.
A molten blade formed in his grasp, heat rolling off it in tight waves. He moved.
Kai sliced.
He cut through flesh-fish as he ran, blade flashing in sharp arcs. Bodies split and fell away, dissolving into misshapen lumps as he passed. The swarm adjusted, turning after him, flowing like a tide chasing a crack in a dam.
Behind him, stone exploded.
The humanoid guardian tore through the chamber wall, mirror fragments scattering as it emerged into the corridor. Its liquid veins burned bright as it locked onto Kai, movements suddenly faster, more aggressive.
Kai pushed harder.
The corridor ahead shuddered.
Cracks spidered across the mirrored floor.
Before he could react, the surface ruptured.
Two massive tentacles surged upward—formed from fused flesh-fish and distorted human faces. Eyes opened along their lengths, all turning toward Kai at once.
The path ahead collapsed.
And the chase closed in.