Chương 72: Memories of the future (2)

Ethan stared at his older self, the resemblance just as he remembered and yet completely wrong in a way that reminded him of all his failures. His other self tilted his head, studying him with open amusement.

"Ha. I'd almost forgotten how rough I looked back then." His gaze dragged over Ethan, slow and deliberate.

"Try not to look so startled. It's embarrassing." Ethan exhaled, steadying himself, forcing his breathing back under control.

"What is this?" His older self didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced around as if expecting something more, but there was nothing. No light, no ground, just an endless, suffocating void that pressed on all sides. Even with [Keen Sense] stretched outward, Ethan felt nothing. It left him feeling more unnerved than having a conversation with his older self.

"Hm." His older self frowned slightly.

"This isn't what I expected." Ethan's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know where you are?" Ethan's thoughts stumbled, fragments clicking slowly into place as he forced them to align. The desert. The mirage. The illusions.

"I'm in the mirage," he said, more certain with each word. A grin spread across his older self's face.

"Good. At least you're not completely hopeless." He clapped once, the sound sharp and unnatural in the empty void.

"Though I'll admit, I wasn't sure you'd make it this far." Ethan frowned.

"I was already moving through it. The illusions weren't—""Hard?" his older self cut in. Ethan's expression hardened.

"They were just reminders." His older self laughed.

"Reminders of how you failed?"

"You're stuck," his older self continued, his tone flattening.

"And at the rate you're going, you'll fail. Again." Ethan's jaw tightened.

"Then say what you came to say." His older self's gaze sharpened, something colder settling behind it.

"Still waiting for someone else to explain things to you?" he asked quietly. Something in Ethan snapped.

"Then stop talking in circles," he shot back.

"What is this? What do you want? Coming in here talking about failures. As far as I'm concerned, you're the failure." For a moment, his older self said nothing. Then he pressed a hand to his chest in mock pain.

"Damn. That's harsh." He straightened, the act falling away just as quickly.

"But not wrong."

"Come on," his older self said, voice shifting slightly.

"Let's stop pretending you don't already know what this is." He lifted his hand and the void shattered. Heat slammed into Ethan as the desert reformed around them, sand stretching endlessly in every direction while a scream tore through the air.

Ethan turned sharply, already reacting before the thought fully formed, and saw a man fighting a scorpion twenty yards away, his movements clumsy and desperate, each strike of the creature's claws forcing him back as he used his sword more like a blunt instrument than a weapon. Behind him, a woman clutched a child to her leg, frozen between fear and indecision.

"Run!" the man shouted.

"I'll hold it!" Ethan's breath caught. It was Mark. Recognition hit instantly, memory following close behind as Ethan stepped forward without thinking.

"I need to—" A hand clamped down on his arm. Iron tight.

"Wait," his older self said. It wasn't a suggestion. Ethan's muscles tensed as he tried to pull free, but the grip didn't move, didn't even shift, as the scorpion struck again and Mark barely managed to block before the tail slammed into him and sent him crashing into the sand.

"Run!" Mark shouted again. Sarah shook her head, tears streaking down her face.

"I can't—""Go!" he roared. Ethan's gaze flicked toward the dunes, his attention dragging away from the fight as something deeper took hold. Any second now. Any second and he should appear to save them. Nothing came. No one arrived. Mark forced himself back to his feet.

"Now!" She grabbed the child and ran. Ethan went still.

"…What is this?" he muttered, though the confusion was already fading into something else. His older self didn't answer. He simply moved his hand. The desert remained, but time shifted. The sun now hung high, harsh and unforgiving, and in the distance Ethan spotted her again. Sarah stumbled across the dunes, the child clutched tightly in her arms as her steps dragged, uneven and failing. Mark was gone, nowhere in sight. Ethan took a step forward.

"No…" She fell. The child scrambled beside her, crying out as his small hands grabbed at her.

"Momma! Momma!" Ethan's chest tightened as he moved toward her. Pressure crashed down on him, absolute and crushing, locking his body in place as if he had been pinned to the world itself.

"Watch," his older self said. Ethan's teeth clenched, but his body refused to respond. All he could do was stand there as Sarah's trembling hand lifted, cupping the boy's cheek as her cracked lips barely moved.

"I love you." The boy's cries filled the air as Ethan's vision shifted, catching movement in the distance, a figure approaching, blurred and indistinct.

"…Who is that?" he asked quietly. No answer came. Ethan looked back. Sarah wasn't moving. Her body was nothing but skin and bone. Understanding settled in like a weight pressing down on his chest as he noticed how healthy Tom looked. Before he could speak, the world tore apart again. Ethan spun on him.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded.

"How are you showing me this?" His older self studied him, calm and unmoved. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"This is what I represent." The world shifted again. They stood on a cliff. Cages carved into stone stretched across the opposite side, filled with people.

"Stop," Ethan said. One by one, prisoners were taken. None returned. Time blurred unnaturally until movement broke the pattern. It was Bella. She tore through the guards without hesitation, precise and ruthless, her movements clean in a way that left no room for doubt. The scene shifted again, snapping into a tunnel where the monolith stood before them as the necromancer stepped forward, shadows moving as reanimations emerged. Ethan's breath hitched. Leah stood among them. Bella moved, reappearing behind him.

But it didn't matter. The necromancer was ready. The dead advanced. Ethan's knees hit the ground as darkness swallowed everything once more.

"None of this is real," he said, his voice low, hollow.

"It's the mirage." A laugh echoed above him.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Ethan looked up.

"Why are you doing this?" His older self met his gaze without hesitation.

"For the same reason you're here. Because you still don't get it." Ethan's eyes hardened.

"Then explain it."

"This is who we are," his older self said.

"Every time, we aren't enough." Ethan stilled.

"What difference does it make that you know the future?" His voice sharpened.

"You are weak."

"That's not—""It is." Silence pressed in.

"Do you want me to keep going?" his older self continued.

"Bjorn. Mia. All of them. Every single one you remember." Ethan didn't answer.

"You already know how this ends," his older self said.

"So I'll ask you something simple." He stepped forward.

"What can you do that I couldn't?" Ethan's hands clenched.

"What kind of question is that? We are not the same."

"No?" his older self said.

"Then prove it. If we aren't the same, then who are you?" Ethan stood.

"I am Ethan. I don't know what you want from me." His gaze locked onto him and they shifted again. The world erupted. Steel clashed. Creatures roared. The battlefield came alive around them as hellspawn flooded forward in endless waves, crashing against humanity's last army while above, the Sage tore through the sky, spell after spell reshaping the battlefield. Ethan's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you showing me this? I already know how this ends."

"Do you?" his older self asked quietly. Ethan stilled. His older self nodded toward the distance. He followed his gaze, only to see Alex. Chains carved through the battlefield, explosions of force tearing through hellhounds as he fought at full strength. Ethan's gaze shifted. Searching. Where am I? He scanned again, but there was nothing. The realization hit slowly at first.

"This… isn't right." The battle continued without him there. The army advanced until the castle loomed in the distance. Everything unfolded exactly as it should have. But without him.

"No…" The sky cracked. And Ethan watched the Sage fall, hitting the ground with finality. The Demon King still stood tall amongst the dead army. Silence spread so fast it was suffocating.

"I've done it," he whispered, just as the world shattered. Returning Ethan to darkness.

"Do you understand now?" his older self asked. Ethan didn't answer immediately. His gaze lowered, jaw tightening as everything settled into place.

"Yeah," he said finally.

"I do." His older self watched him carefully.

"Then say it." Ethan lifted his head.

"That's what happens if I'm not there," he said.

"This is what happens if I stay the same."

"This is what happens if I'm you." Silence stretched. His older self exhaled slowly.

"Is that so?" he said.

"Why don't you prove it?" Ethan's sword formed in his hand. Across from him, his older self mirrored the motion.

"There's one thing left." Ethan stepped forward.

"I know." Steel crashed against steel, the impact ringing out as Ethan's blade came down in a heavy diagonal meant to break through immediately, to force the exchange into his rhythm before his older self could settle into that suffocating control. It didn't work. The strike was caught cleanly, redirected with minimal movement as the force bled away into nothing, and the return came just as fast, precise enough that Ethan had to pull back or lose the arm he'd just committed.

He stepped in again anyway, refusing to give ground, chaining one strike into the next as mana surged through him, feeding speed and weight into every swing while he tried to overwhelm him through sheer pressure alone. It felt like striking a wall. Every attack was already accounted for, already answered before it fully formed. His older self didn't rush. Didn't overcommit.

He simply endured, guiding each blow away from anything that mattered, turning force against him with small, efficient movements that wasted nothing. Ethan pressed closer, tightening the space, his blade coming low before snapping upward into a tight arc, then rotating into another strike aimed to catch him on the recovery. It almost worked. For a fraction of a second, it felt like he'd found it, until he realized it was a trap.

The counter came in clean, the flat of the blade slamming into his side hard enough to break his rhythm and force him back a step as his breath hitched. Ethan exhaled sharply and stepped right back in, refusing to let the space open, his strikes coming faster now, harder. Steel rang out again and again, the sound building as the exchange intensified, Ethan driving forward while his older self held steady, each block clean, each redirection exact. Ethan found the opening and took it.

His blade cut across his older self's side in a clean line, the impact solid, yet meaningless. The wound closed almost instantly, flesh knitting back together as if it had never been there. His older self stepped back in, blade already shifting into the next exchange. Ethan's jaw tightened. He attacked again. Every time he broke through, it meant nothing. Every success was erased before it could matter, while his older self didn't lose ground, didn't slow, didn't change.

If anything, the pressure was shifting, subtle at first, then undeniable as each redirection pulled Ethan slightly out of position, each counter forcing him to recover just a fraction slower than before. Until he was the one reacting. A strike came in clean, catching him across the shoulder, the force behind it enough to stagger him back as pain flared and his footing broke. Ethan reset quickly, breath heavier now, chest rising and falling as he steadied himself, his grip tightening around the hilt.

His older self lowered his blade slightly.

"Too aggressive. How are you meant to change anything?" Ethan wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and stepped forward again.

"I already have. In every vision you showed, I've produced a different outcome. A better outcome." Steel met steel again, but instead of forcing through, Ethan let the contact happen, felt the redirection, and moved with it rather than against it, adjusting mid-motion instead of committing fully. The follow-up came faster because of it. Then another. The rhythm shifted.

His older self still defended the same way, still controlled the flow, but now he had to move more, had to give ground in small steps instead of holding it entirely. Ethan stayed close, pressing without overextending, each movement feeding into the next as his aggressive form remained—but sharpened, focused. Until finally he saw it clear as day. His older self was weak. For all the power he held, his mind was fickle. He didn't take the opening when it first appeared. He didn't attack.

All he was good for was reacting. For defending. For playing it safe. Ethan stepped in again, their blades clashing as he forced the exchange forward, not recklessly, but deliberately, breaking the pace his older self wanted to set.

"I'm done being a spectator," Ethan muttered under his breath. The next strike carried more weight as his aura and mana bled together, hurting his body in order to attack stronger. Steel crashed harder, the force of it finally breaking through the defense as his older self's footing slipped, just slightly, but enough. Ethan didn't stop. He stepped in fully, leg sweeping as he kicked out his older self's footing. He hit the ground and Ethan's blade stopped at his throat.

Silence settled around them, the clash of steel fading into nothing as Ethan held the position, his breathing steadying, his grip firm but no longer strained. For a moment, neither of them moved. His older self looked up at him. Then laughed. A look of relief covered his features. Ethan frowned slightly, the tension not fully leaving him.

"…What?"

"Looks like you understand," his older self said, his voice quieter now.

"Took you long enough." Ethan didn't respond. He held the blade there for another second, feeling the weight of it, the difference in himself compared to the man in front of him, before slowly lowering it. His older self let out a breath and pushed himself back to his feet without help, rolling his shoulders as if the fight had been nothing more than a formality. He looked at Ethan again, properly this time, his gaze steady.

"Good," he said simply. Ethan's sword dissolved in his hand, the tension draining out of him as the void around them began to shift again, faint cracks of light bleeding into the darkness. He watched his older self for a moment longer, something settling into place inside him. He had always known he had to change, but now he was far more certain than what had been there before.

"I'm not you," Ethan said. He didn't say it in anger or out of rejection. It was just a simple fact. His older self's expression didn't change. If anything, it eased slightly.

"No," he said.

"You're not." The space around them fractured further, the void beginning to collapse in on itself as light broke through in widening fractures. Ethan held his gaze.

"So who are you?" Ethan scratched the back of his head.

"I'm not sure. But I know who I need to be."

"And what's that?"

"I need to be the person who changes these trials. Someone who makes a difference." His older self smiled as he disappeared with the void.

"I'm glad." His form vanished, leaving notifications in his place. Congratulations! You have passed the Mirage.