Chapter 369: The Twilight
Rachel found herself in a dark chamber that was devoid of light yet her vision wasn’t hampered in the slightest. Looking around, there was only one other being in the room beside her and using her ability to detect desire came back with nothing as if they didn’t exist.
The chamber was silent. Silent in a way that pressed into the skin, a silence that was deeper than absence, more alive than sound itself. Rachel stood in the middle of that space, her staff gripped tightly in her hands. Shadows curled faintly around her fingers, restless and eager.
Opposite her stood the one who had named themselves Twilight. Their form was tall and draped in robes that seemed woven of night and dawn together, a fabric that shimmered with colors her eyes could not hold onto. A hood concealed their face, but their presence was undeniable, both youthful and ancient. When they spoke earlier, Rachel had felt her bones vibrate with the power contained in that single word: Twilight.
The trial was simple. One requirement. All she had to do was land a single blow.
Rachel exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "One hit. That is all. You could not have made this easier."
The god tilted their head as if amused. Then they lifted one hand and drew something from the very air. It was not forged, nor summoned, but simply existed in their grasp where before there had been nothing. A staff, sleek and black as glass, its surface reflecting faint glimmers of violet and indigo. The resemblance was uncanny. It was nearly identical to her own obsidian staff.
Rachel smirked. "Copycat. Fine. Let’s see which one of us uses it better."
She surged forward without hesitation. Shadows exploded around her as her clones fanned out in perfect synchronization. They darted across the chamber, weaving between one another, striking from multiple angles at once. Rachel herself blinked through space, teleporting between shadows, her chains snapping out like vipers, her blade of condensed darkness slashing toward the robed figure’s chest.
Twilight moved.
They did not block or parry. Their staff barely shifted in their hands. Instead, they stepped aside, their movements effortless, as if Rachel’s attacks had already failed before she made them. A chain lashed at their legs, but it found only empty air. A blade cut forward, but their robes swayed an instant earlier, brushing harmlessly past. Even when Rachel surrounded them with five perfect clones, striking in flawless unison, Twilight’s body flowed through the gaps as though they had rehearsed her every move before she acted.
Rachel landed on her feet again, breath caught in her throat. She snarled and tightened her grip. "Lucky."
She tried again. This time she chained her teleportation, blinking from one shadow to another faster than her eyes could follow. Blades of darkness rained down from above, and her clones unleashed their staffs in a volley of strikes. The ground trembled under the weight of her assault.
When the dust settled, Twilight still stood untouched. Their robes had not even shifted.
Rachel’s heart pounded. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron. She could not let frustration shake her focus. She swung her staff again, channeling her fury into a storm of attacks.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. Again and again, she threw herself forward, only to meet failure. Her attacks dissolved against nothingness. Her clones shattered without leaving a mark. Every strike felt as though she were fighting against the very concept of inevitability itself.
Her breaths grew ragged. Sweat prickled at her temples. Her muscles ached from the relentless pace she forced upon herself. No matter how fast she struck, no matter how clever her angles, it was as if Twilight already knew the rhythm of her soul and moved to a song she could not hear.
Rachel slammed her staff against the ground and shouted in fury. "This is not fair!"
For the first time since the trial began, Twilight laughed. It was not cruel, but it was unsettling. The voice echoed in layers, one young and bright, another old and weathered, together forming something inhuman.
"How nice it is to be young again," Twilight said.
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She spat back without hesitation. "You sound like an old fogey."
Twilight tilted their head. Slowly, deliberately, their hands rose to the hood that concealed their face. They drew it back, and Rachel’s world tilted.
The face revealed beneath was one she knew better than any other.
Her own.
Older, lined with age, the mischievous spark in her eyes tempered into something heavier, wiser. Her jaw slackened. Her staff nearly slipped from her grasp as the sight struck her to the core.
Her heart thundered. Her throat went dry. "What the hell..." she whispered.
The older version of herself smiled, not cruelly, but with a softness that unsettled her even more than mockery would have.
Rachel took a step back. Her body felt cold. She could not tear her gaze away from the face that should not exist, from the undeniable truth that the god who had toyed with her was her own reflection stretched years into the future.
"Impossible," she said, her voice hoarse.
Twilight lifted their staff and planted it lightly against the ground. "There is no impossibility in twilight, only transition. Youth to age. Dawn to dusk. Shadow to light. You stand at the edge, Rachel. And now you face the truth of what you may one day become."
Rachel’s grip tightened until her knuckles whitened. Her shock gave way to something else, a stubborn defiance bubbling in her chest. If this was her trial, if this was her so-called mentor, then she refused to bow to it.
She raised her staff again, her shadows swirling, and her eyes locked on her older self. "Then I will land that blow. I do not care if it takes forever."
Twilight’s smile deepened, ancient and ageless. "Good. That is exactly what I wanted to hear."
The chamber darkened, and the battle began anew.