Absolute Cheater-Chapter 243: Dark Past II

With a surge of soul force, Asher's grip tightened around the bone-blade, his fingers igniting with astral fire. Cracks spiderwebbed across the weapon before it exploded in a cascade of jagged shards. The force of his counterattack sent the monstrous figure of Kairon flying, crashing into a radiant pillar of light that split the chamber's gloom like a divine spear.

The illusion screamed—not in pain, but in sheer rage. The sound reverberated through the Rift-warped space, its echo tainted with a thousand whispers of torment and memory. It wasn't just Kairon's face anymore. His form had fully twisted—four arms now, elongated and reinforced by jagged, rune-etched bone. Wings of shadow extended from his back, not for flight, but as extensions of hatred, pulsing with cursed energy.

He burst forward again.

Their clash sent shockwaves across the chamber, tearing grooves into the floating platforms and causing suspended shards of crystal to rain down like falling stars. Asher moved with clarity, his body weaving between scythe-swipes and thrusts like a blade of wind—every step calculated, every motion fluid. Yet Kairon met him with raw, brutal unpredictability.

"Is this all you are, Asher?" Kairon sneered mid-attack, his voice laced with malice. "A lost boy dressed in power? Still trying to prove you're not afraid?"

He followed the words with a concussive soul roar, forcing Asher back. The floor beneath cracked under the pressure.

But Asher didn't falter.

"I was afraid," he said, eyes glowing, "but I still stood. That's what makes me more than you'll ever be."

He vanished.

Appearing behind Kairon mid-swing, Asher's blade—shimmering with soul-forged intent—slashed across the monster's back, releasing a burst of astral force that forced the illusion to stagger. Kairon retaliated with a snarl, his body twisting unnaturally as multiple scythes lashed out in every direction, creating a cyclone of bone and venom.

Asher raised his left hand, a seal flaring open in his palm. A barrier of silver soul-light burst into existence, absorbing the impact just long enough for him to duck low and strike Kairon's left leg, crippling his momentum.

Blood—if it could still be called that—spilled in black ribbons.

Kairon screamed again, and the Rift answered. Symbols on the walls pulsed. The chamber darkened. Gravity itself shifted as the illusion drew power from the fabric of the Rift, summoning ghostly chains that surged from the floor like serpents.

Asher gritted his teeth, dodging three, cutting through a fourth—but one wrapped around his arm, burning cold. Before he could react, Kairon descended like a reaper, scythes poised to sever.

But Asher's soul flared with radiance.

Vanishing Reaper Step.

He blinked out of existence.

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And reappeared behind Kairon mid-air—this time with both hands on his sword.

"Let's end this," Asher whispered, and time seemed to slow.

He poured everything into the blade: the pain of his youth, the fire of his resolve, the peace he owed his younger self. His aura rose like a beacon, a star reborn in human form.

The swing cleaved through darkness.

Kairon's chest split with a flash of soul-light, the corrupted core within him shattering like glass.

Kairon staggered backward, collapsing to one knee. The monstrous form faded, unraveling thread by thread until only the illusion of a man remained—one worn, old, and bitter, kneeling in the same posture Asher remembered from so long ago.

"You… were always… my finest creation…" he rasped.

Then the light swallowed him whole.

The chamber grew silent.

The chains vanished. The weight in the air lifted. The war-torn floor smoothed itself, as if the Rift, too, acknowledged that the trial had ended.

Asher stood amidst the aftermath, chest rising and falling, his soul sword fading from his grasp. His eyes no longer burned with fury, but clarity.

This wasn't revenge.

This… was freedom.

He exhaled slowly. The boy who had once stared at the stars through barred windows had faced the architect of his pain and refused to break.

He took a single step forward.

It felt like shedding a lifetime of weight.

Light bathed the path ahead, a doorway parting open from the chamber's far wall—silent, welcoming.

Behind him, the shattered fragments of memory dissolved into dust.

Elsewhere in the Rift…

Valeris stood alone within a chamber woven from light and silence.

Unlike Asher's battlefield, her trial was not one of blade and blood. It was stillness—yet heavy, suffocating, as if the very air demanded she confront something far older than fear.

The room was circular, suspended midair between streams of pure soul essence and translucent petals that drifted endlessly from unseen branches above. Each petal shimmered with memory—hers.

She took a step forward, and the chamber shifted.

Mirrors emerged from the light. Not glass, but something more ancient. They reflected not her image, but moments—versions of herself from across time.

A child crying beside a grave.

A young warrior with blood on her hands, kneeling beside the bodies of foes and friends alike.

A student too proud to ask for help, too distant to be truly seen.

Then one mirror shattered.

And from its fragments, she stepped forth.

Valeris… but not.

Clad in robes of flowing silver and crimson light, her mirrored self moved with effortless grace and a serenity that cut like a blade. Her voice was calm, but her eyes gleamed with judgment.

"You've carried strength like a shield," she said. "But have you ever faced the reason you needed it?"

Valeris narrowed her eyes. "I know what I've lost. What I've endured."

The echo of her self tilted its head. "You've endured, yes. But you never allowed yourself to feel. You sealed the wounds and called it wisdom. You locked away your sorrow and called it clarity."

"And what would you have me do?" Valeris asked, breath tight. "Fall apart?"

"No," the reflection said, stepping closer. "Stand whole."

Without warning, the mirrored Valeris raised her hand—and light turned into blades.

Searing motes of judgment rained down, each one striking with the weight of truths unspoken, grief unacknowledged. Valeris blocked the first wave with a sweep of her arms, conjuring a radiant shield of petals, but the air rang with the pressure of her past.