Tragedy of Divinity

Chapter 4: The Trial of Mirrors

The air in the Mirror Room felt thick, suffocating, as if every breath Quintin took was more laborious than the last. His heart pounded in his chest, the rapid rhythm vibrating through his limbs. The mirrors around him seemed to stretch impossibly tall, reaching up to an unseen sky, and their reflections—no, their forms—began to shift, distort, and crawl out of the glass.

Each twisted, nightmarish version of him staggered forward, their movements jerky and unnatural, like marionettes whose strings had been pulled too tightly. The ones with too many eyes blinked in unsettling unison, while the ones with no eyes at all reached out with impossibly long fingers, their smiles too wide, too hungry.

Seraphine stood unmoving in the center of the room, her posture composed, as though this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Quintin, on the other hand, was paralyzed for a moment, his eyes wide as the twisted reflections crept closer. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't take his eyes off them, couldn't bring himself to look away from their ghastly, distorted faces.

"They're you, Quintin," Seraphine said quietly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Every one of them is a part of you—your doubts, your fears, your darkest impulses."

"Great," Quintin managed to croak, his throat dry. "Just what I needed."

The reflections stopped in front of him, their eyes—too many eyes—staring at him with an almost predatory hunger. The one with too many eyes grinned, its teeth sharp and jagged, almost like the smile of a predator before it strikes.

Quintin stepped back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but the mirror-versions of himself mirrored his movements. They knew him—knew his every move, his every fear. They mimicked him with eerie precision, and Quintin felt his skin crawl.

"What are they going to do?" Quintin asked, his voice rising in panic.

"They can't hurt you physically," Seraphine said, her gaze locked on the approaching figures. "But they'll try to break you mentally."

One of the reflections, the one with too many eyes, stepped forward, its grin widening. It raised a hand, and for a split second, Quintin saw himself—his own hand reaching out to touch the reflection. He froze, his mind screaming at him to stop, but the reflection's fingers were already brushing his own, cold as ice.

The world around him spun. For a moment, Quintin felt himself falling—no, he wasn't falling—but his body was twisting, contorting, like the mirror was warping him, pulling him into its depths.

He screamed, but the sound didn't come out right. It was a garbled, distorted noise, almost like the reflection of his own voice. The mirror version of him leaned in, its grin wide and teeth flashing, and Quintin felt a surge of something primal, something dark, bubbling up inside of him. Fear. Self-loathing. A deep, aching disgust at the person he saw in the reflection.

"You're nothing," the mirrored version of himself whispered in a voice that was his own, but twisted. "A coward. A failure."

The words cut deep, sharper than any physical wound. Quintin stumbled back, his mind seizing up. Was that really what he thought of himself? He had always pushed forward, always tried to appear strong, but now—now he saw himself for what he was: weak, fragile, not fit for this reality, for the world Seraphine had dragged him into.

"You're weak," the reflection repeated, now more than one voice, as several others joined in, chanting the same words, over and over. "Weak. Weak. Weak."

"Shut up," Quintin gasped, his voice a strangled whisper.

Another reflection stepped forward, one with no eyes, and as it reached out to touch his chest, a wave of cold washed over him, stealing the air from his lungs. It was like drowning in freezing water, a deep, suffocating sensation that threatened to break him, to make him fall apart.

"You have nothing," it whispered. "Nothing to fight for. Nothing to save."

"No," Quintin gasped, shaking his head violently. He couldn't afford to break down now. Not here, not in this nightmare. His hand gripped his chest, as though he could somehow push away the freezing sensation. "I… I'm not weak!"

But the reflections kept coming. They surrounded him now, their faces contorted in impossible ways, their eyes—and lack of eyes—dripping with malice. They were him, and yet they weren't. They were everything he feared, everything he hated about himself.

"This is the trial, Quintin," Seraphine's voice came from somewhere behind him. "You must face yourself. The lies you've told yourself. The self-deception. The things you've buried deep inside."

The reflections closed in, and Quintin felt his mind slipping, his sense of self distorting under the pressure. He couldn't keep up with the rising tide of anxiety, self-doubt, and guilt that churned inside him. He was a fraud. A failure. And the mirrors knew it.

The room seemed to shift as the reflections started to speak again—this time, the words they whispered began to merge with his own thoughts, twisting his mind. They were inside his head, now. Not just reflections of his outer self, but of his deepest fears.

But then—something snapped.

"NO!" Quintin screamed. His voice thundered through the room, and the reflections seemed to waver. "You're wrong! You're all wrong!"

The mirrored figures stopped, their disjointed movements faltering. For the first time, Quintin felt something stir deep inside him—a flicker of defiance. I'm not them, he realized. I'm not what they say I am.

He squared his shoulders, pushing back the cold that still clung to him. His hands shook, but his resolve remained.

The reflections took a step back. And for a brief, terrifying moment, Quintin thought they would attack again.

But they didn't. Instead, the mirrored figures began to shudder and twist, their forms crumbling into nothingness, vanishing like smoke in the wind.

The room began to quiet. The pressure on his chest lifted, and the oppressive weight on his mind seemed to loosen, just a little.

Seraphine appeared beside him, her arms folded, her face unreadable.

"Well done," she said, her voice unexpectedly soft. "You passed."

Quintin staggered, trying to regain his balance as he breathed deeply, shaking, sweat trickling down his brow. "I—what the hell just happened? They were me. They were… me."

"The Nexus tests you," Seraphine replied, her voice steady. "It brings out your fears. Your weaknesses. You were forced to face what you truly believe about yourself."

"I'm not… I'm not that weak," Quintin whispered, though he still felt the gnawing doubt deep inside.

"No," Seraphine said with a nod. "You're not. But it's going to keep pushing. This place knows your darkest thoughts, and it will use them against you. The more you fight, the stronger you become."

Quintin swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tremors in his hands. "What's next?"

"The next trial," Seraphine said, stepping toward the now-closed door in the far corner of the room, "is even worse."

Quintin followed her, trying to steady his breath as the reality of the trial settled in. He had passed, yes, but something inside of him was still shaken.

There was no turning back. Not now.

End of Chapter 4.