While Carl was fighting with the bodies rising from Death, Astron plunged into the darkness of the chosen tunnel, his steps silent against the cold, hard ground.
The tunnel bore the scars of heavy use, with marks on the walls where tools had chipped away at the stone and footprints long set in the dust, leading deeper into the heart of the earth.
As he advanced, the unsettling laughter that had accompanied them thus far resonated through the tunnel once more, wrapping around him like a chilling breeze. "Have you discovered the answer to my riddle, wanderer?" the voice taunted, its tone dripping with amusent and malice.
Astron remained silent, focusing on the environnt.
He had considered the riddle, its words echoing in his mind, but he decided to not answer it.
Seemingly disappointed but not deterred, the voice cackled again. "No answer? Perhaps you require a clue to guide your way. But rember, every clue has its price," it sneered, and with a final, mocking laugh, it vanished into the silence that followed.
Before a second passed, the ground beneath him stirred. From the earthen floor, figures began to erge, not of bone and decay, but ford from a viscous, black liquid that seed to absorb the faint light around them.
These figures, shaped into the forms of miners complete with uniforms and pickaxes, stood before him, a ghastly imitation of life.
Their eyes, empty yet filled with a haunting light, fixed on Astron as they brandished their tools nacingly. "He has the 'thing,'" they whispered amongst themselves, their voices a chorus of despair and accusation.
"Give it to !"
"Give it to !"
"Give it to !"
Without hesitation, the liquid-ford miners charged at Astron, their movents eerily silent. Astron, had already noticed that he would combat against sothing, so he didn't mind.
These were no ordinary foes; they were manifestations of the earth spirit's power, shaped from the mories and despair of those who had once toiled in these tunnels.
Dancing between the swings of their pickaxes, Astron fought back with precision and grace. Each strike he delivered disrupted the liquid forms of his attackers, causing them to montarily lose cohesion before they reford, relentless in their assault.
SPURT!
And after not even a minute have passed, the miners all disappeared, returning to the black liquid they once were.
However, in the corner of his eyes, Astron could see a source of mana moving. It had the small black liquid form, but he knew it was the culprit.
Yet, as he attempted to chase, another wave of miners rose from the ground.
"I need it. I need the reward."
"I need it. I need the reward."
"I need it. I need the reward."
"I need it. I need the reward."
This ti they had repeated a different word, yet they pounced at him with their eyes bloodshot.
As Astron continued to fend off the relentless waves of liquid-ford miners, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.
Each ti he dispatched a wave, they dissolved back into the black liquid from which they ca, only for another group to rise up in their place.
As he continued to fight, Astron's mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps there was a relic or artifact hidden within these tunnels, sothing that held the power to control or manipulate the earth spirits.
Or perhaps it was sothing more sinister, a curse or enchantnt that had bound these miners to an eternity of servitude and suffering.
But regardless of the cause, Astron knew that he could not afford to falter. With each step closer to the end of the tunnel, he felt the weight of his task pressing down upon him, urging him forward.
But it wasn't just the ceaseless onslaught that troubled him. There was sothing different about these miners compared to the previous attackers.
They all referred to him as if he possessed sothing they desired, repeating the sa phrase with a disturbing fervor: "I need it. I need the reward." Or with sothing like, "I am the one who can only get it."
Their eyes, once filled with haunting light, now glinted with madness and cruelty, a stark contrast to the hollow gazes of their predecessors.
Astron realized that there was a pattern erging—a pattern that hinted at a deeper connection between these miners and the source of the voice.
******
Sotis, we people wonder what fate is awaiting us. Is this life worth going through? Do we really need to overco all these obstacles?
Everyone had these types of monts to think. But then, as we live our lives in our monotonous ways, in the flow of our daily lives, we forget to question such things.
After all, even after questioning, how many could get the answer they wished? This was essentially why most of the nihilist and anarchist people were observed to be the ones who had a lot of free ti.
Then, what happens to those who are tied into this underground place, working for their lives on the line? Do they get to question these things? Do they have free ti?
Do they even live as a human being? Living in the darkness underneath the ground where no sun could enter, trying to et the next month's daily expenses.
How do the people giving them these jobs view them?
Isn't the answer obvious?
Numbers.
Just numbers. Many can go, and many will co. The people will leave, and others who need money will co. The cycle will continue, and the things will remain the sa.
These were the questions that suddenly appeared in my head as if my thoughts were influenced by the surrounding atmosphere.
'It makes sense, though. I had far long noticed the Psychic- Mana influencing .'
It was kind of ironic that now, after encountering Belthazor, such things felt like child's play.
'And maybe that is the case?'
But then, before my thoughts could linger about those things any longer, I saw sothing materializing before .
It was a body that was slowly being made from the black liquid.
I already knew what was awaiting the mont I entered this tunnel. With my eyes, I could see that the number of mana veins that were connected to just one place concentrated there.
It supported my assumptions, so I didn't hesitate.
'And now here we are. Facing myself three tis.'
The clones materialized fully before , and their appearances were strikingly similar to mine—identical, in fact, except for the uncanny smiles that stretched across their faces.
These expressions, eerily out of place, were a clear divergence from my usual deanor. The smiles were like of a grin, but at the sa ti they held the innocence of a child, and I knew I didn't have such a thing any longer.
It was disconcerting, a visual reminder that these were not re reflections but entities with their own intent.
Each clone was dressed in the sa attire I wore, their purple eyes and black hair mirroring my own, yet the light within those eyes seed different, almost twisted.
The paleness of their skin under the dim light of the tunnel added an otherworldly aura to their presence.
"Why don't you smile?"
I heard myself saying that, but the tone was sohow sound unnatural.
"There is no need for to."
"….."
Without another word being exchanged, it was as if an unspoken agreent was reached—a silent acknowledgnt of the challenge that lay ahead.
The tension in the air was palpable, a prelude to the imminent confrontation.
SWOOSH!
With a burst of speed, I dashed forward, closing the distance between us with swift, decisive steps.
My grip on my daggers tightened, the familiar weight of the blades offering a semblance of comfort amidst the uncertainty.
The clones mirrored my movents, advancing with equal speed and intent, their own daggers poised for attack.
The engagent was imdiate and intense, a flurry of movents and clashes. Our blades t with sparks, each strike and parry a testant to our mirrored skills and capabilities.
The clones, despite their unsettling smiles, fought with a precision and agility that matched my own, their attacks seemingly predicting my every move.
At least that was what they probably thought.
'I see.'
The exchange made realize what was happening. After all, essentially what they were doing now was the moves they saw before while fighting the previous monster. As if like an collective consciousness was around, it transferred the information.
This was already what I had suspected from the start, as the previous clone attacked with a pickaxe while these ones were holding the sa dagger in my hand.
I understood their strategy, their potential moves, because, in essence, they were an echo of my own.
–SWOOSH!
As I engaged the first clone, my initial attack was a feint, designed to be evaded, playing into the expected choreography of the clash.
True to form, the clone sidestepped my strike, its movents mirroring my own anticipated reaction. In the instant it moved to exploit the perceived opening, I tapped into the essence of my skill [Umbral Steps] derived from [Shadowborne], vanishing from sight only to reappear behind it.
–SLASH!
Before it could react to my sudden disappearance, my dagger found its neck, severing the connection to its existence with a decisive slash. Its form started to dissipate in an instant, turning black liquid, returning to the darkness.
The montary focus on the first clone left ostensibly vulnerable, a weakness the second clone did not hesitate to exploit.
CLANK!
It lunged forward, aiming to capitalize on my engagent. However, prepared for such a retaliation, I deflected its dagger with a swift parry, redirecting its montum.
In that fleeting opportunity, I invoked the [Celestalith]'s Nebula form, unleashing the energy of Dark Moon that snared the remaining clones in a gravitational bind.
The first of these caught in the Nebula's embrace t a swift end as my blade cleaved through it, dispersing its form into nothingness.
The second clone, however, faced a different fate. Instead of a quick destruction, I chose to trap it within the intensified gravity of [Celestalith]'s Nebula form.
The air around it thickened, an invisible force pressing down with overwhelming weight, immobilizing it completely.
After all, it was the source of this whole ordeal.
"You got ."
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