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“ DON’T touch ANY of my books, okay, Hierophant?”
“Alright, alri-”
“ Especially those ones on the shelf over there! Those are… my special ones…”
Hierophant held up his hands in surrender, laughing softly at the High Priestess’ insistence.
“Don’t worry; I won’t touch any of them…”
“Good. Oh, and… thank you for helping me out with my cleaning, Hierophant. You really didn’t have to.”
“No, no! It’s fine. I like the work, anyways.”
High Priestess’ face flushed at that, which Hierophant didn’t understand. He seemed to have that effect on just about every woman he talked to, plus one certain man.
“Ah, I should get going. Thanks again, Hierophant !~”
High Priestess turned around and ran down the hallway to the front door of her home, slamming the door shut behind her. Hierophant stood there by himself, taking in the smell of her library, which had an oddly comforting new book smell (well, it did make sense. He was in a library , after all).
Hierophant grabbed the duster High Priestess had lent to him, and walked towards one of the many shelves, beginning to clean off all the dust that had accumulated there. He began humming to himself, enjoying the comfort of the work. His good friend, Death, had warned him about people taking advantage of his kindness and willingness to help just about anybody. Hierophant had insisted that they weren’t ‘taking advantage of him’, they were just making simple requests (Death very much disagreed, though).
As he was finishing up cleaning the row he was on, he was startled by a big, thick black book that jutted out from the shelf. Hierophant reached to grab the book, but quickly recalled High Priestess’ warning. He didn’t want to disobey her rules, but curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled the book down.
The front of the mysterious book was covered in locks, making it extremely heavy. In the center was an eye, wide open and staring directly at Hierophant. Its pink pupil reminded Hierophant of the magical, hundreds-of-years-old goddess that ruled over Magical Land. He opened the book, and was met with wrinkled, yellowed pages.
The book seemed to contain a myriad of spells, ranging from love spells to transformation spells. One particular spell caught Hierophant’s eye, though. He quickly flipped to the page that contained this spell, and he was instantly intrigued. The spell was one that could create a mirror image of the caster. Said mirror image could do anything the caster commanded it to do.
However, this spell was highly dangerous, and notorious for going wrong within seconds. The mirror image could gain sentience and disobey its master, potentially hurting the caster of the spell. The dark shadow could begin to think it's the original, that the caster is the copy. It was recommended to—if anyone decides to cast this spell, and the mirror image runs rampant—either find a way to kill the copy, or cast the spell that gets rid of it, banishing it to a world for copies and mirror images of that kind.
This warning didn’t stop Hierophant from attempting to cast the spell.
He flipped past the warning page, and began reciting the incantation in his head. He walked over to the mirror set in the middle of the room, looking directly into his eyes in the mirror, as the spell instructed. Then, taking a deep breath, he recited the spell:
“elihw a sekat gnidaol, tiaw,
elihw a sekat gnidaol, tiaw,
elihw a sekat gnidaol, tiaw,
elihw a sekat gnidaol, dias i!”
For a moment, nothing happened. Hierophant began to wonder if he said it wrong, but suddenly his mirror was engulfed in a bright, blinding white light. Hierophant had to cover his eyes and turn away from the blinding light. Once the light had died away, he looked back at the mirror….
… and was met with a startling image.
Dark, blood-red eyes that contrasted Hierophant’s deep, rich brown eyes. Snow-white hair that had a slight lavender tint to it, a much lighter shade than Hierophant’s vivid blue. Hierophant’s bright white robes with their green accents were turned to inky, purple robes with vibrant red accents in the mirror. The image also seemed to have much paler skin than Hierophant’s, almost like a milky-white.
Hierophant backed away from the mirror, horrified by the sight before him. The image simply smirked at him, stepping closer to the barrier between the real world and the mirror realm. He reached out his hand, breaking the barrier. The replica stepped through the mirror, breaking it in the process. Hierophant stumbled and fell to the floor as he was backing away. This evil image chuckled, relishing in Hierophant’s fear.
“Scared? You shouldn’t be. I’m you , after all. What’s there to be afraid of?”
Hierophant tried to respond, but his throat had run dry. He looked around for the staff he usually carried with him, but to no avail. Agh, he hadn’t brought it with him ! Losing hope, Hierophant weakly held up his hands in front of his face, as if to hide himself from the replicant standing in front of him.
“Begone, vile creature!”
The replicant snickered.
“ Pathetic .”
Hierophant held back tears as he tried to climb back to his feet. He stumbled a bit, but was successful in getting back up. Desperately, he looked around for anything he could use to defend himself. Finally, Hierophant’s eyes landed on the small jar High Priestess kept her Drops in for training. He hoped High Priestess would understand his need to use her Drops.
He ran across the library to the small jar and smashed it into the small, cherry-blossom coloured desk it was sitting on top of. Glass shards flew everywhere, some hitting Hierophant and embedding themselves deep into his flesh. It was fine; he’d cast a healing spell on himself later. He needed to focus on defeating this replica first.
Hierophant grabbed three of the blue Drops, his strongest colour. He put them together in a vertical chain. The Drops disappeared and filled his body with a surge of magic. Usually he would use his staff to channel his magic through, which made it much easier. This time, however, he’d have to simply use his hands.
… Which made things much more difficult.
Hierophant focused all his energy into his palms. He pushed all of that magic he absorbed from the Drops through his body…. But nothing happened. He tried and tried again, but nothing worked. The most that happened was the slight glowing of his hands, though nothing came from them. Hierophant bent over, feeling sick from the effort. He clutched his stomach, and was left gasping for breath.
( NO! This… can’t be happening… )
He was suddenly forced back by a wave of energy, throwing him against one of the library’s many shelves. Books fell left and right from the impact of Hierophant being thrown against the shelf. He weakly looked up at the replicant. The evil being had his hand held out, red mist emitting from his palm. It had used a magic beam against Hierophant. But where did that power come from? Most people had to use Drops to access their power. How did this being use that beam without any Drops to help itself? Had it stored up magic before the fight? Or was it just that powerful? What was this creature? What were its abilities ?
Hierophant tried to sit up, but fell back and grunted from the pain. The replicant threw one of the large glass shards from the jar that had held High Priestess’ Drops at Hierophant. He barely dodged the oncoming shard, but it still cut him. A deep, nasty gash across his arm. He hissed as blood flowed freely from the large wound, staining his pure white robes. He quickly stood up, his head pounding from the sudden movement. He was going to lose. He couldn’t win this. He was going to die at the hands of a copy of himself. A replica .
Tears were flowing freely down Hierophant’s face. This couldn’t be happening, he couldn't die like this! Frantically, he searched for a weapon, anything he could channel his magic through. All of the glass shards were too small, and he wasn't strong enough to lift one of the desks or tables that scattered the library. He couldn’t use more Drops; they’d just overflow him and he would fall unconscious. His gaze landed upon a large longsword lying against the wall near the hallway to the front door.
Hierophant bolted to the sword, snatching it from its perch. The sword was massive, no doubt one of Justice’s. The tall, long-haired blonde girl seemed to leave her weapons anywhere and everywhere. But why here? Justice almost never visited High Priestess’ library. No matter, Hierophant could ask High Priestess later.
The replicant growled as Hierophant lifted the sword, pointing the weapon at it. He began muttering a spell that he knew by heart. A simple beam of light. He focused all of his magic into the sword. It glowed faintly, but did nothing more. As Hierophant was losing hope, thinking that he was doomed, nothing could save him…
… the sword glowed a blinding blue, and sent a giant ray of light straight at the replicant.
It screamed in agony as it was blinded by the light. Hierophant took the opening and ran at the evil being, his sword out in front of him. He’d never used a sword, but he hoped—nay, he prayed —he was using it right.
The sword sliced straight through the replicant’s arm, cutting it clean off. The replicant screamed once more, this time louder, angrier. Blood sprayed from the stump that was once its arm. The limb fell to the floor, flopping about like a fish out of water. It went still finally, and melted into nothing more than a rotten pile of flesh, blood, and bone. A foul stench emitted from it, nearly causing Hierophant to vomit. The replicant screeched and launched itself at Hierophant, tackling and pinning him to the ground. The longsword was knocked out of his hands and sent skittering across the floor. The being clawed and scratched at Hierophant’s face and neck with its long black claws. In return, Hierophant punched and kicked at the replicant’s face and body. The blood from the replicant’s stump hadn’t stopped spraying, and Hierophant’s face was covered in the wet, red, sticky substance. The liquid fell on his face in thick globs.
Hierophant’s bright blue hair, now caked in blood, was getting in his face and sticking to his cheeks. He should definitely cut it at some point soon. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to ask Death to cut it, last time she tried to cut it she nearly sliced Hierophant’s head clean off with her scythe.
The replicant finally fell back from one particularly hard punch to the face. Hierophant seized his chance and roughly forced the replicant back against the ground, smashing its head down and flipping their positions.
The creature’s eyelids fluttered at the sudden impact and was caught off-guard by the punches being thrown at its face. Hierophant screamed wildly as he beat the replicant’s face. It sputtered, coughing up blood. Then, miraculously, it spoke once more.
“Nhnn… no… this- it wasn’t suh-supposed to hu-happen like this… “
Hierophant was startled, stopping his punching momentarily. The replicant was crying, its face covered in its and Hierophant’s blood.
“I wuh-was supposed to… duh-duh-defeat you! Nnn... not the other way around. Yuh-you’re the copy! I’m… I’m s-supposed to be the uh-original… “
Hierophant felt nothing but rage towards the creature. Red-hot fury. He got up off of the replicant, glaring at it as he walked away from it. After a bit of looking around, he found what he was looking for. He picked up the longsword that was thrown across the room. He walked back over to the replicant, standing over it ominously. Then, in one swift motion, he lifted the sword above his head….
… and thrusted it down, straight into the replicant’s shadowy heart.
The mirror image sputtered, more blood strewing from its mouth. Its eyes bulged, and its body convulsed wildly. After a few seconds of struggle, the replicant went still, and took its final breath.
Hierophant felt triumphant. Nay, even better than that—the killing felt good. He stared blissfully at the dying creature, knowing that he was the one that slaughtered it. No one else; him. Hierophant laughed. A maniacal, evil sound. This was the first time he’s ever murdered. It felt incredible. The blood on his face, his torn clothes, it was all so… exhilarating.
But this wasn’t satisfying enough. He needed more .
Looking around, head swinging from left to right. He needed something else to kill. To slaughter. Finding nothing else, he growled with displeasure, settling on simply continuing to tear apart the replicant.
Hierophant dropped the sword, set on using his hands. He grabbed the replicant’s remaining arm and ripped it off, relishing in the way blood flowed from the place its arm once was.
Hierophant lapped up the sweet, bloody nectar from the arm in his hands. He chewed and gnawed on it, eating his way through the soft skin. He brought his head back up for air, his eyes rolling back in his head. It was heavenly . He couldn’t get enough.
But suddenly, Hierophant stopped.
Creeeeeeeeeeeak.
“Hierophant? I’m baaaaack!~ ”
It’s High Priestess.
He’s doomed .
He can hear High Priestess bounding up the stairs, and running down the hallway towards the library. All Hierophant could do was sit there. What was he supposed to do? He can’t hide what happened. Shelves are knocked over, the carpet is stained red, Drops are scattered everywhere. There’s no hiding this.
The double doors are pushed open with great energy. High Priestess gasps as she takes in the scene.
A beat of silence.
Then she’s screaming.
“ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!! ”
Her scream is piercing, nearly shattering the windows. It’s absolutely blood-curdling. Hierophant turns around to see that High Priestess has dropped the book she’s always clutching to her chest, and is violently vomiting. The greenish-brown bile is coming up out of her mouth rapidly, some coming out of her nose. Eventually there’s nothing more in her stomach, and she’s dry heaving. Finally, after what feels like hours—but was, in reality, only a few minutes—High Priestess looks up at him. His bloodied, disheveled form. High Priestess’ face is pale. She’s crying.
“Wha- Who… WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! ”
A monster.
— end —