The despair emanating from the colossal shadow was a tangible force, pressing against Akira's mind like a physical weight. It was the same self-loathing that consumed her, amplified a thousandfold, projected outward as a weapon. Its amorphous form pulsed, the sickly green shards embedded within its mass glowing with malevolent intent. It didn't roar; it simply expanded, a creeping blight across the shattered silver landscape, oozing closer.
Akira's scream was caught in her throat, a choked gasp of terror and defiant desperation. She could feel the monstrous energy, the same destructive force that had torn her world apart, thrumming within her own veins. It was a terrifying, abhorrent power, yet it was hers. For Lily. For her father. This was her twisted atonement.
With a guttural cry, more animalistic than human, Akira thrust her hands forward. A surge of raw, shimmering azure energy erupted from her palms. It wasn't a focused beam, but a chaotic, explosive wave, reminiscent of the violent discharge from her doomed experiment. It slammed into the leading edge of the despair-creature, tearing through its amorphous form.
The monster recoiled, a low, keening wail—not of pain, but of distorted agony—vibrating through the very ground. Where Akira's energy struck, the shadowy mass seemed to recoil, its green shards briefly flaring before dulling, leaving behind scorched, lifeless patches on the silver surface.
But the effort was immense. Akira's vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges of her sight. Her muscles screamed, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through her temples, as if her mind itself was fracturing under the strain. The bitter taste of iron filled her mouth.
"Such a crude force, Akira," the omnipresent voice purred, directly in her ear, twisting the monstrous wail into a mocking cadence. "Just like your pathetic attempts at creation. You merely splinter what you touch. Never truly destroy."
The creature, though wounded, continued its relentless advance, reforming its amorphous bulk with chilling speed. Tendrils of pure despair, shimmering with that same sickly green, lashed out from its mass, not aimed to strike, but to touch.
"Focus, Akira!" Eriol's voice, sharp as ice, cut through the clamor. She hadn't moved, her emerald eyes watching Akira's desperate struggle with an unnerving intensity. "It feeds on your despair! It will consume your essence, not your flesh!"
The tendrils whipped closer. Akira felt a cold dread as one brushed her arm. It wasn't a physical blow, but a mental one. A fresh wave of overwhelming guilt, of Lily's dying gaze, of her father's desperate cry, flooded her mind, threatening to drown her. The self-loathing amplified, crippling her.
She stumbled back, clutching her head, the surge of azure energy flickering, sputtering. The monster capitalized, surging forward, its massive form eclipsing the already dim light.
"It is a Conduit of Despair," Eriol explained, her words stark, unforgiving. "A fragment of the parasitic consciousness, given form by the realm's bleeding. It seeks to break your will, to tether your powerful essence to the corruption. Then you will become a doorway for others."
Akira's breath hitched. A doorway. Her greatest fear—that she had already opened the way for them—was now manifesting before her. She couldn't let that happen. Not after Lily. Not after her father.
With a scream of pure, raw defiance, Akira forced herself upright. Her body throbbed, her mind felt like a shattered pane of glass, but a desperate surge of conviction, born from the depths of her guilt, ignited within her. If her power was the tool of her damnation, it would also be the instrument of her desperate struggle.
She pushed every ounce of her will into the energy, not just outward, but inward. Her body became a conduit, shimmering with uncontrolled azure light. The air around her crackled, the fractured mirrors on the ground shaking violently. This wasn't just a wave; it was an uncontrolled explosion, a desperate supernova of raw, destructive force.
The monster shrieked, a sound of unadulterated torment this time, as Akira's uncontrolled power slammed into it. Its amorphous form tore apart, not reforming, but dissolving into tendrils of black smoke that screamed silently before vanishing. The green shards embedded within it shattered, scattering across the ground like dying embers. The earth groaned, the distortions around them intensified, and a fresh wave of blinding, chaotic silver light pulsed outward, forcing Akira to shield her eyes.
When the light receded, the monster was gone. In its place, a smoking, blackened crater pocked the silver ground, radiating a chilling emptiness. The air tasted of ozone and death.
Akira collapsed to her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably, sweat plastering strands of hair to her face. Every muscle screamed, her lungs burned, and her head throbbed with a pain so profound it threatened to steal consciousness. The self-loathing remained, a cold, unyielding weight, but now, a flicker of something else was there too. A terrifying, desperate understanding of the sheer, destructive potential within her.
Eriol approached, her white gown unblemished, her emerald eyes unreadable. She looked from the smoking crater to Akira, then back again.
"You possess true destructive potential, Akira," Eriol stated, her voice devoid of praise, simply observation. "A reflection of the price of your creation. But there are more Conduits. Many more. And the deeper we go, the more insidious the corruption becomes. Can you bear the cost of saving what you broke?"
Akira looked at her trembling hands, then at the desolate crater. She hadn't saved anything yet. She had only destroyed. And the path ahead promised only more pain. But for the first time, a terrible, agonizing purpose began to eclipse the despair.