The ritual circle powered up with greater intensity than ever, the marks surrounding it shifting from cyan to blue, then blue to lilac. Saryn sat in the middle of the circle, his eyes open wide as he watched the bundles of materials rise into the air, spinning gently like the cogs of a steam machine.
He held the obsidian greatblade with two hands in front of him, the tip facing upward as if it was about to pierce the heavens.
'This could go terribly wrong if I don't focus.' Saryn thought, before pulling in the ambient echoes into the greatblade, looking in awe as it slowly lifted itself, hovering out of his hand and into the air above him, higher up than the rest of the materials.
He focused as he willed all the echoes to flow from the materials on the inner circumference of the ritual circle into the greatsword.
In his vision, an aurora of cyan and blue specks glowed as the sword hungrily devoured them, warming up and shining into a brighter hue of white with every mote.
The lightshow dragged on for what felt like years to Saryn, yet his focus never wavered, as every second, his excitement toward obtaining an armament grew.
And with each moment, the circle and blade glowed brighter, the materials around them burning away into echoes supplying the pair.
The obsidian greatblade revolved even quicker as the final bits and pieces of the materials dissolved, leaving nothing behind.
'Wait… no, there's not enough materials!' Realisation dawned on Saryn as his gaze scrambled across the room. He turned his head, greeted with the sight of several completely emptied out storage artifacts, lying unfolded outside the circle.
'This isn't good…' The blade above him began spinning slower with each passing second, as Saryn flew into a panic.
'If it stops now, I won't get anything and all the materials will go to waste!'
He frantically tried to feed the blade ambient echoes instead.
It worked - but could only buy time. The ritual wouldn't succeed like this with such a meager amount of echoes.
'The orb!' Saryn remembered, before withdrawing the orb from his storage semblance, which burned faintly on his chest.
The obsidian orb shimmered into reality in his hand as Saryn prayed, injecting it with his will and echoes before tossing it into the air above the ritual circle.
'Marduk said this is a high class material, if this doesn't work, I'm without options…' He focused as his dried‑out regalia began orbiting the blade like a moon, burning away into countless blue sparks.
Saryn silently begged, his eyes glistening as the blade above him shone brighter and brighter, revolving like the edge of a drill.
A sense of calm washed over him as a soreness erupted in his eyes.
He slowly closed them, the circle's colours blurring at the edges of his vision.
'I… must be tired… I've b-barely… sle-… -pt…' The drowsiness overtook him before he could resist, pulling Saryn into a quick yet quiet slumber.
…
"Where the hell am I?!" He woke up, confused and worried about the ritual.
Saryn rubbed his eyes, the soreness gone, as he scanned his surroundings.
Except there were no surroundings, nothing but an endless sea of white in every direction, he could feel the ground beneath him, yet it looked as if it weren't there.
"Is this some sort of copy of the fourth room? I don't have the energy to battle it out with a stupid ghost again…" He muttered, as a figure phased into existence opposite him.
The figure chuckled, spinning a sword around its palm.
Saryn held his breath as he stared.
It was long, a greatsword in length, but refined in shape. The crystal lilac blade itself was symmetrical and straight-edged, tapering to a sharp, elegant point. Its surface gleamed with a polished steel finish, running down the core of the blade was a deep navy vein, empty and dormant, as if waiting for something to wake it.
Running parallel to the dark core were two narrow grooves etched into the blade, one on each side, filled with intricate engravings that resembled arcane circuitry or ancient script. These markings were subtle, not ornamental, they looked functional, like they were part of the blade's internal structure.
The edges of the blade were clean and straight, patterned with occasional serrations and tips. They caught the light with a faint shimmer, yet dull enough to mimic the look of a failed attempt at forging a powerful blade.
The navy metallic crossguard flared outward in a graceful curve, symmetrical on both sides, like wings mid-fold. Each wing was layered with precise ridges, giving it a feathered texture - not soft, but sculpted. The guard wasn't oversized; it framed the blade without overwhelming it, balanced and purposeful.
The hilt was wrapped in a dark, textured grip - likely leather or scaled metal - with subtle ridges for finger placement. It was long enough for a two-handed hold, but not bulky. The pommel at the base was a small crystal ring, similar to the material of the blade, tipped with an even smaller metallic spike, pointing sharply outward. A faint crack ran along the lilac crystal ring at the pommel, not from damage, but from incompletion, like a cocoon not yet split.
A dark blue tassel looped through the crystal ring at the pommel, cyan runes sewn into its fabric, hanging from the greatsword in a quiet - but deadly - finishing touch.
Saryn's eyes steadily shifted over to the figure who held the weapon, his pupils dilating.
It was himself.
Not reflected, not distorted, but whole.
Not even Marduk in the mirror this time, but rather a direct copy of himself, holding the blade. Saryn looked down at his hands, empty.
'Am I supposed to fight him? I don't even have a weapon!' He thought, before the figure opened its mouth to speak, its piercing cyan gaze cutting into Saryn like lasers.
"Except… I… am no stupid ghost, bud."