Pride stood like a mountain, his very presence imposing a crushing weight on the air. Just gazing upon his massive, flawless form made Ryan feel insignificant, his hard-won power seeming like a flickering candle before a star.
"Ryan," Pride spoke, his voice clear, resonant, and utterly devoid of passion. It held no Wrath's heat, no Greed's hunger—only the calm, undeniable weight of fact. "You have come this far. But I will not allow you to leave this place in your current state. You are too weak."
Ryan glared up, defiance flaring against the oppressive certainty. "I don't care how weak I am, or if I'm going to lose. I am certain of one thing: before I die, I will cut off the heads of every Black Dragon soldier and burn their empire to ash!"
A low, mocking chuckle rumbled from Pride. "Hahahaha! Then why don't you give it a try? Ryan, hit me. Strike me with all your power, right here." He tapped his own immaculate cheek. "If you can so much as scratch me, I will let you pass."
Ryan's mind raced. Why? Why would he offer that? Is this his power, or does he want to lose? He searched Pride's silver eyes and found no trickery, no anger—only a cold, dispassionate reality, like a judge stating a law.
"I will break your pride today!" Ryan roared.
He gathered the crimson energy of Wrath into his fist, a vortex of red power swirling around his arm, and launched a punch that could shatter stone directly at Pride's face.
The moment his knuckles made contact, an explosion of pain erupted in Ryan's own face.
He was hurled backward, skidding across the grond . What was that? I'm sure I hit him! He didn't even move! Is he that fast? He touched his face; his nose was broken, and blood streamed from it.
"Ryan," Pride's voice came, tinged with amusement. "What are you doing on the ground? Did you find something interesting down there?"
Ryan pushed himself up, panting, his vision swimming. "You coward! You told me to hit you, but you struck me instead! You're just like the others—you just want my body!"
Pride offered a simple, cold smile and touched his own lips. "Your body? Ryan, why would I be interested in your weak, broken heart and scarred flesh? I am perfection. I need nothing from you." He gestured lightly. "And I did not touch you. If you don't believe me, see for yourself."
A full-length mirror appeared before Ryan. It replayed the last moments—but in the reflection, Ryan saw his own fist twist in mid-air, reverse its trajectory, and slam squarely into his own face.
"What the hell? I just... punched myself? Why?"
"Because you are weak," Pride stated, as if explaining that water is wet. "Very weak. If Wrath had not been helping you from the very beginning, you would not have made it this far."
"What are you talking about?" Ryan spat, blood on his lips. "I defeated him! I broke him!"
"Hahahaha! Ryan, you are such a child." Pride's laughter was devoid of warmth. "You should know Wrath's true powers: Absolute Destruction, God-Speed, and the Soul-Cutter. Those are his strengths. Yet when he fought you, he brawled like a common thug. He never once drew his true weapons."
"Why?" Ryan asked, the question leaving him stunned. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he wanted you to win. He wanted you to take control. Had he truly fought to win, he would have obliterated you and everything around you. He chose to lose."
The revelation struck Ryan like a physical blow. But he shook it off, rage and desperation fueling him. "If I can't hit you with my fists, I'll cut you with my soul! Wind Wrath: Full Attack!"
A hurricane of crimson energy and cutting wind coalesced around his hands, forming his six deadly blades. He became a whirlwind of destruction and lunged.
"You foolish child," Pride sighed, sounding almost bored. "Mirror: Full Counter."
A shimmering pane of silver light appeared before him. Ryan's devastating attack struck it—and the mirror shattered. But the force of the blow did not dissipate; it reflected, perfectly reversed, and slammed back into Ryan. He was thrown across the room like a ragdoll, crashing to the ground, his body now crisscrossed with deep, bleeding gashes from his own power.
"Wha... what is this?" Ryan groaned, pushing himself up on trembling arms.
"Let me show you a fraction of my true domain," Pride announced. "The Mirror World."
The chamber dissolved. The gold, the stone, the air—everything was replaced by an endless, blinding white space bounded by infinite mirrors. Ryan stood alone, surrounded by a thousand reflections of his bleeding, bewildered self.
He stumbled toward one mirror. The reflection wasn't of him as he was. It showed a massive, black wolf, its fur matted, its heart visibly wounded in its chest. It stood alone in a desolate field of snow, its eyes glowing with a lonely, desperate red.
A profound ache echoed in Ryan's own chest. He reached out, compelled to touch the glass.
The mirror exploded.
The black wolf leaped from the shards, a phantom of pain and isolation made real. It sank its fangs deep into Ryan's shoulder. Ryan screamed, grappling with the beast, finally managing to draw a blade and stab it through its spectral side. The wolf dissipated into falling silver glass.
Pride's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere in the white void. "Look around, Ryan. This is my world—the world of mirrors and truth. I am the only god here." A pause. "That wolf that attacked you... what did it remind you of?"
It was agony to speak, but Ryan forced the words out. "A young wolf... that lost its pack. It's hurt... and alone in the dark and the snow... just waiting to die. That's all."
"Correct," Pride's voice resonated, not with triumph, but with solemn finality. "That wolf is you. You are a wounded beast, hunting for your own death, lashing out at anything in your path. You have no purpose left but revenge. And my pride... my pride will not allow me to leave you in such a pathetic, self-destructive state."