[Volume 2: Artificiality]
In the unfathomable depths where light itself surrendered, a tiny point of radiant white pulsed softly, a speck of creation in an ocean of utter negation.
It possessed neither form nor weight, existing purely as a consciousness adrift. How long it had existed, how far it had drifted in this endless void, was beyond its fractured comprehension.
The blackness pressed in on all sides, vast and cold, an unending shroud where time and distance held no meaning. The only constant was the tiny sphere of luminescence that was itself.
'Where am I?' the thought formed, shimmering within the light like a trapped mote.
'Who am I?' Another thought, edged with the first faint spark of something akin to panic.
Again, no answer. The void absorbed the query as hungrily as it consumed all else.
'What am i doing?' The light pulsed erratically, a beacon searching for a shore.
But darkness offered no direction, only an infinite, featureless abyss.
Despair threatened to dim the tiny beacon. Then, a ripple! A subtle disturbance, like a pebble dropped into an infinity-deep pool. Hope surged within the light ball, brightening its glow.
From the formless gloom materialized an arm. It appeared suddenly, coalescing as if painted into existence by an unseen hand.
Smooth and darkly elegant, like obsidian sculpted into limb form, it stretched forth with impossible length, fingers long and tapering, tipped with wicked, needle-fine claws. Darkness clung to the arm, rendering it part of the void itself made manifest.
The hand moved with impossible grace. It stretched out and the space seeming to stretch with it, elongating the limb into an unnatural length.
And then it clamped down. The cold, smooth digits closed around the light ball, enveloping it in a grip that felt simultaneously solid and impossibly insubstantial.
The dark arm retreated as suddenly as it had appeared, dragging the tiny white orb with it. The darkness closed the punctured hole in space like healing flesh over a wound. Silence descended once more, absolute and profound.
With a strangled gasp, consciousness slammed back into Lyssandra. She lurched upright, the motion causing a spike of white-hot agony behind her eyes.
"Ugh…" she groaned, pressing a hand to her temple, blinking in the gloom.
"My head… Ow…" The feeling was uncomfortably familiar, a sickening echo of the first time she woke up inside the Nazas dungeon.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. The surroundings weren't the dusty stone floor of the dungeon, or the hard floor of the boss's chamber where she'd lost consciousness after…
She shuddered.
Lyssandra was still surrounded by that deep, suffocating darkness. But she was inside it, yet separated from it.
A faint shimmering barrier, spun glass or a bubble of soap, curved around, defining her small space within the infinite universe. The only light came from herself, emanating from her pale skin, creating a soft, eerie glow.
"Where…?" she murmured, peering through the semi-transparent wall. Beyond the shimmer, the absolute blackness wasn't quite absolute anymore. Tiny pinpricks of light, impossibly distant and cold, scattered across the canvas, stars perhaps? Or just illusions born of her addled mind.
Looking down, another shock jolted her. Her body!
It was still hers, undeniably so. The lush curves of her hips, the massive breasts rising proudly, the enormous, veined cock jutting obscenely from between her thighs – all present and accounted for.
Yet… everything felt strange. When she pressed her hands against the smooth, pale flesh, the pressure registered, the soft warmth felt normal but distantly. As if sensation travelled through layers of thick fog.
"My… my body," she breathed, running a hand along the curve of her thigh, feeling the firm muscle, the cool smoothness of skin. "But it… it doesn't feel… real."
Panic began to rise. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then snapped them open again but the vision didn't change.
"Am I dead?" She looked at her hands again, turning them over, fingers flexing. They moved obediently, the sensation of muscles pulling and joints moving there, but muffled somehow.
"Is this some kind of afterlife?" The absurdity struck. An afterlife trapped in a floating glass ball in infinite dark space? Hardly seemed likely.
Yet, the evidence was undeniable. The stars outside were faint, impossibly distant, offering no clues. The only immediate truths were her own body, intact yet numbly distorted and this strange bubble.
Frowning, Lyssandra stepped closer to the shimmering barrier. The deeper darkness beyond made the bubble's surface reflective.
As she neared, her image sharpened, becoming crystal clear on the curved wall.
"That's me," she whispered, studying the reflected face. But something was off. While her skin glowed softly white, the reflection casted in deep shadows.
She raised her hand tentatively. The reflection mirrored her exactly, the long fingers graceful, the movement fluid.
"It moves with me," she breathed, tilting her head experimentally. The reflection tilted perfectly in sync, the cascade of dark hair flowing identically over one shoulder.
"But why…" She trailed off, noticing how the light seemed to drain from her reflection, leaving only a silhouette outlined in darkness.
Intrigued, Lyssandra reached out a hesitant finger, same for the reflected one grew closer in the glass.
The moment she made contact, the reflection shifted. Instead of touching the glass, a hand of deepest obsidian lunged out of the surface. It shot forward with unnerving speed and latched onto Lyssandra's forearm. Its touch was impossibly strong and cold, freezing her skin where contact was made.
"AH!" she yelped, trying instinctively to yank her arm away. The grip held fast, a vice of pure darkness clamped hard, rendered her momentarily speechless.
And then, slowly, the rest of the dark reflection stepped through the barrier as if it were made of liquid night. It flowed like viscous ink, the outline of a figure solidifying inch by inch, materializing into the bubble.
"What are you…" Lyssandra gasped, stumbling back, her captured arm tingling numbly where the shadow-hand grasped her.
The entity before her was a perfect, yet utterly inverse, copy of herself. The long blonde hair was cascade of absolute black. The skin, normally radiantly pale, was the colour of polished obsidian.
The curves, the breasts, the impossible ass, the massive cock hanging heavy between its legs were all there in perfect detail, but sculpted in monochrome night.
The face was her own, but its features were subtly warped, twisted by malice where hers held only shock. Those eyes burned by twin points of cold, white fire.
It smiled, revealing teeth that were like chips of obsidian in the gloom. Sharp and cruel. "Hello, little me," It purred, its voice a harsh scrape of broken glass grinding together.
"Was it fun..." the obsidian double rasped, "...remembering… piece by piece… every single time you gained power?" It advanced another step, forcing Lyssandra to back up. The cold emanating from the strange creature made her shiver along the numbness.
"Wh-what… What are you talking about?" Lyssandra stammered, her voice tight with rising panic and confusion. "I don't understand!"
The shadow-double stopped, tilting its head. A cruel parody of Lyssandra's own smile twisted its black lips. "Oh, don't play dumb, the other me. You know exactly what I mean. Every little scrap of memory that clawed its way back every time you 'leveled up.'"
It emphasized the last words with air quotes. "That sweet, terrifying rush when it all came flooding back? The delicious horror of discovering who and what you truly were? Didn't it feel… divine?"
Before Lyssandra could form a response, the creature moved with impossible speed. It pushed her hard in the center of her chest. Lyssandra stumbled backward, losing her balance on the invisible floor. Her back hit the ground.
Before she could react, her doppelgänger had lowered itself, sitting heavily on her thighs, the added weight pinning her firmly. The erection between its legs brushed against her own.
"Ah!" Lyssandra gasped while a wave of unwanted heat flashed.
Her doppelgänger smirked. "Still can't control it, can you?" it mused. "All that power, yet the first stirring of pleasure and it reacts like the horny little bitch it is. Predictable."
It began a slow, grinding motion, rubbing the obsidian length deliberately against Lyssandra, sending jolts of maddening friction through her numb senses.
"Uhnnn… S-stop…" Lyssandra groaned, arching slightly against her will. The sensations were muffled yet insistent, like electricity buzzing beneath layers of cotton wool.
"What do you want?!" she gasped, struggling to focus her scattered thoughts.
The double leaned forward, bringing its face inches from hers. The cold white fire in its eyes seared her soul. "Wrong question, darling," it whispered, breath cold as frost .
"The correct one…" It lifted itself slightly, hips still grinding before positioning her cockhead teasingly against the slick entrance of its pussy.
"…is: What do WE want?" a sharp, decisive motion, it sank downward.