It’s hard to make out the features of the creature’s face beyond the rippling darkness that he consists of, but I can feel the pressure of his stare. I hold it, blankly, not a muscle moving on my face. What’s about to happen is going to determine not only whether Lysander and I will become allies, but also which side of me will take control for good.
The creature roars in a metallic, gritty, collective voice, as if a horde of demons were swirling inside of it. A blade of fire takes shape in its hand—my blade of fire—and he swings it at me full force. I duck to the side, my own blade of flame forming from my own field of energy. I drive it sideways into him as I duck to the side. But the blade cuts through him like it would through mist, and he regroups into one entity before I can blink.
Cerys screams from the edge of the stage, the courts are watching intensely, and the vibes I get from Lysander tell me that he’s actually hoping for me to win, but I have to tune them all out. I knew from the start that fighting myself won’t be the same as fighting just another enemy. The blade is only going to help him, but not me. All I can do is move out of his way as he attacks, the fire in my veins coming back to life, melting the frost away. Soon the exercise and will to win have restored me to my original temperature, and my moves become quicker, swifter, and more efficient.
The creature roars in frustration, shadow and smoke curling off of it, making him look like a frustrated ball of black energy. But that doesn’t bring me any closer to my goal. I need to eliminate the creature, or—Wait.
It hits me. We come face to face, moving in a circle, eyes trained on each other, waiting for the other to make the next move, and I understand. This creature is a part of me. I can’t kill him without eliminating a big chunk of myself as well, one that I’ve spent years building up and strengthening. He stepped out of the mirror, and that’s where he has to return. The solution is to banish him.
And how do you banish a creature of the dark, if not by making its stay in your dimension unbearable. So I take the risk when, circling the shadow with my eyes trained on it, I reach the spot where Lysander stands, watching us closely. I spin around, and grab the hilt of his royal ice sword from its sheath at his hip. Gasps and screams travel everywhere, but I’m too quick for anyone to react, since the element of surprise was completely in my favor. I can’t give them the chance to jump me, and return my attention to the creature, making it clear I have no intention of attacking the King of Frost.
The creature’s blazing eyes drop to the ice blade, then rise back to my face. I know what it’s thinking—the energy of the Ice Lord must be burning me, ice on fire, and it sears my palm indeed, smoke rising as my flesh hisses. But if it can hurt me, it can sure as fuck hurt the creature, too.
This is it. Bastard is going back to where he came from. I raise the blade and swing it above my head, cutting the air with it, my hair rippling in the swirl it creates. I force the creature back, pushing him towards the mirror. I run my tongue over my teeth—He is afraid, just like I expected.
I increase pace and attack more aggressively, letting the blade cut through his shoulder, then through his foot, and then slice the air really close to his throat. The flames in his eyes flare, and the little I can see of his features betrays that he’s confused, uncertain. This isn’t the time to slacken my attack, so I press on, swinging Lysander’s blade at him relentlessly.
But the creature isn’t ready to let go. He wants control over me, this is his chance to get it, and he knows it. He lets out a demonic roar that overburdens my eardrums, thus affecting my center of balance, and forcing me to a halt. He takes full advantage of the gap in my focus and attacks, but this time he does it with the fabric of his own body. The shadows extend to me, curling off of him like sooty tentacles. He winds them around my neck, my waist, and my legs, tying my ankles together. By the time I regain a good enough grip on my senses, it’s too late.
I struggle, but my sight turns hazy. It’s not from the creature’s strength because my body can withstand it, at least at first. It’s from the feelings that the very fabric he’s made of infiltrates into my body. Hopelessness, deep sadness, guilt, especially for what I’ve done to Cerys. The creature must sense what I’m feeling, because he latches on to it. He twists the knife in the wound that is my feelings for Cerys.
My heart remembers all the ways I’ve wronged her, from before we even met. It bleeds because of how I planned to have her killed, then how I forced her to help me get the Firestone, planning to imprison her for life in the end. The omen from our wedding slices through my mind, her bouquet flying through the air and catching fire. Her supposed betrayal, and how I punished her for it. As her fated mate and her husband, I should have known her better than this.
I sure as hell deserve what’s happening to me now, I shouldn’t even fight it. I should just let the creature take over. Maybe if I stop existing the mates’ bond between Cerys and me will dissolve, and she’ll be free to go back to a life of good, and light.
More tentacles tighten around the rest of my body until I can barely see or hear anything anymore. The motherfucker is winning, and I’m letting him do it. But Cerys’ screams reach me muffled from the outside, sending a surge of motivation through me.
Yet the only thing I can do from this position is to emit my own energy, burn the creature with it, or choke him. I can feel it’s not the energy of the underworld I must unleash on him, the energy I got from the Cemetery of Doom, because he’s made of a very similar fabric to that. It will only make him stronger. I must use something that this creature doesn’t possess, something that separates instead of unites us.
My fire energy burns him, his tentacles hissing, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen by a lot. I cling to the motivation Cerys breathed into me. I think about how my death would mean her freedom, but on the other hand, freedom means she will eventually have another lover. Rage fuels me, and I roar, letting my love and my jealousy sear the creature’s shadowy tentacles. My feelings for Cerys aren’t exactly angelic, they’re passionate and possessive, but they are love, and love is the exact kind of energy that can win this fight.
The field around my body starts emitting a strong orange light like that of sunrise, and the creature screams sharply as it touches him. He struggles to keep his tentacles on me, but he can’t put up with the burn for long, and he yanks them away, shrieking and twisting like a tortured demon.
I watch him and, when he tries to switch direction and head towards the stairs, I block his way. I walk towards him with the crimson rays of my love and devotion for Cerys terrorizing him, forcing him back towards the mirror. Understanding he’s lost, he snarls at me one last time like a wounded predator, and disappears into the mirror, his shadows and smoke dissipating like mist.
I can hear my own breath in my ears for long moments as I stare at the frosted mirror. It’s done. I’ve defeated my Dark Side of the Moon, and banished him back to where he came from. He still exists, and he always will, representing a source of power to me. But, as long as the love between Cerys and me exists, he will never be able to take over. And our love is bound to exist forever.
“Xerxes,” her crystalline voice reaches me. I turn around, opening my arms to receive her as she runs into them. I cup her head and breathe in the scent of her hair. My Cerys, my wild lily, my bride. The sensation of being united with her is like drinking from a fresh spring after a torrid drought, but the bliss tears when Lysander starts clapping his hands.