Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I'm Stuck as Their Baby!-Chapter 98: Parent Trap

"Fantastic," I muttered sarcastically, collapsing wearily onto the mirrored surface, pulse still pounding fiercely, body aching from exertion. But despite my exhaustion, pride flickered quietly within my chest, hope kindling alongside it.

I'd done it. I'd beaten my own twisted reflection at least for now. My breathing gradually steadied, the wild fluttering of my heart slowing to a gentle rhythm. The endless silvery expanse around me seemed less oppressive, the mist cooler, softer, brushing against my overheated skin in soothing whispers.

[Training Progress Updated.][Magic Control: Increased from 20% → 35%.]

I stared at the notification, relief washing through me alongside a thin trickle of apprehension. Thirty-five percent was better, certainly—but it was still barely more than a third of the terrifying power that lurked inside me. At least I was slightly less likely to accidentally implode the school, or worse, one of my siblings.

"Any chance we could stop here?" I asked aloud, voice hopeful but already knowing the answer.

[Don't be ridiculous. This is a marathon, not a sprint. You still have a long way to go before you stop being a danger to yourself and the entire world.]

"Encouraging as always."

[You love it.]

I sighed deeply, running a tired hand over my face. My limbs still burned with residual exhaustion, the ache settling bone-deep. "Alright, fine. What's next? More mirrors? An evil twin?"

[Better.] I could practically hear the wicked glee in its tone. [Now, you face your greatest obstacle yet.]

"Let me guess—another vague metaphor about overcoming myself?"

[Oh no, something far more entertaining: your parents.]

My heart lurched. I sat bolt upright, adrenaline jolting through my veins anew. "My parents?"

[Relax, they're not actually here. I'm creating a simulation based on your memories and my observations.]

"Wonderful," I said flatly. "So now you're conjuring nightmares."

[You have strange standards for nightmares. Most children fear monsters under their beds not their own family.]

"My family is worse than monsters," I mumbled.

[That's the spirit! Now, pick one: Verania or Sylvithra?]

I paused, throat suddenly dry. Fighting myself had been difficult enough, but my mothers? Even simulated, even a pale imitation it would be terrifying. Yet deep down, curiosity tugged at me. Facing either of them directly was a chance to learn more than just power; it was an opportunity to measure myself against the figures I'd admired, feared, and loved in equal measure.

"Give me…Sylvithra," I finally whispered.

[Interesting choice.]

The mist thickened suddenly, swirling furiously, shapes twisting and dancing within it. The silver mirror beneath me rippled violently, creating waves of shimmering liquid that coalesced into a form achingly familiar. Moments later, Sylvithra stood before me radiant, regal, her eyes sharp as polished amethyst.

She was perfect. From her elegantly styled silver hair, woven into intricate braids laced with tiny gems, to the fierce intensity of her gaze that could cut through steel, she appeared exactly as I'd always known her beautiful, intimidating, terrifyingly powerful.

My pulse quickened, heart thudding anxiously against my ribcage. It didn't matter if this was merely a projection everything about her felt painfully real.

She raised one eyebrow gracefully, a faint, amused smile curving her lips. "Well, Elyzara, shall we begin?"

I hesitated, fingers twitching uncertainly toward my sword. "This isn't real," I murmured, trying to convince myself more than anything.

Sylvithra's laugh rippled melodically, echoing off unseen walls. "Reality is whatever you perceive it to be. Now, draw your weapon."

My hand closed around the sword's hilt, comforting in its familiarity, the smooth leather cool beneath my fingers. "You're not holding back, are you?"

"Have I ever?" she replied smoothly, amusement clear in her voice. "Now, defend yourself!"

She struck with terrifying speed, her figure blurring as she surged forward, the razor-sharp edge of her blade slicing through the air with effortless precision. I barely parried in time, metal clashing fiercely, ringing loudly in the empty dimension.

My muscles screamed in protest, still weakened from my earlier battle. Yet, a fierce determination flared to life within me. This was my chance not just to survive, but to prove myself worthy.

Our blades danced swiftly, strikes and parries flowing seamlessly into one another, a choreography of lethal precision. Each move she made felt perfectly calculated, every feint and thrust executed flawlessly.

[You're holding back. Stop hesitating!]

I gritted my teeth, frustration mounting. "It's not easy when she looks like my mother!"

[Think of it as a therapy session just more violent.]

I groaned. "Your humor sucks."

Sylvithra moved suddenly, gracefully sidestepping and pivoting smoothly behind me. Before I could react, her blade rested gently against the nape of my neck. My breath caught sharply.

"Focus, Elyzara," she said quietly, dangerously. "Emotions can either sharpen your blade or blunt it entirely. Choose wisely."

She released me, stepping back, waiting patiently. Embarrassment flared, but I pushed it aside firmly, channeling my frustration into controlled determination. My magic hummed softly beneath my skin, ready and eager.

"Alright," I breathed, raising my sword. "Again."

She smiled approvingly. "Better."

We resumed, and this time I didn't hold back. My blade flashed, bolstered by precise bursts of power lightning arcing dangerously close but carefully controlled, wind swirling protectively around me. Each strike felt stronger, surer, my confidence growing alongside my power.

Yet Sylvithra remained unruffled, dodging each attack with casual grace, as if dancing rather than fighting. Every successful parry from me was countered effortlessly, each strike perfectly anticipated.

"Your magic is impressive," she remarked coolly, deflecting a bolt of flame with casual ease. "But without conviction, it's merely flashy theatrics."

I felt a surge of annoyance. "I'm trying."

"Then try harder," she retorted sharply. Her magic flared suddenly sharp, precise, brutally efficient as she twisted gravity itself, pinning me forcefully to the mirrored surface.

I gasped, lungs compressed painfully beneath the invisible pressure. Panic flared briefly before determination burned hotter. My Abyssal Requiem surged defiantly, rewriting the rules around me, nullifying her gravitational hold with sheer will.

I rose shakily, breathing ragged, but my gaze locked firmly with hers, stubbornly defiant. "Satisfied?"

"Almost," she conceded softly, admiration flickering briefly in her eyes. "Now, impress me."

I attacked again, relentlessly this time, power and precision blending seamlessly, elements twisting obediently under my will. Fire and ice danced harmoniously, shadows and light weaving elegantly together, reality bending and reshaping fluidly at my fingertips. Sylvithra finally appeared genuinely challenged, her movements shifting from effortless grace to focused intensity.

We fought fiercely, tirelessly, our battle raging like a storm, an intense dance of power and strategy. Sweat trickled steadily down my skin, muscles burning fiercely, breaths heaving desperately. But exhilaration surged through me, fierce pride swelling alongside my magic.

Eventually, we both stepped back, chests rising and falling heavily, exhaustion mirrored clearly on both our faces.

Sylvithra lowered her blade slowly, approval clear in her gaze. "Better. Much better."

A tired smile curled my lips. "Did I pass?"

She chuckled softly. "Barely. But passing nonetheless."

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[Training Progress Updated.][Magic Control: Increased from 35% → 45%.]

My heart swelled with quiet satisfaction. The simulated Sylvithra slowly faded back into shimmering mist, leaving me alone once more.

[Not bad for someone who nearly destroyed their school earlier.]

I snorted softly, sheathing my sword carefully. "Thanks for the reminder."

[Anytime.]