34.

The Dream House

It took a step forward and charged. Its fist lashed out and struck Dominic’s open palm, taking him off guard for a second. The blow was harder than he had expected, the shockwave throwing dust up from the floor and the walls. And more surprising was that its fist felt like genuine skin and flesh, like there was a real body behind it.

Dominic stepped back, making some distance. It was a little unnerving how well made the duplicate was. For all he knew, there could have been a real person there. If Aster could be a crow, it wouldn't be a surprise if somebody else could mimic faces and bodies. But before he could try and determine the truth, he saw the copy raise its hand again—and against the light streaming in through the windows, something thin glistened as it shot out.

Dominic dodged to the side as a thread whistled past his face, putting a clean cut into his cheek. He stared as it whipped back to its host, incredulous.

Was there magic that could mimic the properties of what he was wearing as well?

Without waiting for him, the copy charged forward again. Threads loosened and exploded out of the gloves around its wrists, slicing through floor tiles and leaving gashes in the walls. It wasn’t just a cosmetic imitation—they really were halinium. Dominic quickly let a layer of mana form over his skin and solidify as they came crashing towards him.

He would’ve been flayed if he hadn't protected himself in time. The threads cut through his clothes and lashed at his skin, wrapping around his limbs and tightening. Anyone who wasn't a mage would've been diced. But halinium was the material most responsive to mana in the world, and even if it had an ‘owner,’ it wasn't a loyal metal.

Dominic sent his mana into the strings binding him and forced them to let go. All at once, they whipped away from him as if they’d been repelled, exploding outwards and embedding themselves into the walls. Quickly, they were drawn back to the other version of him, who was staring unwaveringly, still charging.

Its fist struck empty air beside Dominic’s ear as he dodged to the side, their eyes meeting. It was unnerving to have to see himself like that—irises fixed on him, a color that seemed to burn. He ducked to evade the next hit and let a thread loosen from his glove. He lashed it out, wrapping it around the copy’s wrist and immediately tightening it.

He pulled. His mirror image was forced towards him, its face smashing right into his waiting fist. It recoiled, glaring at him in anger. It lashed out, but Dominic was easily able to dodge again. He was in control of the fight now, tugging the copy around with one of its hands bound to his.

“Can’t you shake the thread off?” he asked.

It aimed for his chest, its fist only meeting Dominic’s palm. It didn't seem like it could free itself like he had.

“I guess you’re not a very good imitation.”

The copy clicked its tongue and retreated back, forcefully ripping off its own forearm in the process. Dominic’s eyes widened as he was left with a severed hand and wrist tangled in his strings.

It stared at him, and slowly, its arm grew back—bones extending, flesh crawling outwards, skin stretching over. It healed perfectly. He frowned. The copy could use magic, but didn't seem to understand mana the same way he did. And strangest of all, it bled. It bled on its own sleeve, splashed over the floor, splattered across the walls, leaving a huge trail all the way to Dominic. If it was a puppet and not a person, did it really have a need to imitate such a primal thing? But if there actually was somebody hiding behind his face, why were they so inconsistent?

“Can you speak?” Dominic asked.

It stared on quietly. Instead of answering, he felt the mana begin to move again, gathering around it, thickening inside its body.

There was a fist in his chest before he knew it. The impact resounded through the halls and blew him back, sending him skidding across the floor. Dominic took a deep gulp of air and coughed as he pushed himself up to one knee again, breath knocked out of him. If he hadn’t had himself covered in a thin layer of mana to deal with the threads from earlier, he would've broken his ribs and punctured his lungs. Before he could stand again, the copy’s leg came swooping in, aiming for the side of his head. He barely brought an arm up in time to guard it, the blow still knocking him across the hallway and into the wall.

The bricks cracked beneath him. He pushed himself away as the copy’s foot stomped down right where he had been, sending stone shards flying.

Dominic stood. It charged at him again, but this time he was prepared—and also not in the best mood.

It threw a fist at his face. He dodged to the side and punched back.

The entire side of its cheek ripped and tore away under the force of his blow. The flesh exploded, leaving a considerable chunk of the copy’s head missing. It backed away for a moment as Dominic continue to stalk closer.

It didn't make sense. From the beginning, it had been faithfully imitating everything about him—the face, the gloves, even healing itself. But now it was using reinforcement magic. Reinforcement mages were also capable of healing themselves, so it wasn't entirely unfathomable, but it had strangely broken away from copying Dominic all of a sudden. It could’ve simply been that they were a person who happened to have the reinforcement affinity. But somehow it felt like it had only been adapting to the situation at hand—as if it could pick and choose.

The side of the imitation’s face grew back. It charged again, like it had only been given one command. Go forward. Your enemy is there.

Dominic let it come. Its fist, charged with mana, struck him in the chest. He flew back, skidding over the floor, the momentum finally screeching to a halt when he collided with a wall. The stone cracked and caved in around him. The mana that lingered around where he had been hit smelled faintly of cold metal, and a deep blue night sky.

His mirror image sprinted towards him to close the gap. Dominic stood and reached out his hands.

“As I thought,” he murmured.

His palms landed on the sides of the imitation’s head.

“You’re not real, are you?”

He put strength into his grip and twisted its neck. It snapped violently, the bones groaning and making a disgusting sound. He grimaced at the noise, at having to see his own body do that, but the copy in contrast didn't seem to mind. It grabbed at him, fingers trying to close around his throat from their proximity. Dominic raised a foot and kicked it in the chest, blasting it backwards with so much force the he heard the ribs crack as its chest imploded.

It wasn't a real person. It wasn't even alive. Even though it bled, even though it seemed to have all the trappings of a body, it was really only an extension of somebody else’s magic. Not something as concrete as a creation. Something more like an illusion. Pretending to use reinforcement and shoot ice shards at him, but in reality doing neither. And as long as it was magic, this was a simple problem to solve.

Before it could charge in again, Dominic had already arrived in front of it. He grabbed its head and, instead of twisting it, he suddenly pulled the copy of himself closer.

He embraced it, and then injected so much mana into the imitation’s body that even Midi would have grimaced.

It shook. Its temperature rose from hot to searing. He felt the magic circuits inside it burning and snapping. The mana inside made way for his, and then started retreating backwards, back the way they came, force to by the tidal wave Dominic had unleashed.

He wanted to track it back to its source, but his motive had apparently been too obvious. The copy was quickly cut off from the mana that had been powering it, the connecting circuits burning and fizzling away. It went limp in his arms, faded to grey, and crumbled like sand.

The illusion of a body dissipated, returning to the air, mingling back in with the vast structure of the king’s mana that stretched throughout the halls. It integrated smoothly, and then Dominic felt the mana part.

A clear path finally led through it. He stared for a moment, regaining his breath, then stood. He brushed the dust from his clothes and followed it.

It wound through the long halls, going so far into the palace that he lost track of how long it had been. After one final turn, he found himself in a huge gallery.

The ceiling was clear like a greenhouse. On the walls were enormous portraits depicting various people dressed in lavish, formal attire. He walked slowly, inspecting each one. A man with long, silver hair, white horns, and a soft expression, a white messenger eagle perched on his arm. A bulky man dressed in red and black armor, a greatsword in his hand and two dogs circling his legs. He passed them by, every portrait different from the last. He finally stopped at a brunette woman in iridescent green robes, a vase with beautiful orchids on a table by her side. Her lips were pulled back in a smile.

Dominic stared. She had two sets of canine teeth.

“She looks like you,” a deep, bass voice remarked.

The sound echoed through the gallery, resounding in his ears.

“Were you surprised?” they asked.

“…It’s a little hard to believe,” he admitted.

He felt a shift in the mana, as if a foggy presence was moving from one end of the room to the other.

“I guess things haven’t gotten better for humans in Vaine,” they replied.

Dominic just nodded. It was one thing to be told that humans used to belong in the royal halls of Hesia. It was another to see it.

“Who are they?” he asked.

Every single portrait had been wildly unique. There was not a single thing connecting them, but, despite asking, Dominic felt like he already knew. He just wanted to hear it.

“Kings,” the voice answered. “These are all of the venerated sovereigns of Hesia. Demons, and humans too.”

The presence shifted again, swirling, gathering thicker.

“There was once a time where that was possible.”

“Do you miss it?” Dominic asked.

“What good would missing it do?”

A rumble went through the mana as the presence seemed to scoff.

“It is not my duty as the king to cling to the past.”

Dominic turned around, slowly pinpointing the movement of mana inside the room.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t miss better days,” he said.

The king’s mana earlier had overwhelmed him with the memory of a peaceful, summer night. Despite what he claimed, he was not the kind of person who abandoned old times.

“I would rather believe that there are better days to come,” he replied.

A giant spear of pure mana, glittering light blue like ice, suddenly manifested at the center of the room and shot towards Dominic. He didn’t dodge, didn’t even move from his spot.

It struck him in the chest, a dull thud resounding through his body, but instead of running him through, it turned gold at the tip when it met him, then shattered.

In an instant, shards of glass-like mana flew across the room, exploding and raining down like a flurry of snow and ice. They glimmered in the light of the morning Sun that fell from above, then dissolved into nothing.

Dominic brought a hand up to his chest. There was a hole in his clothes where the spear had pierced through, but his skin was untouched.

“I thought you were already done with testing me,” he remarked.

A dry chuckle rang out in his ears.

“I couldn’t help it,” the king said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met such a monster.”

Dominic looked up, his eyes meeting a new figure in the room.

“I could say the same to you,” he replied.

In front of him, at the center of the gallery, floated a hare. Its fur was pitch black, its eyes a jewel-like amber. Long ears sprouted from the animal’s head, alongside small, sharp horns. Layers of gold-colored robes covered its body, dragging on the floor as its feet hovered high off the ground, shimmering with intricately embroidered flowers and grass.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, voice still deep and booming despite that small body. “I am His Majesty Set, Sovereign of Hesia, Overseer of the Continent.”

The hare seemed to smile as he greeted him.

“I welcome you to my home, Dominic.”