Lorelei stared at her reflection in the wall of mirrors, trying not to think too hard about the fact that she was still alive. Barely. They’d somehow made it across the tightrope of death—and she still wasn’t quite sure how. A cocktail of sheer luck, Hild’s terrifying upper body strength, and Zorrobar’s desperate spellcasting had kept them from plunging into a fiery grave.

Well, most of them.

Wood-based lifeforms weren't made for balancing, precariously, above lava pits. Ent had barely made it more than a handful of steps before, with a low gurgle, it had gone up in flames. Lorelei hadn’t even had the satisfaction of screaming in panic at the sight; she had to keep her mouth shut unless she wanted to moan her way into the afterlife.

After losing yet another one of Steffan's undead summonings, they had all shuffled across in grim silence, staring at the bubbling lava beneath them, not daring to breathe too deeply in case they jinxed their improbable survival. The tightrope had continued to fray underfoot, the axes had sliced inches from their faces, and she was reasonably sure Zorrobar had lost some hair. Or pride. Maybe both.

But, in the end, they’d stumbled onto solid ground with the same shocked disbelief one might have after walking away from a five-car pileup. There was no cheering, no high-fives, just the oppressive silence of people who had narrowly avoided becoming fondue.

Lorelei glanced at the rest of the team, noting the blank expressions. No one was talking. No one dared. Instead, they just stood there, gazing at the warped reflections surrounding them.

After exiting the tightrope, they seemed to have entered some sort of giant corridor of mirrors stretching in every direction, their shapes distorting with every step. Some of them made Lorelei look twice as tall and half as wide, while others condensed her reflection into something squat and goblin-like. It would’ve been comical under different circumstances. But now, after narrowly avoiding death-by-lava, humour was in pretty short supply.

Lorelei took a step forward, the sound of her boots clinking softly against the glassy floor, and immediately, twenty warped versions of herself did the same. Her reflections flickered unnervingly in the distorted glass—moving with her but just off enough to make her stomach churn.

As someone who had a more than toxic relationship with her own reflection at the best of times, Lorelei was hating this already.

***Help Message***

Welcome to the Mirror Challenge, munchkin. A classic and, let’s be honest, massively overdone set-piece. I had argued that we should have moved straight on to the next physically appalling assault, but, no. Someone upstairs does love their nostalgia. So, expect mild nausea, existential dread, and an uncomfortable awareness of your own ugliness. Enjoy! Or don't. Probably not, actually.

In front of her, Pete moved, his heavy boots somehow even louder in the quiet. His reflection, which looked much sleeker and far more confident than the real thing, mimicked his movements, swinging his shield back and forth. The real Pete, though, was still slightly shaky, his hands hovering by his sides as if he were waiting for another rope to snap beneath him.

“Alright, so... now what?” Zorrobar asked. He was staring at his reflection, too—his duplicate looked far thinner than he ever did, wielding icy magic with precision, as opposed to his fireballs.

“Just keep going. We're in an obstacle course and this is just the next thing we have to overcome,” Kris said as if he hadn’t just been dangling over lava a few minutes ago. It was unsettling how quickly he could snap back into his usual collected self. “Everyone stay together and remember this place is designed to mess with us.”

Much as it hurt to do so, Lorelei had to admit, he was probably right. The mirrors didn’t feel like they were just for decoration; the entire room practically hummed with the promise of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Pete shifted uncomfortably, still glancing at his reflection. “I don’t like this. Somethin’ about seein’ meself so... different.”

Zorrobar snorted. “If I looked like that,” he said, nodding at his own ice-wielding double, “I’d be fine with it.”

Lorelei, too tired to roll her eyes, took another cautious step forward. The mirrors shifted again, reflections twisting. And then she saw it—her reflection paused for a beat too long, moving half a second behind her. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the duplicate.

***Help Message***

Finally. You’ve spotted the problem. These aren’t just reflections. But you knew that, right? You didn’t need me to tell you that. Just here to validate your paranoia, babes. Carry on.

The reflection tilted its head at her, the movements slow and deliberate. Then, with a shimmer, it stepped forward—out of the mirror.

Lorelei cursed inwardly. It wasn’t just her reflection either. Pete’s, Zorrobar’s, all of them, were stepping out of the mirrors like they were walking through a doorway into the real world. Each doppelganger bore a twisted, mocking smile, as if they were enjoying the surprise etched on everyone’s faces.

Pete raised his shield, his hand shaking as his reflection raised an identical one with casual ease. The difference between them was clear: where the real Pete was still rattled from the tightrope ordeal, his double moved with grace and confidence, spinning the shield like it weighed nothing.

“Stay together!” Kris barked, stepping into a defensive stance. “Don’t let them split us up.”

Lorelei nodded—more to herself than anyone else. This wasn’t a normal fight. The reflections were stronger, faster. They *wanted* the group to falter, to panic.

And, of course, the Veiled Stalkers's reflections moved in perfect unison. Michael and Michelle—or rather, their doubles—stepped forward, their bodies mirroring each other with eerie precision. Even their expressions were a perfect match—cold, detached, and utterly in sync. The real brother and sister, standing just a few feet away, looked hesitant, as if they weren’t sure which version of themselves was real anymore.

“This is bad,” Michael/Michaell said.

“No shit,” their doubles replied.

Lorelei’s reflection grinned at her—a cold, feral grin that made her skin crawl. It wasn’t just a mirror image anymore. This was something else. And it was stronger. Much stronger. And probably not labouring under any massive debuffs . . .

Kris’s reflection stepped forward, eyes gleaming with something dark. “We need to move,” Kris said quickly, his voice steady but urgent. “These things are mimicking us—mirroring our weaknesses.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Lorelei wished she could scream her frustration. Instead, she watched as her reflection raised a hand, moving in a perfect mockery of her own hesitant stance.

Zorrobar, being the trigger-happy lunatic that he was, took the first shot. He flung a fireball at his icy reflection. But instead of incinerating his double, the reflection raised a hand and absorbed the fireball, snuffing it out with a flick of its icy fingers.

“Ah, that’s not good . . .”

The reflection took its own turn, forming a massive shard of ice in its hands. Zorrobar barely had time to raise his hands before the ice slammed into him, sending him flying back into a mirror. He crashed against the glass, groaning in pain as shards rained down around him.

Chrissy lunged forward to help, but her reflection moved faster. It blocked her path, standing between her and Zorrobar with a mocking grin. There was something distinctly wrong about how the reflection held itself—like it had been waiting for this, waiting for the real version to try something.

Behind Lorelei, Pete roared, swinging his shield at his double. But the reflection dodged easily, ducking under Pete’s swing and slamming its shield into his chest. Pete stumbled back, gasping for breath.

“They’re too strong!” Hild shouted, swinging her axe at her double. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal, but her reflection moved like lightning, countering every strike with effortless precision.

Steffan was standing at the front, frantically scanning the battlefield. He wasn’t panicking yet, but Lorelei felt it couldn't be that far away. Without a summons, he was almost entirely without offensive abilities. His reflection, meanwhile, stood perfectly still, watching him with the same expression.

“This isn’t working,” he said to her, his voice low, his eyes pleading. “We need to come up with a different approach.”

No shit, Lorelei thought, but all she could do was grimace at her reflection, which only grinned wider in response.

***Genuinely Helpful Message***

If you were wondering, I don’t think fighting these is a great idea. They’re you, but better. Stronger, faster... smarter. You’re basically fighting your own potential, but without all your lovely insecurities. If I could give you a head's up? Remember this challenge is benchmarked for 20+. You might want to try to lean into your weaknesses somewhat . . .

Lorelei clenched her fists. Her Guide was right. They couldn’t win by brute force. These reflections were designed to exploit their weaknesses, their hesitation. But what was the alternative? Surrender?

Steffan, surprisingly, was the one who vocalised the idea. He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he looked from one reflection to the next. Then, in a low, unusually calm for him voice, he said, “Everyone, listen. Don’t engage them. Stay defensive. We’re not trying to beat them—we just need to get past them. Think about it. Anyone Level 20 at this stage has got there by being aggressive; maybe the way through this is to play possum?”

Lorelei wasn’t sure how wise this could be, but at this point, she had no better ideas. With a reluctant nod, she took a step back, keeping her reflection in her sights but not making any aggressive moves.

The others followed suit, retreating slightly as their reflections watched them with amused expressions. It was unsettling how similar they all looked—except for that glint of cruelty in their eyes, something none of them - okay, maybe Kris - shared with their real counterparts.

Chrissy moved first, stepping backwards slowly, eyes locked on her reflection. The doubles didn’t move; they just watched her with a faint, knowing smirk. It was unsettling—like looking into a mirror and realising it knew something you didn’t. Chrissy raised a hand, motioning for the rest of them to follow her.

Lorelei hesitated, but only for a moment. The air in the room had changed—it wasn’t just a palpable scent of restrained violence anymore. There was something more, something she hadn’t noticed before: the reflection of intent. Her gut told her the reflections weren’t here to kill them out of malice. They were here to mirror their worst instincts. The more they fought, the more dangerous this room would become.

***Help Message***

Ohhh, I love it when a Player starts to have some actual growth. I mean, this usually happens before taking part in a Grand Tournament. But let's not focus on the length of the journey; let's embrace the fact you've turned up at all.

Lorelei moved carefully, taking a step backwards. Her reflection mirrored the motion, but it made no move to attack. It just watched her, waiting for her to strike first. Lorelei’s urge to lash out was almost overwhelming, and her fists clenched involuntarily. After everything she had been through in the last few days, fighting was what you did in situations like this. It was instinct. Survival. But maybe—just maybe—not fighting was the answer this time ...

The rest of the group seemed to catch on, moving cautiously, mimicking Chrissy’s slow retreat. Pete edged away towards the exit, his shield raised defensively, face tight with restraint. He was holding back, not out of fear, but because he’d realised something too: the only way out of this room was to stop playing by its rules.

No one spoke. The room was so quiet you could hear the soft press of shoes against the floor, the faint sound of their breathing. They were all locked in the same dance with their reflections—each step mirrored perfectly by the doubles. But there was no aggression. Not anymore.

The reflections weren’t here to fight them. They were here to show them what would happen if they fought.

Lorelei felt a strange sense of calm settling over her, though it was tinged with the nervous energy of someone doing exactly the opposite of what every instinct screamed at them to do. She kept her eyes on her reflection, watching as it moved with her, echoing her motions, but not advancing.

It hit her then: this wasn’t a battle. It was a choice. The System, for all its absurdity and brutality, wasn’t just about killing and levelling up through violence. It rewarded strategy, patience—and sometimes even restraint. This room, this bizarre hall of mirrors, wasn’t testing their strength. It was testing their wisdom.

***Happy Message***

Well, look at you! Finally catching on, aren’t you? Not everything’s about smashing your way through. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is nothing at all. It’s almost like... not all problems can be solved with violence. Wild concept, huh?

Lorelei swallowed down a wave of irritation at the System’s condescending tone, but she couldn’t help but agree with it. This wasn’t just about surviving. It was about understanding the game. The obstacle course wanted them to fight, to panic, to lash out. That’s what the reflections were for—they mimicked their most violent, impulsive instincts. But as soon as they stopped engaging, the threat dissolved.

Kris glanced at her as if he could sense her thoughts, his eyes flickering with something close to understanding. They weren’t out of this yet, but the way forward was clear. They had to get through without letting their darker impulses take over. The moment they gave in to fear, to anger, the reflections would turn deadly. But if they could resist...

They inched further back, all eyes locked on their duplicates. The reflections just stood there, eerie and still, as though disappointed that their counterparts weren’t rising to the bait.

Lorelei glanced at the others. Hild was still gripping her axe, but she hadn’t raised it again. Zorrobar’s hands were clenching and unclenching, the telltale glow of his magic ready to flare at any moment, but he held back. Pete’s shield wavered slightly, but he didn’t advance. Chrissy was standing before Steffan, protecting him, but not attacking. Even Michael and Michelle, who were usually the first to jump into synchronised violence, seemed to have caught on, their gazes flicking between their reflections with wary curiosity rather than outright hostility.

This was a critical moment. Lorelei felt it in her bones. She had long bemoaned that the System had always seemed to push her toward violence—toward solving every problem with force, Skills, and bloodshed. But here, now, it was showing something different. It was rewarding them for understanding the game. For not letting themselves be ruled by fear or instinct.

She took another step back, and the exit was there. It was shimmering at the far end of the room, barely visible through the twisted maze of mirrors. They were almost there. They just had to keep going.

Lorelei’s reflection tilted its head at her, that same mocking smile still playing on its lips, but it didn’t follow. It stayed where it was, rooted to the spot as though bound by some unseen force. The real Lorelei took a deep breath and turned away from it. There was no point in fighting a reflection. It wasn’t real. Not the way she was.

***Help Message***

Well done, lovely. Turns out brains beat brawn every now and again. Who knew?

Lorelei didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She had already learned what the System wanted her to understand.

Not every victory needed to be soaked in blood.