The chamber quaked around us, ancient dust raining down from the ceiling as those carved eyes pulsed with an otherworldly glow. I might have been impressed if I wasn't seconds away from having my head removed by Dominic Ashworth.
"What have you done?" Julian Radford demanded again, his voice cracking with panic.
"Nothing," I insisted, straining against my bindings. "This isn't ."
Dominic's grip tightened on my shoulder. "Liar! You've activated so ancient formation!"
Another violent tremor shook the chamber. One of the lesser cultivators lost his footing and crashed to the floor with a yelp. The glowing eyes along the walls seed to track his movent, their eerie light intensifying.
"Dominic," Julian called urgently. "We need to leave. Now. Whatever's happening—"
"Not without dealing with him first," Dominic snarled, his face inches from mine. "This dog humiliated the Ashworth na!"
I couldn't help myself. Despite the dire situation, I laughed. "And you made it so easy."
His hand shot to my throat, squeezing hard enough to make black spots dance across my vision. "I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Knight."
"Dominic!" Julian shouted, limping forward with Frederick's blade still embedded in his thigh. "Stop! Look!"
We both turned to see what had caught Julian's attention. Near the entrance, a figure had appeared—tall, imposing, wrapped in flowing black robes that seed to absorb the light around them.
Dominic's grip loosened slightly. "Who's that?"
The figure took a step forward, and the trembling of the chamber intensified. Even from where I sat, I could feel waves of power emanating from them—cold, ancient, and utterly rciless.
"Is that...?" Julian whispered, his face draining of color.
"The Sect Lord," one of the younger cultivators breathed, dropping to his knees again.
I squinted, trying to make out details of the newcor's face, but shadows clung to them like a second skin. All I could see clearly was the gleam of their eyes—the sa eerie glow as the carvings on the walls.
Dominic's hand fell away from my throat as he turned to face this new threat. "Impossible," he muttered. "The Immortal Bane Sect was destroyed centuries ago."
The figure took another step forward, and several of the cultivators scrambled backward in terror. Even Julian looked ready to bolt.
"Great Sect Lord," Julian called out, his voice shaking. "We ant no disrespect by our presence. We were rely—"
The figure raised one hand, and Julian's words died in his throat.
I held my breath, waiting for whatever ca next—likely our collective deaths.
Then the figure spoke. "Is that how you address ? 'Great Sect Lord'?"
The voice was familiar. Too familiar.
The figure reached up and pulled back their hood, revealing a face I knew well—because I saw it every morning in the mirror.
It was . Or rather, soone wearing my face.
"What the hell?" I breathed.
Dominic whirled back to , then to the figure, confusion warring with rage on his features. "What trick is this?"
The figure wearing my face smiled coldly. "No trick, Dominic Ashworth. rely your grand tribute to the man you ca here to kill."
Understanding dawned on at the sa mont it did for Dominic. This wasn't so ancient sect lord or phantom. This was soone using an illusion or disguise to make themselves appear as .
And they had just revealed that Dominic and his party had been kowtowing to —Liam Knight—all along.
"Frederick," I whispered. It had to be. Sohow he'd survived and was trying to save .
The figure's smile widened. "Don't insult . That pathetic creature lies bleeding over there."
Not Frederick then. Who else would help ? Who else could—
My thoughts were interrupted by Dominic's bellow of rage. "You dare?" he roared, turning back to with murder in his eyes. "You dare make fools of us?"
"It wasn't !" I protested, pulling uselessly at my restraints. "I don't know who that is!"
"Enough lies!" Dominic raised his hand, gathering deadly energy.
The figure laughed—my laugh, but colder, harsher. "Go ahead, Dominic. Kill him. Show everyone how the mighty Ashworths solve their problems—with petty violence when their pride is wounded."
Julian limped forward, grabbing Dominic's arm. "Wait. Sothing's not right."
Dominic shook him off. "I don't care who or what that is. Knight dies now."
"Are you certain I'm not the real Liam Knight?" the figure asked, stepping closer. "Perhaps your prisoner is the imposter."
Dominic hesitated, doubt flashing across his face.
I stared at the figure, trying to make sense of what was happening. Who would go to such lengths to impersonate ? To what end?
"Enough gas," Julian snapped. "Both of you will die here."
The figure tilted its head. "I think not. You've already provided with everything I need."
"And what's that?" Julian demanded.
"Your pride," the figure replied simply. "Your arrogance. And most importantly—" it gestured to the carved eyes on the walls, which had begun pulsing faster, "—your presence."
With horrifying suddenness, the eyes released beams of light that struck Julian and Dominic directly in their chests. They scread, dropping to their knees as the light seed to burn through them.
"What are you doing to them?" I shouted at the figure.
It turned to , and for just an instant, the illusion flickered—revealing not my face, but blank darkness where a face should be.
"Freeing you," it said simply.
More beams of light shot from the walls, striking every cultivator in the chamber except . They writhed and scread, unable to break free from the light that pierced them.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the light vanished. The cultivators collapsed to the ground, gasping and trembling.
The figure walked toward , and with each step, its appearance changed—shrinking, shifting, until I found myself looking at Clara Vance's familiar face.
"Clara?" I gasped, stunned. "How—what—"
"Surprise," she said with that quirky smile of hers, though sothing darker lurked behind her eyes. "Miss ?"
"How did you find ? How did you do... all of that?"
She shrugged. "I followed you. As for the rest..." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a familiar mask—the one we'd found in the Huge Pit. "This helps."
Before I could respond, Dominic staggered to his feet, his face contorted with pain and rage. "You little witch," he snarled, lunging toward Clara.
I shouted a warning, but Clara didn't flinch. She simply raised her hand, and Dominic froze mid-lunge, suspended in the air as if caught by invisible hands.
"That's not very nice," she said mildly. "I think you need a tiout."
With a flick of her wrist, she sent Dominic flying across the chamber. He crashed into the wall with bone-breaking force and crumpled to the floor, unmoving.
I stared at her in shock. "Clara... what happened to you?"
Sothing sad and ancient flickered in her eyes. "I grew up, I guess."
She knelt beside my chair and examined the magical bracelets binding to it. "These look nasty."
"They are," I confird, wincing as another wave of pain shot through my wrists. "They activate whenever I try to use my energy."
Clara studied them for a mont, then looked up at with an apologetic smile. "This might hurt."
She placed her small hands over the bracelets and closed her eyes. For a mont, nothing happened. Then I felt it—a cold, dark energy seeping from her fingers into the tal. The bracelets began to vibrate, then to crack.
Julian, who had managed to get to his knees, saw what was happening and shouted, "Stop her! The restraints—"
Too late. With a sound like shattering glass, the bracelets on my wrists exploded into fragnts. At the sa mont, identical sounds echoed throughout the chamber as every cultivator's bracelet—their source of power and status—shattered simultaneously.
The pain in my wrists vanished instantly. I felt my energy rushing back, flooding my system with warmth and power.
Clara sat back on her heels, looking pleased with herself. "Better?"
"Much," I said, flexing my hands. "But how did you—"
My question was cut short as Dudley Lowell charged toward us with a roar, his sword raised high. The breaking of his bracelet hadn't diminished his fighting spirit.
I moved to intercept him, but Clara was faster. Without even looking at him, she gestured casually, and Dudley stopped dead in his tracks, his face frozen in a rictus of rage and terror.
"Rude," Clara murmured. "We're having a conversation."
She closed her fist, and Dudley's sword crumbled to dust in his hand. Then, with another flick of her fingers, she sent him tumbling backward to join Dominic against the wall.
I stared at her, struggling to reconcile the Clara I knew with this terrifying being before . "What happened to you?" I asked again, more urgently.
Clara's smile faltered. "I lost soone I cared about," she said simply. "It changed ."
Before I could press further, Julian's voice cut through the chamber. "This isn't over," he growled, struggling to his feet despite the blade still embedded in his thigh. "You've only made things worse for yourselves."
I stood up from the throne, relishing the feeling of freedom. "I disagree, Julian. I think things just got a lot worse for you."
He laughed bitterly. "You think breaking our bracelets changes anything? The Ashworths, the Martial Guild—they'll hunt you to the ends of the earth for this."
I glanced at Clara, who was watching Julian with detached curiosity. "Maybe. But right now, I'm more concerned with making sure you never hurt anyone again."
Julian's eyes darted around the chamber, assessing his options. Most of his companions were still down, groaning or unconscious. Dominic hadn't moved since hitting the wall. Without their bracelets, they'd lost their advantage.
"What happened to Frederick?" I asked, rembering my injured friend.
"Over there," Clara said, pointing to the far corner. "He's alive, but barely."
I started toward Frederick, but Julian chose that mont to make his move. With surprising speed for a wounded man, he lunged at Clara, a hidden dagger gleaming in his hand.
"Clara!" I shouted, knowing I couldn't reach her in ti.
I needn't have worried. Without even turning to face him, Clara held up her hand. Julian froze mid-strike, his body rigid, the dagger inches from her back.
"That was stupid," she said softly, finally turning to look at him. This chapter is part of the collection on *.
Julian's eyes widened with terror as Clara slowly reached up and touched his forehead with one finger. "Sleep," she commanded.
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
I stared at her, a chill running down my spine. "Who are you?" I whispered. "What are you?"
Clara looked at , and for a mont, her eyes seed to darken until they were bottomless pools of shadow. Then she blinked, and they were normal again.
"I'm still Clara," she said, sounding almost like her old self. "Just... more now."
She held up the mask she'd pulled from her pocket. "This showed things. Taught things."
I approached her cautiously. "The mask from the Huge Pit? I thought it rejected you."
"It did, at first," she admitted. "But after..." she paused, pain crossing her features, "...after what happened, it accepted . Or I accepted it. I'm not sure which."
I reached out and gently took the mask from her hands. It looked ordinary enough—a simple face mask carved from so dark, unknown material. But when I touched it, I felt a cold pulse of energy that made my skin crawl.
"This thing is dangerous, Clara," I said softly. "What exactly has it done to you?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It showed who I really am. Who I was always ant to be."
A groan from across the chamber interrupted us—Frederick was regaining consciousness.
"We should get him help," I said, handing the mask back to Clara. "And then we need to talk. About everything."
Clara nodded, slipping the mask back into her pocket. "We will. But first—" she gestured at the fallen cultivators, "—what do you want to do with them?"
I looked around at the elite of Veridia City, now broken and powerless without their magical bracelets. For years, these people had oppressed and terrorized those beneath them. They'd taken Isabelle, hunted , killed my friends.
"Leave them," I decided. "Without their bracelets, they're nothing. And they've got a long walk back to Veridia City."
Clara's eyes glead with sothing that might have been approval—or might have been disappointnt.
"As you wish," she said. "Let's go."
As we gathered Frederick's broken body and prepared to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking away with soone both familiar and completely unknown. Clara had saved , yes—but at what cost to herself?
And as we stepped out of the chamber, leaving our enemies groaning in our wake, I wondered what other secrets the mask held—and what other changes it might bring to the quiet, strange girl I thought I knew.
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