Cedric stood on the deck of the ship, the wind whipping through his hair as the monstrous creature loomed in the distance, its grotesque form rising from the dark sea. Faylinn, perched on his shoulder, hissed softly, her glowing blue eyes narrowed at the sight before them. The fox’s fur bristled with unease, her small body tense.
"That's an illusion, Fay," Cedric said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet intensity. His hand gently stroked the back of the fox’s neck, trying to soothe her agitation. "It's Veilith's power."
The massive figure in the sea seemed to pulse with life, its tentacles or limbs—or whatever grotesque parts it had—twisting slowly in the distance. But there was something off. Despite the creature’s size, the waters surrounding it remained eerily calm. No waves rippled from its movement, no splash echoed in the still night.
Cedric narrowed his eyes. The monster was a convincing illusion, but the lack of any physical reaction gave it away. The real threat was elsewhere. "Where is she?" he muttered, scanning the horizon, his instincts sharp.
"Can you feel anything?" he asked Faylinn, hoping her heightened senses might detect something he couldn’t. Faylinn mewed softly, shaking her head. She couldn't sense Veilith either.
Cedric clenched his jaw. This wouldn’t be easy. He knew so little about Veilith, apart from the shadowy hands that had attacked them in the manor. He had never actually seen the demon herself. Not knowing what she looked like, or how she might strike next, was a dangerous disadvantage. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, feeling its familiar weight in his hand.
"Careful" he whispered, more to himself than to Faylinn. "If we can’t see her, we’ll have to make her reveal herself."
Cedric scanned his surroundings, his gaze sweeping across the open sea as Faylinn climbed into his shirt pocket, nestling there with a soft mew. The illusionary monster still loomed in the distance, a grotesque silhouette, but aside from that, everything seemed normal. Too normal. The wind, the stars above, even the ship creaking beneath his feet—none of it felt out of place. But he knew better.
Is he already inside the illusion? He asked himself, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. The question gnawed at him. How did it happen? When did it start? But he shook his head, realizing those weren’t the questions he should be focusing on. No. He should have been more prepared for this. Veilith was cunning, and the subtlety of her illusions made it all the more dangerous.
He thought back to the breach in the hull earlier. That’s when things started to feel off. “We might’ve already been inside her illusion from the start,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. His eyes narrowed. “Are we still on the ship?”
Faylinn, hidden in his shirt pocket, let out a small mew in response, her presence reassuring. “Thanks, Fay,” Cedric whispered. At least that confirmed one thing—they were still physically on the ship. For now, anyway. But illusions weren’t bound by the normal rules of reality. Veilith could twist perception in ways that were hard to detect.
Suddenly, Cedric felt a tap on his shoulder—a cold, deliberate touch. He spun around, sword drawn in an instant, prepared for an attack. But the ship's deck was gone.
He stood in a completely different place. The air was thick with a strange tension, the sound of indistinct voices murmuring somewhere nearby. He found himself inside a large room, lined with rows of desks, each cluttered with papers, strange devices, and worn chairs.
The walls were lined with wooden paneling, but above them were several strange, glowing lights embedded into the ceiling, flickering with an unnatural hum. Papers and boards covered one side of the room, with faces and lines drawn between them. It was a bizarre mix of familiarity and confusion.
He blinked, trying to make sense of it. The place was wrong. It had the air of a station of some kind—an organized, bustling place—but none of the furniture made sense. A strange, boxy object sat on each desk, casting faint glows. It was as if someone had taken different eras and smashed them together.
Cedric’s head swam with disorientation as he stared at a series of windows. They were too bright to look through, an intense white light flooding through them, making it impossible to see outside. He could hear a deep rumbling sound, like some kind of engine, from beyond, though he had no idea what it could be.
Cedric scanned his surroundings carefully, his eyes darting across the room, searching for any sign of danger. But there was nothing—just the strange atmosphere that lingered in the space, heavy and tense. The longer he stood there, the more the room began to feel familiar, but he couldn’t quite place why. The odd combination of furniture, the strange glow from the box-like objects on each desk—it stirred something deep within him. He knows this place, he thought, his mind struggling to connect the dots. But what is it?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sound, faint at first but growing louder with each passing moment. A rumble, accompanied by a steady droning hum, echoed from beyond the bright windows. It was rhythmic, mechanical, as though something large and powerful was passing by outside. The sound tugged at his memory, like a dream he had almost forgotten. It was there, just beyond his reach—familiar, yet foreign. He had never heard anything like it, yet somehow... he had.
As the noises filled the air, Cedric’s unease deepened. It wasn’t the usual creak of a ship or the rustle of trees in the wind. This was something else entirely, almost as if the ground itself rumbled beneath him, but the strange glow from the windows kept him from seeing what lay beyond.
Suddenly, a sharp sound broke the eerie quiet—a loud rattling, as if something inside the room was trying to escape. Cedric’s gaze snapped to one of the desks near him, and his hand instinctively tightened around his sword.
A drawer in one of the desks was shaking violently, rattling on its tracks as though something within was trying to break free. It slammed back and forth with a force that seemed unnatural for such a simple piece of furniture.
Cedric's heartbeat quickened. Whatever this illusion was, it wasn’t random. Veilith was toying with him, dragging him deeper into a reality that didn’t belong to him. But the familiarity nagged at him. Something about all of this felt like a puzzle—one that, if he solved it, could hold the key to breaking free.
Cedric hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the drawer handle. The cold metal beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through him, and as soon as he touched it, a powerful force yanked him forward. The room blurred, the world spinning in a dizzying haze of light and shadow, before it settled again, depositing him somewhere else entirely.
He stood now in another large room, much bigger than the last. The spacious room was drenched in the blinding light that poured in from an enormous window behind a grand desk. The walls were lined with shelves of books and various artifacts that didn’t seem to belong together. The furniture—a set of plush leather chairs and an imposing desk—suggested power, control, and wealth. Everything in the room felt carefully chosen, like it belonged to someone important.
A man sat behind the desk, but the blinding light obscured his features, making it impossible for Cedric to make out his face. The man’s silhouette was dark against the bright window, and something about him—his posture, his presence—nagged at Cedric’s mind. He felt as though he should know this person.
The man began to speak, his voice calm but distant, as if coming from far away. “Stop chasing the criminals and come with me.”
Cedric blinked, trying to focus. The words tugged at some forgotten part of him, a part that wasn’t fully awake. Criminals? His hand instinctively reached for his sword, but even that simple action felt out of place here. The scene around him was unsettling in its familiarity, though he couldn’t place why.
The man continued, his voice growing fainter, “Don't argue with me Ĵ̸̡̰͍͉͇̗̱̝̞̬̞͍̌̋̑̽͒͝ờ̸̢̛̩͎͎̤̭̘͙̲̻͎̼̳͖̻̳͊̉̍̈́̒͆̏̄͊̏̐̈́̑̎͛̆̈́̔̒͑̓̈́͘͝ṉ̴̡͉̙͔̗̱͙̱͓̱̪͆̌̒͋̇̅͑̄͌͛͒̿͊͊̽̏͂̽̈́͗̐͋̈́̕̚̕͠ͅ-”
Cedric's chest tightened. The words were muffled now, distant, like an echo in a dream. He felt an urge—a strong, undeniable pull to leave the room. His gaze shifted to the large door at the far end of the office. He had to get out, had to escape whatever this place was, but why? Why did it feel like he’d been here before?
Without thinking, he turned and reached for the door handle, and the world shifted again, pulling him out of the room.
Suddenly, he was in front of a large metallic object. It was sleek, with perfect lines and a smooth surface. It looked like some kind of transportation device, though Cedric had no words for it. The vehicle felt like a ghost in his memory, something he should know intimately but couldn’t fully grasp.
His hand was on its door, feeling the cold, hard surface beneath his fingers. Before he could even think, the ground beneath the vehicle erupted in an explosion. Fire and metal burst into the air, sending him flying backward. His body hit the ground hard, and he rolled to a stop, dazed and disoriented.
Cedric found himself back at the precinct, the dimly lit room now feeling even more oppressive than before. The air was thick with tension, and the sound of indistinct voices murmured somewhere nearby, almost like whispers. He glanced around at the rows of desks, each cluttered with papers, strange devices, and worn chairs, the scene a blur of chaotic familiarity.
Faylinn's soft mew finally pulled him from his disoriented thoughts.
“Did you see that too?” Cedric asked, his voice low as he looked at the glowing blue fox. Faylinn mewed again, a confirming sound, but she tilted her head slightly, signaling her confusion.
"The man... and that metallic thing," Cedric continued, his mind swirling with questions.
Faylinn mewed once more, her small body shifting on his shoulder as she nodded. She had seen what he had, but, like him, she didn’t understand any of it. Cedric’s brow furrowed as he took a slow, steady breath. Somehow, despite the strangeness, it all felt... familiar. The man’s voice, the metallic object, even this placet—he felt like he had seen them all before. But when? Where?
Trying to recall wasn’t helping. His mind felt like it was clawing through fog, unable to reach the answers.
He moved toward the board, the one he had seen earlier with papers scattered across it and red strings connecting them like some kind of investigation. Cedric's eyes landed on one of the papers. A name stood out among the chaos of writing.
"Victor?" he whispered, reading the name.
There was no image of anyone attached to the paper, no description, nothing to tell him who Victor was. Yet, strangely, Cedric’s mind conjured a face. It was vague, blurry, but there. Why was he thinking of someone, imagining a face, from this random scrap of paper?
He shook his head, frustrated by the lack of answers. He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gather more clues. His gaze drifted toward the rows of drawers in the desks.
Suddenly, the same drawer as before began shaking violently again.
But instead of approaching it, Cedric decided to check the others first, pulling open drawers one by one. Some were empty, others filled with papers and strange, unfamiliar objects. None of them gave him any useful information, no further insights into the illusion or why he was here.
The only place left to check was the shaking drawer. Cedric felt his hand twitch toward it instinctively, but he paused. He knew what would happen. As soon as he touched it, he’d be sent somewhere else again.
He sighed, casting a glance at Faylinn, who mewed softly in anticipation.
Cedric held his breath and touched the drawer once more, bracing himself for what was to come. Just as before, the world seemed to spin and pull, dragging him away from this place into another reality.
He found himself standing in the grand room once again.
The same man sat behind the desk, his silhouette barely visible against the backdrop of light. His voice echoed once more, the same phrase as before, “Stop chasing the criminals and come with me.”
Cedric narrowed his eyes, the words repeating like a broken record. "Who are you?" he muttered under his breath, but the man continued, his tone unchanging, as if he hadn’t heard Cedric’s question.
Cedric whispered to Faylinn, "Can you see his face?" The small fox mewed softly, almost apologetically, her blue form trembling slightly. She too couldn’t make out the man’s features; the light was too bright.
Cedric clenched his jaw, frustration gnawing at him. There was something off about this place, something that tugged at the edge of his memory. He needed answers, but he felt an overwhelming urge to leave, to escape this office.
Without thinking, Cedric moved forward, reaching out and grabbing the man’s hand. "What do you want from me?" Cedric demanded, his grip tightening.
The moment his hand touched the man, Cedric’s world spun violently, the sensation of the room twisting around him. The urge to leave grew unbearable, his senses reeling. He stumbled, pulling his hand away and darting for the door, grasping the handle desperately.
As soon as his fingers closed around it, the scene shifted once again.
He was back in front of the strange metallic vehicle, the one he couldn’t quite identify but somehow felt familiar. He knelt down, his head pounding, nausea creeping up as his stomach churned. Was this another of Veilith’s tricks? Was this constant shifting of reality part of her power?
As he knelt, trying to steady himself, his eyes caught something underneath the vehicle—a small, rectangular object with a blinking red light. His breath caught in his throat.
Before he could react, an explosion erupted from the device, sending a shockwave through the air. The force of it knocked Cedric off his feet, hurling him backward with a violent jolt.
When he opened his eyes, gasping for breath, he found himself back in the first place once again.
There had to be a connection to all of this—some thread that linked the chaotic scenes Cedric had been pulled into. Magnus had once told him that Veilith’s power manipulated the memories of her victims, creating illusions based on their past. But what about all these places? Cedric didn’t remember any of them. Or had he simply forgotten?
The possibility gnawed at him, the notion that these scenes might not be random. Could they be his memories? From long ago? Before he became the wanderer between worlds, before he took on the mantle of the Guardian?
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Cedric took a deep breath, letting the thought settle. Was this his life—the one he'd long forgotten, buried deep in the recesses of his mind? It didn’t matter. These memories wouldn’t help him break free of Veilith’s illusion.
There had to be another way out, just like last time.
Determined, Cedric quickly moved to the shaking drawer. Before it could start its familiar tremble, he grabbed the handle and yanked it open.
Inside, he found a collection of old documents and papers. A thick, worn folder sat on top, the edges frayed and yellowed with age. It looked like some kind of official report, neatly labeled with numbers and names. Cedric gingerly pulled it out, his fingers brushing over the rough texture of the paper.
It was a case file, the contents inside meticulously organized. The papers held records of criminals, their names and descriptions typed in bold letters. Each had a list of crimes, their offenses cataloged and the details of their arrests documented. There were photographs attached, grainy images of people who had been found, caught, and imprisoned.
The signature at the bottom of each page belonged to one person—a detective. The name was smudged, but Cedric could still make out most of it. He flipped through the pages, and one name kept repeating—Victor.
There was a handwritten note at the bottom of the last page, scribbled in quick, tight letters: “Still looking for Victor. The boss.”
“Victor...” Cedric murmured, his brow furrowing as he read the name aloud.
The office around him began to shake, a violent tremor running through the walls. The once blinding light outside the window turned pitch black, enveloping the room in eerie darkness. The familiar sounds—the murmurs of voices, the rumbling of cars—suddenly stopped.
Cedric froze as a loud, shattering sound echoed through the space, like glass breaking into a thousand pieces. The room itself seemed to ripple, reality warping around him.
Before he could react, he was pulled back once more—back into the grand room, the man’s room.
"Fay, can you use vines?" Cedric asked, his voice tight with frustration. His hand reached up to his head, rubbing at his temples, trying to chase away the pounding headache that had been building ever since he found himself in these strange places. Faylinn mewed softly in response, shaking her little head as she perched on his shoulder. She couldn’t summon any vines in this illusion.
The man behind the desk began speaking again, the same monotonous, commanding tone that Cedric had heard countless times. Each word seemed to echo, and yet, it was growing muffled in his ears, as though the more the man spoke, the less Cedric could hear. The urge to leave began to rise once more, the same suffocating pull that had gripped him earlier.
Something had happened in the last place—the shaking, the shattering, the way the first place had shifted. Maybe he had broken free from that part of the illusion. It should be the same here.
But the moment he tried to focus on his surroundings, the man’s voice grew more distant, more distorted. The familiar suffocation pressed down on him, as if the air in the room was growing heavier by the second. Faylinn mewed softly, sensing his rising tension, her glowing form flickering as she tried to calm him. But Cedric felt as though his legs were moving on their own, carrying him toward the door, against his will.
He tried to resist, planting his feet firmly on the ground, but it was no use. His body refused to listen, and with each step, the urge to leave grew stronger. Faylinn nipped at him, trying to break the pull, but his hand had already shot forward, grabbing onto the door handle.
And just like before, the world pulled him once again.
When the spinning stopped, he found himself standing beside the strange metallic vehicle again.
As much as Cedric wanted to take in the surroundings, knowing the dangers that awaited him in this strange illusion, he wasted no time. He quickly ducked down, feeling the familiar cold metal beneath his fingers as he reached for the small device attached under the vehicle. With a swift yank, he pulled it free. The red light on it began to beep faster, more urgent. Without hesitation, he flung it away.
The device exploded mid-air, but there was no debris, no scatter of metal or dust, no heat from the blast. Instead, there was only the sharp, echoing sound of shattering glass, the same sound he had heard before. The world around him seemed to crack, like a fragile mirror breaking under pressure.
In an instant, the vehicle and its surroundings melted away, and Cedric found himself back in the grand room with the man behind the desk, the oppressive brightness of the window glaring behind him.
That’s it. Each illusion has its own timer or object—something that forces him out once triggered. The precinct had the drawer, and the vehicle had that explosive device. Veilith’s illusion was based on time limits or traps designed to break.
Cedric’s mind raced, analyzing his next move. He had skipped right into the second place after the first was broken, meaning this man’s room—the room with the desk—it's just this place left. This was the final place he needed to break. If he could figure out how to dismantle this place, he could escape the illusion.
Cedric’s eyes narrowed as he pieced it together. If all the illusions were based on a set timer or specific trigger, then the key to breaking out of this place had to be the man sitting behind the desk. But it was too late. The man’s voice began to muffle again, and that familiar suffocating feeling surged, urging him to leave.
Cedric took a deep breath, retreating back toward the door, trying to maintain his composure under the pressure. It’s fine, he told himself. There’s only one place left.
He grabbed the door handle, bracing for the pull, and found himself back in the same room with the man. Once more, the same scene began to unfold, the man starting his speech again. But this time, Cedric had a plan.
That’s it, he thought. If this is the only illusion left, he could manipulate how it works. His sharp eyes swept across the room, trying to spot anything that stood out—anything he hadn’t noticed before. But just like the drawer in the precinct and the explosive beneath the vehicle, the only thing actively driving this illusion was the man.
Holding his breath, Cedric gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his fingers tense around the handle. This had to be it. The man was the core of this illusion, and breaking him would break the spell.
The moment the illusion reset, Cedric acted.
With a burst of speed, he dashed across the room, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. His hand shot forward, grabbing the man by the shoulder. The man didn’t resist—his expression remained neutral, almost oblivious to what was happening. Without hesitation, Cedric plunged his sword into the man’s head.
The world around him shattered.
As the blade pierced through, the man’s form began to crack, like fragile stone splitting apart. The sharp sound of shattering glass echoed in the air once more. Cracks spread from where the sword had entered, racing down the man’s body. His skin fractured like brittle stone, and pieces of him began to fall, breaking away into a pile of rubble at Cedric’s feet.
The grand room around him crumbled, the luxurious furniture, the shelves, and even the bright light from the window fracturing and collapsing. The illusion fell away like a broken sculpture, revealing the night sky and the vast sea around him.
Cedric was back on the deck of the ship. The stars twinkled above, and the gentle waves of the sea lapped against the hull. He had broken free from Veilith’s illusion.
Cedric scanned the quiet sea, the reflection of the moon shimmering on the calm waters, and the stars spread across the sky like diamonds against a dark canvas. The silence of the scene was disconcerting—too peaceful, too still. There was no sign of Veilith anywhere. The towering monster that had loomed before was gone, and no ripple disturbed the ocean’s surface.
Had she fled? Had Veilith retreated back to Argoth’s side, or was this another of her tricks?
The creak of a door interrupted his thoughts. He turned sharply, hand still on the hilt of his sword as Elysia and Tristan stepped onto the deck, their faces a mixture of concern and confusion.
"Cedric, what happened?" Elysia asked, her voice calm but edged with worry. She glanced at Faylinn, then back to Cedric, waiting for an explanation.
Cedric opened his mouth to speak, his hand loosening from his sword as he began to explain the events that had transpired—the illusion, the strange scenes he’d been thrown into, and the possibility that Veilith was still somewhere nearby. But before he could utter a word, Faylinn hissed, her fur standing on end, her glowing form bristling with agitation.
"Fay?" Cedric asked, his voice low, his gaze shifting from Elysia to the small fox on his shoulder. "What is it?"
Faylinn hissed again, her eyes glowing brighter as she stared unblinkingly at Elysia and Tristan. Her tiny body trembled with a warning Cedric had come to trust. He furrowed his brow, trying to understand what was setting her off.
"What’s wrong with her?" Elysia asked, taking a cautious step forward. Faylinn let out a low mew, her sharp gaze still fixed on Elysia.
"What do you mean about me not being real?" Elysia asked, her voice quiet, almost confused, as if she couldn’t quite process the meaning of Faylinn’s hissing. Her eyes searched Cedric’s for an explanation.
Without hesitation, Cedric drew his sword in a fluid motion and rushed toward Elysia, the blade gleaming under the moonlight.
Tristan’s reaction was swift. He stepped in front of Elysia, blocking Cedric’s path with his own sword drawn, the two blades clashing in a spark of steel. "What the hell are you doing?" Tristan yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet of the night as he locked blades with Cedric, his expression a mix of shock and anger.
But Cedric didn’t falter. He used his free hand to strike at Tristan’s side, delivering a powerful blow to his ribs. Tristan stumbled back, losing his balance for a moment, but quickly recovered, bringing his sword up again to block Cedric’s next attack.
"What’s gotten into you, Cedric?" Tristan shouted, gritting his teeth as he pushed back against Cedric’s relentless strikes.
But Cedric’s mind was racing, his focus sharpened. He wasn’t fighting Tristan—he was fighting Veilith. This was all part of her game, a finely crafted illusion designed to throw him off balance, to make him question what was real. But he knew one thing for certain—Elysia couldn’t understand Faylinn’s mew. And that mistake had saved him.
Faylinn hissed louder, her glowing form flaring up on Cedric’s shoulder as her eyes stayed locked on the false Elysia. She knew it too.
"Show yourself, Veilith!" Cedric demanded, his voice sharp, filled with the edge of growing frustration as he retreated a few steps from the two figures in front of him. His sword was still raised, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. This illusion had nearly fooled him, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down again.
Tristan’s face twisted in confusion, his eyes darting between Cedric and Elysia. "What are you talking about? What’s going on?" He sounded desperate, his sword still raised, but there was no hostility in his stance—only confusion and disbelief.
"He's not Tristan," Cedric muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he watched the illusionary figures closely. "And you’re not Elysia."
As soon as Cedric spoke, both figures—Elysia and Tristan—dropped their act. Their bodies began to morph and twist, their faces dissolving into shadows, and their forms elongated, shifting into the silhouette of a woman, her entire figure cloaked in darkness. Her body seemed to ripple, like she was a part of the shadows themselves, never truly solid but constantly shifting in and out of focus.
So this was Veilith.
"Did Argoth send you to stop us alone?" Cedric asked, pointing his sword directly at her, his tone steady and sure, though his mind was already assessing the situation carefully.
Veilith didn’t answer. Instead, she raised one hand, her slender, shadowy fingers spreading wide. In an instant, a wave of hands erupted from the deck, clawing and twisting, shooting upward from the wooden planks to latch onto Cedric’s feet.
Cedric reacted quickly, moving with precision as he dodged the grasping hands. He kept his footing light, shifting away from the dark tendrils just before they could ensnare him. His feet skimmed the deck as he rushed toward Veilith, his sword poised to strike.
He swung his blade, swift and sure, but before his sword could land, a mass of hands burst from the deck, forming a wall of writhing shadows. They twisted together, creating a barrier that blocked his attack.
"Fay!" Cedric called out, feeling Faylinn’s presence at his side. "Use vines!" He needed something to counter Veilith’s hands, some way to break through the wall of darkness.
Faylinn mewed softly, her voice tinged with frustration. She couldn’t summon vines here—no solid land, no soil to anchor her magic. Being surrounded by water left her power limited.
Cedric nodded slightly, understanding their predicament. They were at a disadvantage, far from the environment that would give them more options. But he didn’t let it shake him. He had faced worse odds before.
The narrow deck and the surrounding ocean weren’t in his favor, but Elysia’s abilities could be. Her power had shown the potential to dispel Veilith’s illusions, but bringing Elysia directly into this battle came with risks. Veilith could easily manipulate the others if she focused her efforts, turning his own team against him through her deceptions.
Cedric took a steady breath, considering his next move. The sea stretched around them, vast and unhelpful. The deck was too confined, leaving little room to maneuver, and Veilith’s hands could reach from anywhere. Every moment spent here gave her more of an advantage.
Brute force. Cedric wasn’t one to favor blunt solutions, but at the moment, it seemed the most practical. If Faylinn couldn’t summon vines, and Elysia’s magic was too risky to use without exposing his friends to Veilith, then it would have to come down to strength and precision.
Veilith raised her hand again, shadowy hands gathering around her, poised to strike. Cedric knew what was coming, and his decision was made.
He tightened his grip on his sword, his expression calm and focused. There would be no more waiting. No more illusions.
With a sharp breath, Cedric charged forward, sword at the ready, his movements quick and direct. If there was no other way to break through Veilith’s defenses, he would rely on the one thing he could count on—himself.
Cedric charged at Veilith, his sword gleaming in the moonlight as he closed the distance. The wall of shadowy hands that Veilith summoned surged up again, twisting and reaching, their grotesque forms writhing like a mass of snakes ready to strike. Cedric swung his sword in a wide arc, slicing through the shadows. They disintegrated as the blade connected, but new hands appeared almost immediately, rising from the deck as if Veilith could pull them from the very darkness surrounding them.
He pressed forward, slashing through the grasping limbs, but no matter how many he cut down, more took their place. The sheer number of them was overwhelming, forcing him to slow his advance. For every hand he severed, another two would reach out, clawing at his legs, pulling at his arms, trying to drag him down into the swirling darkness beneath.
Veilith watched silently, her dark form barely visible in the night as if she were part of the shadow itself. Her presence was unsettling, a constant reminder that this was her domain, a world built on illusion and trickery. She didn’t need to move much—her power did the work for her. The hands continued to form, crawling out of every corner, every shadow, forcing Cedric to stay on the defensive.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Cedric’s head, a pulsing headache that made him falter mid-swing. He gritted his teeth, trying to shake it off, but the pain grew stronger, almost blinding him. His vision blurred for a moment, the deck and the shadowy hands swimming before his eyes.
The hands grew more aggressive, swarming Cedric from all directions. One latched onto his wrist, pulling him off balance. He stumbled, barely managing to tear the hand away with his free arm, but it was too late—another set of hands grabbed his legs, yanking him down.
Cedric fell to one knee, the pain in his head intensifying. His vision darkened at the edges, his body screaming for a reprieve. He couldn’t summon the strength to teleport away like he usually would with this headache. Every time he tried to gather himself, the pounding in his skull made it harder to concentrate. The shadowy hands took advantage of the moment, dragging him lower, tightening their grip.
Veilith stepped forward, her form shifting and growing, looming over him like a dark specter. Cedric struggled to rise, but his body felt heavy, his movements sluggish. The hands were relentless, pulling him closer to the deck, closer to the darkness beneath it.
With a roar of defiance, Cedric slammed his sword into the deck, pushing back against the hands with all his remaining strength. The blade slicing through the nearest tendrils. The pressure on his body lessened, but the headache persisted, gnawing at his senses, trying to overwhelm him.
He forced himself to stand, one shaky step at a time, using his sword as leverage. Veilith watched him, her head tilted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she saw him struggle back to his feet. There was no need for words—her power was suffocating enough.
Cedric lunged forward again, swinging his blade with renewed purpose. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for long, not with the pain clouding his thoughts, but he had no choice. He had to push through. Each strike was precise, cutting down the hands that reached for him, but they reformed just as quickly. It was like fighting smoke—no matter how much he cut, they always returned.
Another wave of pain shot through his head, and this time it was stronger, almost blinding him completely. He stumbled, his sword slipping in his grasp, the blade grazing the deck with a harsh scrape. He could feel his strength waning, his vision blurring again as he struggled to keep his balance.
But just as the shadows closed in again, Cedric summoned his power. He blinked forward, teleporting a short distance away, narrowly avoiding the mass of hands that swarmed where he once stood. He reappeared behind Veilith, swinging his sword down at her, but before the blade could connect, she vanished into the shadows, reforming on the other side of the deck.
Cedric gritted his teeth, slowing down the next wave of hands with his power. They moved sluggishly now, giving him a chance to regain his footing. His head still pounded, but he forced himself to focus. He could see the cracks in Veilith’s illusion—the way the shadows flickered and wavered, the subtle delay in her movements.
Cedric lunged at her again, using his blink to stay ahead of the hands that reached for him. Each time he struck, Veilith would raise another wall of shadows, but Cedric was relentless. He slowed her movements, giving himself just enough time to break through her defenses. His blade sliced through the shadows again and again, forcing her to retreat.
Veilith’s silence was unnerving. She never made a sound, not even when his sword found its mark. But each time he landed a hit, her form flickered, the darkness around her shuddering as if her very essence was being torn apart.
The pain in Cedric’s head surged again, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled, gasping for breath, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He blinked forward one last time, appearing directly in front of Veilith. His sword swung down in a final, decisive strike.
The blade cut through her form, and for the first time, Veilith’s shadowy body began to break apart. Her figure cracked like glass, the pieces falling away and dissolving into the night air. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry out—she simply faded, her body disintegrating into nothingness.
As the last of her form disappeared, the shadows around the ship melted away. The sea was calm, the sky clear, and the monster in the distance was gone.
Cedric stood there, breathing heavily, his body trembling with exhaustion. The pain in his head was still there, but it had dulled, leaving behind a lingering ache. He sheathed his sword, glancing out over the water.
It was over. For now.
But then everything fell silent—completely. The gentle rocking of the ship ceased, and the air itself seemed to stop moving. Cedric knew this feeling well—the eerie stillness when time itself had frozen. But this time, it wasn’t him. His powers hadn’t reached the point where he could freeze anything, let alone manipulate time entirely.
"You…" A voice echoed from above, breaking the oppressive silence. Cedric’s eyes shot upward to see a figure floating in the air—Argoth. The dark sorcerer gazed down upon him, his expression unreadable, though Cedric could sense the malice radiating from him. "You killed my Veilith."
Cedric wiped the sweat from his brow, gripping his sword tightly as he met Argoth’s gaze. "Where is the Empress?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the stillness.
Argoth let out a low chuckle, cold and mocking. "You should’ve never come to me" he sneered. "You may have been lucky enough to make it back alive, but coming here was a fool’s errand. Lydia… she’s happier staying with me. You’re wasting your time."
"Kidnapping someone against their will doesn’t bring happiness, Argoth," Cedric shot back. "And whatever you plan to do with humanity, I won’t let it happen."
Argoth's laughter grew louder, more sadistic. "Humanity?" He tilted his head as though Cedric had said something amusing. "Where did you get that idea from?" Argoth continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "I never cared about humanity. My only desire has always been her—my Lydia. Long before Darius ever laid his eyes on her, I loved her. She was mine, and all I wanted was to be with her."
The sorcerer’s eyes gleamed with a twisted obsession. "But my little nephew and his merry band had to come and try to take her away from me."
Argoth extended his hand toward Cedric, his expression softening in a way that was almost unsettling. "But you... you gave me power, and for that, I thank you. With this power, we could achieve so much together. Think of what we—"
"I’ve heard it all before." Cedric interrupted sharply, his voice steady and cold. "Join me. Gain more power. Take over the world. Rule it all. It’s the same empty promise every time." His eyes narrowed as he met Argoth’s gaze unwaveringly. "It doesn’t matter what your end goal is. I won’t let you, and neither will anyone else."
Argoth’s playful smile faded, replaced by a look of cold seriousness. "Very well," he said, his tone darkening. "If you wish to die that much, then come to me. Waste your life away." His form flickered like smoke in the wind, his final words lingering in the air. "I’ll be waiting."
And just like that, Argoth vanished, his presence dissolving into nothingness, leaving the ship’s deck eerily quiet once more.
Cedric stood still for a moment, his sword still in his hand. Slowly, he sheathed it, the familiar sound of metal sliding against leather breaking the silence. Faylinn mewed softly from his shoulder, her tiny body trembling slightly as she nuzzled against his neck.
"You don’t need to feel sorry, Fay," Cedric muttered, reaching up to gently pat her head. "We’ll be ready."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the silhouette of an island was just visible in the distance. That was No Man’s Land, and it was where Argoth waited for them—the final confrontation. The last chapter of this world's story was about to unfold.
Cedric rubbed his temples, feeling the dull throb of a headache that had persisted even after Veilith’s defeat. But there was no time to focus on that. Morgath’s attempt at revival had failed, and now Argoth was the only obstacle left in Elysia’s story.
The end was near. Cedric could feel it. This world’s narrative was winding down, heading toward its inevitable conclusion. He would see it through to the end—no matter the cost.