A wave of nervousness washed over Melena as the chilly blue mist crept up her body, submerging her arms and chest. She instinctively tweaked her neck to confirm it was still there as the fog continued to swallow more of her surroundings. It felt as if it were trying to creep into her eyes. Extending her hand, she probed to see if anything—whether Mark, someone, or something else—was still around her, but found nothing. Within a second, the fog had fully enveloped her, turning her world into an ocean of blue. At least there was still ground beneath her feet. She attempted to take a step forward, but her foot bumped into something, causing her to stumble. Suddenly, the fog around her darkened, and her surroundings morphed into a long, dark hall illuminated by thinly spread lanterns resembling the stony mouths of different animals. The hall seemed to extend endlessly behind her, but it ended a few meters in front of her at a door, with a short stairway leading up to it, against which she had already stumbled.
The stone door itself was gigantic, much taller than the one she had entered a few minutes ago. Its upper part disappeared into the darkness beyond the candlelight’s reach. The two stone plates that made up the door looked as if someone had attacked them with a hammer, their surface uneven and rough.
A quiet, sizzling sound crept into her ear, and Melena turned around. The source of the noise was a blue piece of paper lying on the ground just a few feet behind her. It was her recommendation. She must’ve dropped it out of surprise when the clouds had enveloped her. Suddenly, violet flames burst from the paper, producing a thick blue puff that danced in front of her. The smoke shifted and changed, growing denser and denser until it appeared almost liquid, all the while missing the typical burnt smell that accompanied such fires. The blue mass hardened and assumed the form of a twelve-year-old girl with short hair.
Melena’s jaw dropped as she stared into her own eyes. The thing that had formed in front of her resembled her down to the last detail—hair, coat, and a dent around her hips where she had hidden her Kardaut. While she admired herself, the copy took a deep bow, during which it drew its weapon. A cocky grin spread over its lips as it shot forward, closing the gap between it and the original.
“Crap,” Melena grunted as she blocked the initial stab by slamming her forearm into that of her copy, stopping the blade from reaching her face. With a step up the stairs, she created space between them and drew her own Kardaut.
Never stand on elevated ground when confronted with a melee weapon. It makes ducking useless. The words of Egall rang in her mind. Staring down at the blue imposter in front of her, she felt sweat building between the weapon’s handle and her palm. The steel felt cold against her hand, mindless yet eager to be used. The other Melena beckoned her with a wave of her hand.
“Oh no,” the original said, raising her Kardaut in front of her face. “If you want something, you come at me.” The other rolled her eyes, then shot blade-first towards the girl. Again and again, Melena clashed with her copy, their weapons seeking each other’s bodies. Every attack, dodge, and feint forced her to retreat further up the stairs, her opponent’s movements always just a tad faster than hers. She had been exhausted well before the fight, or the day itself, had even begun. A sleepless night was demanding its tribute, making her body slow and her motions sloppy. Every step felt forced, every attack half-hearted, and every dodge left her with another cut. This was different from sparring with Egall or her ‘fight’ with Mark. Neither of them had aimed for her vital spots. A slip-up against them would’ve meant a bruise, not dying on a staircase in the middle of nowhere.
“Umpf.” A bitter taste spread inside her mouth as a punch to her gut forced some gastric juices up her throat. Good thing she hadn’t eaten anything, or this would’ve been a real disaster. She huddled for a moment, acting like she was about to pass out, just to jump forward, shoulder first into her doppelgänger. Or at least that was the plan. Instead, she found herself crashing against nothing but air, the momentum of her jump sending her stumbling down the stairs. Despite loosening her muscles and arching her back like Egall had taught her, a dull pain surfaced wherever she hit the hard stone. As she finally came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, she had collected a dozen new bruises to accompany all the cuts that already decorated her body. Her copy had cut into her like she was some sort of wood to carve.
Ignoring the pain and humiliation, she pushed herself up. Blood began staining her clothes; apparently, some of the cuts were pretty deep. Looking up, she saw her copy, completely unharmed. The blue Melena smiled down at her, sliding her blade between her thumb and index finger to clean the original's blood off it before rubbing her now-crimson thumb over her tongue like some people did before turning the page of a book. Was this thing taunting her? While it walked down the stairs, Melena thought it over. It used her weapon, her body, and her way of fighting. How on earth was she supposed to beat this thing? Was she even supposed to beat it? This hunt’s instructions were frustratingly nonexistent. She chewed on her lips while watching her copy walk down the stairs. Despite being drenched in sweat, her lips were dry as the desert, making it easy to peel off pieces of skin.
Your reflexes are excellent, but you depend too much on them. You dodge but forget to reposition afterwards. Again Egall’s voice invaded her mind. You rely on instincts you don’t possess.
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A thin smile spread over her lips. She had an idea. With a flick of her wrist, she swapped her Kardaut’s position, the blade sticking out under her pinky. If that thing was a copy of her, it was only fair if it shared the same weakness. And considering that it didn’t seem to be worn out as much as she herself was, it wasn’t likely that it would think too hard about how to fight. At least Melena wouldn’t. The other girl stared at her for a moment, then rushed forward, jumping down the five steps that were still between them.
The two clashed as the copy slammed with her whole weight into the original, causing both to fall. As their blades clashed, instead of pushing against the fake's Kardaut, Melena opened her hand and released her own. Having turned her weapon beforehand, the blade now fell away from her body, guiding its twin along with it. With her now-free hand, she grabbed the copy’s throat. Their bodies intertwined in a wrestle, rolling over the ground, the copy trying to stab the original who was choking her.
Melena's body was exhausted, every muscle screaming for rest, yet she pushed herself onwards. The pain of her injuries was a distant, almost unreal sensation, buried beneath layers of fatigue. Suddenly the copies left fist sunk into Melena’s solar plexus and for a moment darkness ate away at the edges of her consciousness. Not feeling the others strength vain in the slightest, despite her hands clawing at the copies neck, the girl let go and attempted to punch the other's face. Unfortunately all her knuckles found was the ground which added another wave of pain to her already stacked collection.
The doppelgänger allowed itself a moment to smirk at the girl's desperate attempts to hit her, before thrusting its Kardaut upwards once more. Shocked, Melena wanted to jump up but the copied left hand had her tunic in a firm grasp.
“Fuck,” Melena thought, realising she was dead. She wasn’t keen on witnessing her own blood spill out of her neck so she tried to close her eyes, to find out she couldn’t. Like someone had frozen her whole body her eyelids weren’t moving. Neither were her eyes or anything for that matter. The piece of metal that was supposed to end her life hung a few centemeters away from her neck in the air. The copy stared at her, its lips twisted upwards in triump. Melena attempted to frown at the strange circumstances but once again her own body failed her.
What in the forsakens name was happening, she asked herself. Had she been tired before so was her head now clear of any fatigue, and it had to be because it had to compute the storm of information that was flooding it. For this very moment Melena was the room itself. She could feel every fiber of her clothes pressing on her skin, the rought texture of the ground beneath her, the rhythmic beat of her heart and her copies heart. She felt every little crack in her lips and was aware of every hair on her head and so much more. There was the cold around her, only piecered by the small fires dancing in the stoney mouths, and the concerning absence of anything over their heads. There was the slight pressure coming from the copied left calves, that indicated it was about to raise its foot. Suddenly the sharp blade aimed at her neck came back to the center of her attention.
If she didn’t do anything, that sharp slap of iron would pierce her neck and end her life. Melena didn’t want that. Like it had a mind of its own, her left arm shot upwards. The blade penetrated her arm, resurfacing on the other end. She felt a sharp jolt, like a fire had ignited inside her flesh. From one moment to the next the hundred of sensations that had made up Melena’s whole existence just a second ago were gone, replaced with nothing but pain. This hurt. It hurt so much she forgot to breathe. Tears blurred her vision, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out.
Despite all the adrenaline pumping throught her system and one and a half days of being awake, this pain refused to be ignored.
Slowly, the copy began to withdraw the weapon, sending another jolt of excruciating pain through every nerve between Melena's arm and brain. Her bowels twisted, and she began to gag, but her empty stomach saved her from vomiting. Desperately, she tried to regain some composure, knowing that if she didn’t, the next stab from her copy would pierce her neck. She tried to roll to the side but her body wasn’tt listening. Reflexively, she pressed her wounded arm tightly against her chest, leaning forward as another wave of retches convulsed her body, producing nothing but a thin string of saliva. Unable to regain control with the hold the pain had over her body, Melena, for the second time this second—which had felt like a minute to her—braced herself for death. Admittedly whatever had happened earlier had been plenty impressive, but if the outcome was the same, she would have preferred a quick cut to the neck. Supposedly, dying wasn't too painful if done right. It could even be quick. But apparently, Melena had no talent in dying at it because instead of a quick, life-ending stab, all she experienced was a dull thud followed by the clinking sound of a blade sliding over a stony surface.
Slowly she opened her eyes and blinked away the wet blurr that limited her vision. For a moment she and her clone stared into each other's eyes before both their gazes wandered downwards and fixed at the blade sticking out of its chest. Melena would have thought the clone had accidentally stabbed itself but warpped around the handle of the Kardaut was her own right hand. What she saw didn’t make a sliver of sense to her. Her eyes flickered to her left to see the other Kardaut lay near the liveless arm of the clone, before returning to her copies eyes. Both of them shared another befuddled look before a smile spread over the quickly cyaning face. The clone closed his eyes and gave an approving nod before it’s contours became blurry. A sizzling sound, reminiscent of searing steak in a well-oiled pan, filled the room. The clone's contours slowly borke apart, dissipating into the same blue mist from which it had originally formed. Not even five seconds later it was completely gone, leaving only a heavily wounded girl behind.