Mist clung to the fractured platform like living smoke, curling over the jagged edges of collapsed stone. Shadows moved around Tharyx, not merely following his commands but stretching, probing, and coiling of their own accord. Each thread acted almost like an extension of his senses, scanning surfaces, gauging pressure, and testing distances. He felt their subtle independence not yet rebellious, but aware, calculating, and impossibly quick. The fragments of Void energy pulsed faintly within him, resonating with the threads as though whispering guidance. Zalivra, still wobbling from the rift jump, stumbled beside him, muttering complaints mixed with awe. "I swear, one of you is terrifying enough, and now there's… more of you? Is this legal physics?"
Tharyx ignored him, letting his shadows sweep across the platform. Debris rose, coiled around jagged stone, and slammed into distant rubble with fluid precision. The threads weren't just obeying, they were predicting, acting slightly ahead of his conscious thought, and it thrilled him as much as it unsettled him. A faint whisper echoed from below the mist, carried by the wind: "…a shadowed man… kills monsters with darkness itself…" Tharyx froze, listening. Rumors traveled fast, and the words were laced with awe and fear, amplified by the inexplicable phenomena surrounding him.
From the far edge of the ruins, figures moved as small, cloaked silhouettes slipping between collapsed buildings, moving with measured caution. Tharyx recognized the discipline immediately. The Obscurane Watchers, a faction known for tracking anomalies that defied natural law, had heard the whispers. They weren't ordinary survivors; they came to investigate the man who wielded shadows as weapons. Tharyx felt their attention even before seeing them, as if the shadows themselves alerted him to their presence. Threads coiled around pillars and rubble, extending beyond the platform to sense movement, mapping every surface, every pressure fluctuation.
Zalivra peeked over a broken wall, voice trembling. "Wait… are you making doubles now? I can barely handle one of you! I mean, do you even exist in only one place anymore?" Tharyx didn't answer. He had already extended several threads, each one mimicking his movements, striking, lifting, and probing as though multiple versions of him had emerged across the platform. To any observer, it would appear he had multiplied, a terrifying army of shadowed selves moving in perfect synchrony, striking unseen threats, and preparing the battlefield for what was coming.
The Watchers froze mid-step, seeing movement they could not rationally explain. "There!" one shouted. "Three of him, attacking at once!" The threads tightened around stone and debris, mimicking attacks and defensive maneuvers with terrifying coordination. Shadows stretched farther than human sight could follow, forming quasi-duplicates of Tharyx, responding instinctively, almost autonomously, yet tethered to his will. The Watchers had no idea what they were confronting. What they saw were impossible illusions or living shadows moving with the efficiency of a trained army.
Then it happened. A single thread deviated, twisting sharply against his intended motion, wrapping a pillar in a way he hadn't commanded. It recoiled slightly, probing the air, testing boundaries, and he realized with a chill that this wasn't random. The shadows were thinking. Not like humans, not like monsters, but aware enough to act with intent independent of him.
SYSTEM MESSAGE:
[Shadow Threads: Autonomy Confirmed.]
[Sentience Level: Rising.]
[User Warning: Control May Be Challenged.]
Tharyx's eyes narrowed. He had been expecting this, having felt the early stirrings in the last trial. The shadows weren't tools anymore; they were entities, extensions of his will, yes, but with a spark of awareness. He flexed his fingers, testing the bounds. Threads extended, brushed surfaces, struck debris, coiled, and lifted objects in ways he hadn't consciously ordered. Each motion was a conversation, subtle but clear: he guided, they acted, they tested, he adjusted.
The mist ahead quivered violently, coiling inwards, and from the fog emerged a humanoid shape. Tall, vaguely human, limbs stretching at impossible angles, each movement perfectly mirrored Tharyx's own posture. Not a clone. Not a projection. It was alive. It moved with the independence of the shadows themselves, but it also echoed him in ways that defied reason.
Zalivra stumbled backward, screaming, "I can't! You're what you've made… doubles? I'm done, done, done!"
Tharyx stepped forward cautiously, shadows surging in anticipation. One thread recoiled sharply toward the humanoid, striking a pillar that shattered violently. The figure tilted its head in response, studying him, reacting to his will but not bound by it. A whisper echoed in his mind, faint but resonant, almost tangible:
"You are mine and not mine…"
The platform shivered violently, and below, the abyss seemed to respond. Threads surged instinctively, wrapping around him, bracing the platform, coiling, probing, defending, predicting. Tharyx realized that for the first time, his power as a shadow was interacting with another conscious shadow presence, and the world around them was shifting in response.
He smiled faintly, excitement and caution mingling. Rules were being rewritten. Boundaries tested. And somewhere in the mist, unseen, more eyes were watching the awakening of something far beyond ordinary comprehension.
The shadows pulsed. The platform cracked. And for the first time, Tharyx felt the thrill and the danger of facing another sentient force that moved through shadows just like he did.