Chapter 110: The Crucible of Rage
The faceless entity floated above the black and white marble chessboard. It did not attack with physical claws or destructive magic. It attacked with a concept.
The bleeding, mangled illusion of Elara Hardsteel materialized on the freezing floor. Her amber eyes were dead, hollow, and terribly accusing.
"You were too late, Grik," the illusion whispered. Her voice bubbled with phantom blood as she stared directly into my soul. "You let them break me."
A horrific, suffocating weight settled directly onto my chest.
It was not physical gravity pushing me down. It was the crushing, absolute weight of my own guilt manifesting as an inescapable pressure.
I gritted my teeth until I tasted thick copper in my mouth.
'This is all fake. I cannot let this get to my head. I need to believe in myself.'
I poured every single ounce of my anger into the blade of my steel longsword.
