The silence that followed the emergence of the reflections was like a sound that pierced the soul—silent, yet heavy—throbbing inside the skull more than heard by the ear. Nullus and his replica stood still, each staring at the other as if the world around them no longer existed.
But something was moving between the cracks. The world itself began to fold in on itself, as if the existence of two versions of the same being had shattered the fragile balance of this "probability field."
Iggy was the first to move. He didn't wait for the other version to attack; he charged straight at it, brandishing his violin as if it were a sword. But the other version wasn't slow. It grabbed the bow and, with a sudden motion, unleashed a sonic string aimed at Iggy.
The air trembled and tore like soaked paper—a blast of sonic waves exploded in his face.
Iggy staggered back, his steps faltering, but he grounded his feet once more.
— "You use music as a weapon?" he muttered, wiping blood from his mouth.
— "No. I use your memory as a weapon," the other replied with a faint smile.
In the next moment, Iggy heard a melody he recognized. A tune he used to play in childhood… before he was taken from his home. The music swept him into a whirlwind of painful memories, and for a moment, his limbs froze—giving the reflection a chance to attack again.
But before it could reach him, Nullus intervened.
He kicked a stone toward Iggy's reflection, then moved his hand sharply. The stone exploded mid-air, its shards flying like blades.
— "Get back to the fight. Don't let the melody break you," said Nullus, his eyes still fixed on his own reflection.
Iggy nodded and turned to strike. But Nullus was already entering his true battle.
The reflection that had emerged from the mirror wasn't just an image—it was a fully conscious version of himself. It wore a white coat and held in its hand a strange device that looked like a pen, but pulsed with blue light.
Slowly, it lifted the pen and began to write into the air.
Suddenly, the ground beneath Nullus's feet cracked, and from the fissures erupted a flood of flying knives—dozens of blades soared toward him, mimicking his own technique.
He jumped back and twisted his body among the blades, as if his body remembered how to dance.
But one of them pierced his shoulder.
He exhaled a muffled breath and muttered, — "He's no less than me… He is me, if I had chosen to learn from books only, not from pain."
His eyes scanned rapidly. He couldn't defeat a version that knew all his moves—unless he surpassed himself.
Meanwhile, Iggy faced a melody that brought back everything he had buried inside. But for the first time, he didn't use those memories as weakness… but as strength.
With each note, he recalled his mother's face, his laughter with his brother, even his screams the day he was taken. But he didn't let those images crush him. He used them.
He shouted at his reflection: — "You're not me… You're just an incomplete note."
Then he lunged at the other version, using the violin to deflect the next attack. Suddenly, he turned and kicked his opponent in the knee. The reflection lost balance, and before it could react, Iggy's knee struck its chest.
It fell.
Without hesitation, Iggy gripped the violin and smashed it into his reflection's face until it shattered.
But the reflection didn't vanish—it melted into the ground like ink in water, leaving behind only the bow.
— "These aren't just reflections… they're representations of parts of us," he said, gasping.
As for Nullus, he had begun to understand the laws of this place. It wasn't just a physical fight—it was a war of intent.
He looked at his reflection and said: — "You are me without loss. Without the experience of loneliness. Without the blood I washed from my hands."
The reflection raised an eyebrow and spoke in a soft voice: — "And does that make you stronger? Or broken forever?"
Nullus didn't answer. He drew three knives at once and hurled them at the shadow—but instead of hitting it, he altered their path at the last moment, directing them at a wall behind it—at a mirror.
It shattered, and the world quaked.
The reflection screamed, as if it were being torn from the inside.
Nullus realized the third rule:
Every reflection is tied to a mirror and a memory… Break the mirror, and its memory shatters.
He charged at the reflection, punched it directly in the chest, then pulled a knife and stabbed it in the gut.
The reflection exploded into shards of light—then vanished.
The air around them trembled. Space itself grew denser, as if the threads of possibility couldn't sustain two of everything.
Shards of glass began to fall from the sky, darker blue this time, each carrying older… and more dangerous… sounds.
Iggy said: — "I feel like we've broken a fundamental law of this place."
Nullus replied: — "Maybe… but it had to be done."
They looked toward the horizon, where black towers began rising from nothing, as if feeding on the chaos.
And from afar, strange creatures started to appear—walking on all fours, their heads resembling cracked mirrors, their bodies writhing like smoke.
Iggy said: — "Those aren't our reflections… They're reflections of the entity that created this field."
Nullus, in a resolute tone, said: — "The entity doesn't want us to leave… because it knows who we are now."
They readied themselves to fight—violin in Iggy's hand, knives in Nullus's.
But in that moment, the ground opened beneath them, and they were swallowed by a sudden white light.
When Nullus awoke, he found himself lying in the middle of a circle of gray ash.
Iggy was beside him, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.
But the place was different. It wasn't the probability field—it looked like a massive hall inside an ancient library. The walls were covered in extinct languages, and at the center stood a tall entity, faceless… with mirrors covering its chest.
A voice without a source echoed through the room: — "Welcome, you who broke the Law of Reflection."
Nullus asked: — "Who are you?"
The voice replied: — "I am the Keeper… the watcher of what should never awaken."
The entity stepped forward. Every mirror on its body reflected a moment from the past of Nullus and Iggy.
— "You've survived trials that no one has passed in centuries… But that does not qualify you to survive."
Nullus and Iggy exchanged a brief glance, then both stood up.
Iggy, with a tilted smile, said: — "If we broke the laws of your world… then prepare for us to break your world itself."
Here's the full English translation of your text, crafted with care to retain its philosophical depth, lyrical style, and narrative power:
---
The entity didn't move. It remained standing—tall, unmoving—as the mirrors on its chest flickered every second, like screens pulsing with invisible life.
But its voice cut through the void once more:
— "You broke the Law of Reflection… and now you seek escape?"
Nullus stepped forward. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he didn't appear weakened.
— "We didn't break your law. We only exposed your lie."
There was no echo, despite the vastness of the hall. Only silence that the walls seemed to breathe, as if this place acknowledged sound only when it came as confession.
The entity said:
— "This realm was made to protect the truth from you… you who emerged from ink into reality. All who escape the text deserve erasure, not freedom."
Nullus' face shifted briefly, as if something had just been unveiled to him.
— "You're not just a warden… you're the Scribe."
The mirrors froze.
Iggy spoke in a hoarse voice:
— "The Scribe… the one who rewrites worlds every time a conscious being slips free."
The entity nodded, then raised its hand. From its palm emerged a black quill, its tip dripping not with ink, but something alive—writhing, slithering.
— "What came from ink must return to it," it said, then wrote a single word in the air:
"Extinguish."
Immediately, Iggy's body began to tremble. He looked at his hand and saw his skin turning to peeling paper. His back arched as though he were burning from within.
Nullus screamed:
— "Stop!"
He ran toward him, but a glass wall burst into existence between them—a mirror that reflected nothing… but showed Nullus standing alone, without Iggy, without knives, without a past.
— "What you see is the future I am now writing for you, after your companion is erased," the entity said.
But Iggy, despite the pain, raised his head.
— "No… you can't write me. Because you never understood me."
He looked at Nullus, eyes blazing with an unyielding sorrow:
— "I lived to be part of someone else's melody… but now, I compose my own."
Then, with a broken voice, he played a final tune on the fractured violin.
It wasn't a full melody… just a single note.
But that note shattered the mirror wall.
The barrier burst, and Nullus lunged forward. He didn't attack the entity, but jumped toward Iggy and drew a knife, slicing through a ribbon that had begun coiling around Iggy—a ribbon of words forming around his body, like a living prison of text.
Iggy collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Nullus looked at the entity, eyes glowing like embers:
— "Everything you write is just a possibility. But the truth… is what can never be written."
The entity smiled, but it wasn't a human smile—just a distortion in the mirrors.
— "Then come, rebel of the Author. Fight me, if you think you're a text that cannot be rewritten."
---
All the mirrors surged toward him. It was no longer a single entity, but a hundred mirrors—spinning, stabbing, reflecting, deceiving.
But Nullus didn't fight like before.
He closed his eyes.
And saw.
He saw the entire past as threads on parchment. He saw the moment of his birth from the word, the line where his name was first written. He saw the error in the sentence that pulled him from ink into flesh.
Then he opened his eyes, and understood.
He didn't need blades—he needed something deeper.
He said:
— "You don't know the starting point… but I've returned to it."
Then he raised his hand and wrote in the air with his index finger, amid the chaos of attacking mirrors:
"Erase."
But this word wasn't for the Scribe… it was for himself.
In a flash, Nullus vanished.
---
Everything froze.
The entity stopped. The mirrors petrified. Even time seemed to forget how to move.
And then… Nullus returned.
But changed.
He was no longer made of flesh and word… but of silence and awareness.
He wasn't a reflection. Nor a text.
But something that had never been written before.
He stepped toward the entity, who—for the first time—recoiled.
He said:
— "What cannot be defined… cannot be copied."
Then he pressed his finger into the entity's chest.
A scream shattered from the depths of the void, and every mirror cracked.
The mirrors exploded from within, turning into shards of time… and everything collapsed around them.
---
Iggy found himself rising from the ashes, the violin still in his hand—but now, without strings.
He looked for Nullus.
He found him standing alone, in the void, as everything fell apart—walls, time, even space.
Nullus said calmly:
— "We've broken every law."
Iggy replied with a ragged voice:
— "Are we still inside the text?"
Nullus nodded:
— "No. We're now beyond the first line… in the margin."
Then he looked at him and smiled faintly:
— "And from there, we begin writing our real story."
They walked through the ash, as behind them, the last letters of the old world crumbled.