The shadow rose—
but not like the creature before it.
This one rose slowly, as if remembering how to stand.
Blackness dripped upward along its limbs like reversed ink, gathering into a humanoid shape. Shoulders. Collarbone. Jawline. The idea of hair. Then—
A face.
Not hollow.
Not featureless.
Worse.
Azhar's face.
Not perfect. Not whole.
A ghost-image of him made of frayed shadow strands, as if someone had sketched him in smoke and forgotten to finish the drawing.
Manraj's breath stopped.
His chest seared.
35 pulsed beneath his ribs—
not a drop—
a warning.
Zoya staggered back, one hand shooting instinctively to Manraj's arm.
"…no," she whispered. "No, no, no—this is wrong—"
The shadow-Azhar lifted his head.
His eyes were not Azhar's.
They were two spinning rings of pale root-light, set inside the silhouette of a friend.
When he spoke, the voice came twisted—
layered—
broken through a tunnel of water and dark.
"Eryth…"
Manraj flinched like the word physically hit him.
Zoya stepped in front of him again, palms out, Silence crackling.
"No. STOP. You do not get to use his face."
The shadow-Azhar tilted his head sharply—as if studying her, confused by defiance.
Then—
It broke into a jagged run.
Zoya shoved Manraj behind a pillar—
just as the shadow-Azhar slammed into her with the force of a collapsing tunnel.
Her Silence burst outward, splintering the air.
The shockwave hurled both of them apart—
Zoya skidding across gravel—
the creature rolling, reforming mid-motion, rising again.
Manraj stumbled to his feet.
"Zoya—Zoya are you okay?!"
She coughed, raising a shaking hand.
"Yep—just great—love being body-checked by demonic identity theft—"
But her eyes were terrified.
Not of the creature.
Because she recognized the shape of its movements.
The way its spine unwound before striking.
The way its feet angled to anchor power.
The way its head lowered a split-second before attacking.
"…Manraj," she whispered. "That thing isn't just wearing his face.
It remembers his fighting style."
The creature lunged again—
this time exactly like Azhar would have.
A shadow uppercut.
A sweeping kick.
A follow-through elbow to the ribs.
Manraj dodged the first—barely—
took the second to the leg—
and felt his bones crack under the third.
He dropped to one knee with a gasp.
Zoya grabbed the creature's arm and flung Silence at point-blank range—
but the creature bent its arm in a way Azhar never could, folding like liquid shadow to avoid the blow.
Manraj forced himself upright.
"Stop—STOP using his moves—stop using HIM!"
The shadow froze for a fraction of a second.
Listening.
Recognizing.
And then—
Its mouth opened wider than any human jaw ever could.
Azhar's voice came out of it—
but twisted, as if played underwater through broken stone:
"..brr…oth…er…"
Manraj felt the world tilt.
His heart dropped into ice.
Zoya's breath caught.
"Manraj… it's not just echoing him.
It's using Azhar's last memory before he vanished."
The creature twitched, head jerking like a glitching puppet.
And Manraj realized:
It wasn't possessed by Azhar.
It wasn't imitating Azhar.
It was built from Azhar's failed escape.
Piece by piece.
Hit by hit.
Attempt by attempt.
Shadow by shadow.
A parasite wearing what was left of its host.
The realization made him sick.
Zoya spat blood, rising to her feet.
"Okay," she said, voice trembling. "Final verdict:
This thing is not him. Not even close.
So we kill it."
The creature lunged.
Manraj stepped between them on instinct.
"NO!"
The creature's clawed hand hit his chest—
directly over the symbols.
White agony exploded outward.
35 cracked like breaking glass—
and the number glitched wildly.
35 → 34 → 35 → 34 → 34
The shadow-Azhar recoiled, shaking violently, as if touching the tri-light had burned it.
It screeched—a sound deeper than the river, higher than the void.
Zoya seized the moment.
Her Silence surged—
but instead of throwing it—
she twisted it, compressing it into a sharp point.
"Manraj—down!"
He dropped.
She thrust the Silence spike into the creature's chest.
The shadow-Azhar convulsed—
fractured—
split into ribbons—
but didn't die.
"Dammit—why won't you break?!" Zoya cried.
Manraj forced his shaking hands upward.
"I think—it can only be killed—by what built it."
Zoya frowned. "Meaning?"
"Shadow," he said. "Real shadow. Not… this fake thing it stole."
"But Azhar's not here!"
Manraj looked at the ground.
At the faint imprint of Azhar's silhouette still flickering underneath the creature's form.
"No," he said. "But his shadow is."
Zoya's eyes widened.
"…You think you can use it?"
He nodded once.
"His shadow remembers too."
The creature recovered, claws digging into the dirt.
It charged.
Zoya grabbed Manraj's arm.
"Fine. Then take it.
Use it.
But don't you DARE lose yourself to it."
He breathed in.
34 pulsed in his chest—
bright, hot, furious.
The creature leaped.
Manraj thrust his hand toward the shadow on the ground—
not the creature—
the real shadow beneath it.
The one that belonged to Azhar.
It answered.
Shadows surged like a wave, crawling up Manraj's arm, wrapping around his fingers, filling his palm with a cold so deep it cut.
Zoya's Silence held the creature for one heartbeat—
enough.
Manraj spoke through clenched teeth:
"This is for him."
The shadow shot forward—
a spear of black light piercing the creature's chest.
The creature jerked—
froze—
its face glitching into a dozen broken shapes—
and then it shattered.
Not into water.
Not into smoke.
Into silence.
Absolute.
Dead.
Manraj collapsed to his knees, shadows still writhing up his arm like living ink.
Zoya caught him before he hit the ground.
"HEY—HEY—stay with me—stay—Manraj—look at me—"
His eyes fluttered.
The shadows on his arm pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then sank back into the ground.
Leaving only the faint silhouette.
Azhar's silhouette.
Zoya whispered:
"Manraj… your arm—"
He swallowed.
"It… let go."
Then his voice cracked.
"But Azhar didn't."
Zoya hugged him tight.
The silhouette on the ground flickered—
then faded.
Not gone.
Retreating deeper into the tunnel shadow.
Manraj whispered:
"He's alive."
Zoya nodded.
"And now the door he's trapped behind?
It knows we can reach him."
A distant rumble echoed from below—
like something shifting in the drowned tunnels.
Not the entity.
Not the Root.
Something else.
Manraj lifted his head, chest burning around the number 34.
"Zoya…"
She tightened her grip.
"Yeah?"
He exhaled, shaken.
"Something else is coming."
She nodded.
"I know."
The tunnel trembled.
"This was just the first shadow."
And the countdown kept falling.