“Let’s get this over with,” Asil said, pushing the door open. Her resolve hardened in her voice. They stepped into a stone hall that stretched away into flickering shadows.
Along either side of the passage, doors stood half ajar or battered off their hinges. The torchlight from the walls played over deep scratches gouged into the floor and dark scorch marks across the stone—clear signs of combat. Asil’s gaze flicked across each gouge, the corners of her mouth tightening in a grim set.
Abby tapped Asil’s arm, her eyes wide. “Asil… look.”
Asil turned to glance back at the threshold—only to find that Fort Warren’s courtyard had vanished. In its place lay a dim chamber lit by one feeble torch on the far wall. At the center sprawled the carcass of a hideous creature, its limbs twisted in unnatural angles, half burnt and half melted as though battered by powerful magic.
A tremor of revulsion ran through Abby. She’d seen goblins and demons, even large wolves, but this thing looked dredged from the darkest nightmares. Sensing her dread, Asil stepped over to examine the corpse. “It’s a Demogorgon,” she murmured, eyeing the scorch marks and half-severed limbs. “Somebody cooked it good. I’m betting, Jack.”
A fierce surge of pride flickered across her face. Jack is alive… blowing through this corridor. “Let’s not dwell on it.” She wiped her hands reflexively. “We’ve got a ways to go.”
They pressed further along the passage, peering into each open door as they passed: black smears of monster blood, toppled furniture, and more battered bodies. Every step amplified the sense of a “hurricane-like path”—someone unstoppable forging through just hours, maybe days, before. The quiet unsettled them more than any active threat.
“D’you think he’s alone?” Abby asked the faint torchlight painting anxious shadows on her face. She had no clue who might travel with Jack, but the distribution of fallen foes—some scattered in flanking positions, others apparently dispatched at range—suggested a coordinated effort. Asil pressed her lips tight, deep in thought.
“…I don’t know,” she said at last, taking in the battered corridor. Flickers of worry and curiosity warred in her eyes. If Jack was forging ahead—maybe accompanied, maybe not—then she and Abby had to keep up. She inhaled, forcing her focus onto what lay ahead. If the presence of a Demogorgon was any sign, greater trials still lurked in the gloom.
The torches sputtered, and a faint draft passed through. At the end of the hall, yet another half-open door beckoned, the gloom behind it seemingly deeper than the rest. Asil gripped her blade hilt a little tighter, Abby’s daggers held close at her side. Together, they advanced—aware that wherever Jack had gone, they were only a few steps behind his echoing footsteps.
Partway down the corridor, they came upon a single closed door. Nearly every other threshold so far had hung open, its contents long since purged by Jack – or so they assumed. The sudden sight of a firmly shut door set off a flare of warning in Asil’s mind. She paused, hand hovering near the latch, heart thudding with a twinge of apprehension.
Abby stepped behind her, twin daggers clutched tight. “Strange how this one’s sealed,” she murmured, flicking a glance at the scuffed floor. “Think the boss forgot to clear it?”
Asil shook her head, ignoring the dryness creeping in her throat. “We’ll see.”
She wrenched the handle and shoved the door open. Torchlight spilled into a chamber that, at first glance, appeared deserted. The walls bore marks of an older skirmish—splintered stone, old scorch lines—but no fresh bodies or monstrous remains. An inexplicable hush weighed on the air.
“It looks like—” Asil began, stepping further inside. But her words died the instant two humanlike figures coalesced out of thin air, flickering from silhouette to full form. Each wore a large, sinister grin, lips stretched unnervingly wide. Their eyes gleamed with predatory malice, giving them a near-demonic cast.
Abby felt her stomach flip. One figure was the spitting image of Asil—the same lithe warrior’s frame, the same Blade Dancer sword in a twisted, shadowy version. The other a near-perfect copy of Abby, bearing twisted duplicates of her daggers. But where Asil and Abby were vibrant and alive, these copies exuded a colorless, distorted aura like something half-formed from nightmares.
“Doppelgangers?” Abby’s voice jumped. She recognized how they mimicked the real pair’s posture and stance. Distorted copies—missing warmth, but shaped in every detail.
Then they attacked.
Abby’s reflection lunged first, brandishing a Shadow Dancer skill. A swirl of ephemeral darkness flickered around its ankles, letting it close the gap faster than Abby expected. Abby just managed to meet the strike, metal sparking as dagger clashed with dagger. The clone’s grin only widened.
“They’re using my own style!” Abby spat, flipping backward into Shadow Meld—only for her dark twin to vanish in the same swirl, reappearing at her flank. Abby hissed in shock, twisting to parry a second blow that nearly cut her shoulder.
Meanwhile, Asil’s double hammered her with an unrelenting chain of Blade Dancer arcs. Each flourish spin, each precise step that Asil had spent years perfecting, it threw back at her with savage force. “All that training…” Asil ground out, struggling to block. “Thrown right back at me.”
The illusions moved in perfect sync, brandishing skills that matched or predicted their every synergy. The real Asil tried to coordinate with Abby—like they often did—launching a combined opening. But the doppelgangers seemed to sense it, preemptively splitting them apart with a vicious counter. The echoing ring of steel and the hiss of illusions colliding turned the small chamber into a crucible of lethal skill.
The black-lipped smirks on each clone never wavered, as though they derived genuine joy from cornering their real counterparts. Abby’s copy let out a silent, open-mouthed laugh whenever Abby fumbled. Asil’s doppelganger barred its teeth in a grin that felt half feral, half-mocking, as though eager to see her fail at her own technique.
“We’re so used to synergy!” Abby shouted, her breath ragged. She deflected a slash aimed at her ribs, feeling the tremor run down her arm. “But synergy’s worthless if they see every move coming!”
Asil tried to retort, only for her clone to spin low in a near-impossible pivot, almost severing Asil’s ankle. She leaped back in the nick of time, boots skidding on stone. “We— we need unpredictability,” she managed, frustration setting her jaw tight. Another blow forced her on the defensive, each strike leaving her more winded.
In the corner of her eye, Asil saw Abby forced into a half crouch, the doppelganger pressing dagger after dagger. They were wearing down. The sinister doubles advanced with seamless aggression, draining every ounce of the real pair’s stamina.
Minutes felt like hours as the close-quarters dance continued. The chamber resounded with the clang of steel. Abby’s arms burned from a barrage of mirrored Shadow Dancer combos. She tried a cunning feint—her twisted reflection responded identically, jarring her at the exact angle she’d left open.
Asil was faring no better. She attempted to chain a partial Blade Storm flourish, only for her double to jam the momentum with a sneering lunge. Both doubles emanated an aura of calm malice, showing no sign of tiring. Their unstoppable, grinding offense left the real duo gasping for breath.
They were forced back, step by step, until Abby nearly collided with Asil in a precarious corner of the chamber. Despite being half-suffocated by the clones’ relentless assault, Abby forced a hoarse laugh. “I… think we’re in trouble,” she panted, a trickle of sweat stinging her eye.
Asil’s sword arm trembled from blocking repeated overhead chops. “We can’t keep this up,” she growled, eyes flitting between the two copies. Those wide grins—like masks fixed on their own twisted joy—made her shudder inwardly. “They fight like they’re fresh. We’re not.”
The illusions advanced again in perfect unison, dark blades raised in lethal arcs. Asil parried an overhead slash from her clone while Abby angled in to help but was cut off by a swipe from the second. It was all they could do to hold their ground, arms numb from the repeated collisions.
A searing line of pain tore across Abby’s forearm where the false Abby scored a glancing hit. Abby choked back a cry, stumbling into Asil. Asil tried to pivot to shield them both, but her clone hammered from the other side, leaving them pinned.
“We’re… so done,” Abby coughed, though a flicker of determination still burned in her eyes.
Asil bared her teeth. She refused to succumb, but her mind raced for any strategy. The doubles’ advantage was almost absolute: total knowledge of their fighting style. “Wait—” she panted, half a new idea forming. But before she could say more, her doppelganger’s savage grin loomed over her shoulder, blade slashing diagonally and forcing her to drop lower to block.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Both doppelgangers cackled silently, raising their weapons for a final, crushing assault.
Abby tried to reposition, ignoring the throbbing in her arm. Asil steeled herself for a last stand. The flickering torchlight on the walls caught their exhausted expressions, the illusions’ monstrous grins, and the swirl of battered weapons. No synergy trick had worked, and the unstoppable doubles had them pinned to a corner.
Sweat mingled with fear and resolve—because if they couldn’t out-fight these clones, they wouldn’t even get a chance to see what had happened to Jack. Yet as the doubles plunged once more, the real Abby and Asil squared their jaws, determined to dig deep for a final push… or fall in the attempt.
The cornered real Asil and Abby were on the brink of collapse under the doppelgangers’ relentless onslaught. Each evil clone pressed its so-called “owner” with immaculate familiarity, turning every synergy attempt into a punishing counter. Despite their best efforts, the real duo found themselves battered, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then, a desperate idea flared in Asil’s mind. She blocked another savage slash from her look-alike and yelled over her shoulder, “Wait—switch targets!”
Abby locked eyes with Asil, a fierce grin lighting her features. “Worth a shot!”
In a flash, Abby spun away from her own double, leaving the twisted “Abby” mid-lunge. Simultaneously, Asil disengaged from her clone, pivoting toward the wicked copy of Abby. The doppelgangers faltered as though a puppet master’s string yanked them off balance. Their monstrous grins flickered—clearly, the doubles had been designed to mirror the exact style of each real fighter, not a different one.
“Don’t let them refocus!” Asil shouted. Already, the false Asil tried to rush back toward the real Asil, but Abby appeared in a swirl of Shadow Dancer illusions, intercepting it. The twisted copy’s eyes widened, forced to guess how Abby’s skillset operated. Meanwhile, the false Abby attempted to flicker behind Asil, but its guess at a Shadow Dancer angle only partially applied to Blade Dancer logic. It missed its strike, leaving Asil an opening.
Abby seized that slight advantage first, weaving into a Shadow Dancer backstab that buried both daggers in the false Asil’s flank. An inky hiss of pain escaped the clone, its torso flashing between solid and intangible. The sinister grin cracked, replaced by a flicker of panic. Abby followed through with a quick combination of stabs, driving it backward.
Asil, for her part, unleashed a raging Blade Dancer flurry upon Abby’s doppelganger. That twisted image tried to vanish into ephemeral shadows, but Asil’s footwork confounded it. It had never studied Asil’s fluid arcs or well-timed parries, so it fumbled an ill-timed dodge. Flames of adrenaline surged in Asil as she delivered strike after strike. “Eat this,” she growled, finishing with an unstoppable chain that shattered the clone’s final guard.
Within seconds, the once-deadly doppelgangers found themselves hammered from unexpected angles. Their attempt to revert to their original targets proved fruitless; Asil and Abby kept crossing paths, blocking the clones from realigning with their “owners.” The illusions’ sinister grins contorted into expressions of helpless frustration.
“Yes!” Abby whooped, heart thrumming with adrenaline as the twisted Asil clone staggered under her repeated backstab lunges. She ducked a feeble slash, then pivoted her daggers in a final upward cross, eviscerating the doppelganger in a swirl of black haze. Meanwhile, Asil tore into the false Abby’s last-ditch defense, slamming it with a finishing blow that ended in a hideous, hiss-like wail. Both doubles crumpled into a writhing mass of black smoke that disintegrated into the air.
For a moment, Asil and Abby stood panting, the only sound of their ragged breathing and the soft sputter of torches. The corridor walls still echoed faintly with the illusions’ dying shrieks. Then silence dropped like a stone.
Abby forced a wry laugh, stepping gingerly over the curling smoke. “Thanks for the tip—I was about a second from getting overshadowed by my own evil twin.”
Asil brushed damp hair off her forehead, exhaling shakily. “I was about a second from losing to mine.” She paused, a rueful smile edging her lips. “Guess we owe synergy a break, huh?”
They exchanged a grin—both battered, sweat-streaked, but triumphant. The locked door now creaked open as if acknowledging the challenge’s defeat. The torches flickered, revealing a battered chamber finally at peace.
Abby glanced at the swirl of black residue drifting from the copies’ final death throes. “Can’t believe we nearly got taken down by ourselves,” she said softly.
Asil rested a hand on Abby’s shoulder, voice warm despite the exhaustion. “But we beat ‘em, right?” A faint grin tugged at her lips. “I’d say we’re unstoppable… as long as we don’t get too predictable.”
They shared a short laugh, the tension easing from their limbs. Outside the corridor, the faint, continuing hush reminded them that this fortress was still full of unknown challenges—and Jack’s footprints lay farther ahead. But for the moment, they allowed themselves a burst of confidence and relief, stepping back into the hallway together.
“Ready to keep going?” Asil asked, brow still glistening with perspiration.
Abby took one more steadying breath, nodding. “I’m with you. Let’s do it—but first we need to rest for a bit, that fight was intense”
They sat in the aftermath of the fight, backs against the cool stone, catching their breath. The silence that followed the death of their grinning twins was thick but not unwelcome. Both women sipped water from their pouches, cheeks flushed, muscles trembling with the rush of battle and relief.
Asil wiped her brow and exhaled deeply. “My journal says I just hit level 15.” She scrolled through her updated skill tree with a hint of pride. “Looks like I’m earning double skill points now. These teen levels come with perks.”
Abby, peeking at her own reverberating journal, nodded absently. “Same here.”
Then Asil added with a teasing smirk, “You know, for a non-gamer, you're getting really good at this.”
Abby flinched as if the compliment hit too close to home. “Thanks,” she said softly, her smile weak and distant. “I just… I don't know. Some days I wonder if I'm adapting or breaking.”
She didn’t say it aloud, but her thoughts drifted to her brother. Petros. A kid with wild eyes and a too-big heart. Trapped somewhere in this nightmare world, possibly alone.
“Who am I kidding,” Abby muttered aloud, her voice tinged with wistful amusement. “He's probably in his version of heaven right now.”
“Huh?” Asil tilted her head.
Abby shook it off. “Nothing. Just... self-pity. I'm good.”
Asil reached over and patted her friend’s shoulder with a firm, grounding touch. “You’re better than good, Abs. You’re surviving.”
She stood, stretching with a groan, and moved toward the chamber door. With both hands, she beckoned dramatically across the threshold. “Shall we?”
Abby rose with a bounce, the earlier weight lifting just enough. “We shall,” she echoed, stepping ahead with a grin.
They resumed their trek down the long corridor. Compared to the twisted rooms before, the remaining stretch of the hallway was surprisingly calm. But not uneventful.
One door near the end was shut.
Asil reached for it, distracted. “Jack?” she called into the room, her voice cracking with hopeful instinct.
“Wait—no!” Abby yelled, yanking her back just in time.
A tall, shadowy figure stood just inside. Only Abby could see it—its form blurred like smoke trying to imitate a person. Arms outstretched. A voice—wet and distorted—slithered through the crack in the door. “Jack… come home…”
It wasn’t Jack.
The creature made a move forward, but Abby faked a swift lunge, and it recoiled, slithering back into the gloom.
Then, the room shifted. Another figure appeared—this time calling to Abby. Its form was vaguely feminine, arms wide in invitation. “Abigail… why won’t you hug your mother?” The voice was warped as if it spoke through a fan blade.
Abby froze—just for a second.
But rage burned through hesitation. “Nice try,” she muttered. With a flick of her wrist, Fan of Blades exploded from her outstretched hands, daggers spinning into the mimic. It let out a screeching cry and disintegrated mid-lunge, leaving a greasy shadow in its wake.
“No more illusions,” she hissed, not slowing as she marched forward.
Asil, slightly stunned, offered a slow nod. “You’ve really come into your own, you know that?”
“Still not a gamer,” Abby replied, “but I’ve learned how to cheat a boss fight.”
They walked until the corridor opened wide into the final chamber—a vast cathedral-sized room, easily the size of a football field. Arched ceilings loomed high above. Pillars lined the sides like silent sentinels, casting long shadows beneath their carved edges.
On the far end stood two exits:
One, a simple wooden door, plain and familiar.
The other, a grand obsidian gate, glowing faintly with shifting runes—calling like a siren toward the next level of the dungeon.
Their journals vibrated in unison. A choice etched on paper:
You have reached the threshold of the Shadow Gate.
Proceed to the next level or exit and return later.
(Wooden Door – Exit)
(Shadow Gate – Descend)
Asil stared at the gate. Her heart pounded. That was where Jack had gone. She could feel it. Beyond those glyphs, beyond the veil… he’s out there.
But she also knew the truth.
Her hands weren’t steady. Her stamina was low. They had scraped through the doppelganger fight by a breath.
“This… this trial was meant to take us to level 20,” Asil murmured. “We’re not there yet. Not strong enough. Not ready.”
Abby’s expression was soft but resolute. “We should go back. Regroup in Hajill. Get stronger.” She hesitated. “We’ll find him, Asil. But not like this.”
Asil stood still for a long moment. Then she nodded.
Without another word, they turned toward the wooden door.
They stepped through together.
On the other side, they found themselves at the entrance to Fort Warren, stepping once more into the eerie darkness of the Shadow Realm’s eternal dusk. Behind them, the door clicked softly shut—no ominous boom, no magical glow. It's just the end of one path, for now.
Abby turned to Asil as they walked. “You know, that gate’s not going anywhere.”
“No,” Asil said. Her eyes drifted back toward the fort. “But next time… we won’t hesitate.” She took one last look at the unassuming wood door that bore Jack’s gamer tag, then turned.
Together, they walked down the path toward Hajill, shadows behind them and a growing fire in their chests. The journey wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.