Thronebreaker: The One Who Devours Names-Chapter 36: The Raging Storm

The world spun in slow motion as Raen's senses clawed at the reality that surrounded him. The broken mirrors swirled with fragments of memories—some familiar, some foreign—and each reflection echoed with the sound of a life that could have been.

But as the reflections warped and shattered, one thing became undeniably clear: the time for hesitation was over.

Raen took a deep breath, feeling the coldness of the air hit him with the force of an iron fist. The strange, ethereal presence of the child on the throne and the distorted figure of Lyra were still imprinted in his mind. But something else was clawing at the edge of his consciousness.

A presence.

It was a presence that made his blood run cold. It felt as if a thousand eyes were watching him—scrutinizing, judging, waiting for him to make a mistake. Raen clenched his jaw and focused on the faint energy that began to pulse around him.

Shatterborn power surged, but it didn't feel like it usually did. It was as if the very room itself was resisting him—resisting his will. And the shadows that stretched across the floor seemed to inch closer, as if they were alive.

His grip tightened around his sword.

"You've come so far, Raen," a voice purred from the shadows, the sound lingering like a poison. "But you still don't understand, do you? You're not the one who will decide your fate. Never have been. Never will be."

Raen's eyes narrowed as the voice grew louder, closer. He spun around, but there was nothing.

Then, suddenly, the shadows erupted.

Figures stepped out of the dark, emerging like wraiths. They were humanoid, but twisted—distorted beyond recognition. Their eyes glowed with an unsettling light, and their movements were jerky, unnatural. The child on the throne smiled at the spectacle, his mirrored crown flashing in the dim light.

"Do you feel it?" the child asked softly. "The gods are no longer watching. Their eyes have turned away, and now you are left alone, Raen. Alone with the consequences of your own actions."

Raen's pulse quickened. The figures—if they could even be called figures—moved closer, their laughter echoing in his ears like nails scraping against stone. The air grew thick with malice, the weight of the unknown pressing against his chest.

Each step the figures took felt like a promise of destruction, and Raen knew he was dangerously close to a point of no return.

But he couldn't let fear take hold of him now.

He had come too far.

The Shatterborn power within him swelled, and with a swift motion, Raen slammed his fist into the ground. A shockwave of energy rippled outward, disintegrating the figures nearest to him, but they weren't gone—they multiplied. The shadows shifted and reformed, twisting into grotesque mockeries of the people Raen had once known.

Elira. Lyra. Caelia.

Each figure that appeared before him was a sick parody of a memory he couldn't escape. But Raen had learned long ago that the past was nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. He couldn't afford to hesitate.

Raen's eyes flared with fury, and he spoke the words he had long since abandoned, the words that would tear through the veil of illusions.

"Shatter."

The room trembled as the power of the Shatterborn surged through him in an explosion of raw, uncontrollable energy. The mirrors shattered, splintering into a thousand shards that flew in every direction. The figures that had surrounded him screamed as they were consumed by the violent wave of power, their forms disintegrating in the chaos.

But something was wrong.

As the mirrors shattered, the reflections didn't disappear. Instead, they multiplied. Raen's own reflection twisted and contorted, becoming an army of him—an army of versions that were all him but each with a different fate.

Some smiled. Some screamed. Some were bathed in blood.

And some were dead.

The real Raen stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel his mind fracturing as the myriad versions of himself stared back at him.

"This is what you truly are," the child's voice echoed. "A thousand versions, each consumed by his own desires. A thousand paths, all leading to the same end."

Raen's hands shook. "This isn't real."

The child's laughter cut through the air like a blade.

"Isn't it? You think you can escape your destiny? You think you can run from what you've become?" The child tilted his head, his smile widening. "Every path you take brings you closer to the throne. And the throne never forgets."

Raen's chest tightened. The air was thick with the smell of blood, and for a moment, he couldn't tell if the reflections were speaking to him or if they were speaking for him.

But one thing became clear.

The child was right. Raen had been running from his fate for too long, hiding behind the illusion of power, behind the chaos and destruction he had wrought.

And now it was all catching up to him.

Caelia's face appeared among the reflections, her eyes wide with terror. "Raen..." she whispered. But before he could move, her image vanished, replaced by Elira—her expression cold, empty.

"You were never meant to be free," Elira's voice whispered. "And now you will pay."

A roar of pain tore from Raen's throat as he dropped to his knees. The weight of the reflections—the weight of his past—was suffocating him.

But just as he was about to give in, a voice—familiar, comforting—reached him.

"Raen..."

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he thought he had imagined it. But then the figure emerged from the shadows, and Raen's heart skipped a beat.

Lyra.

But it wasn't the twisted reflection he had seen earlier. It was her. Alive. Unbroken.

Her eyes were filled with warmth, but there was a sharpness to them that was unmistakable.

"Lyra..." Raen whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I know you've been running, Raen," she said softly, her gaze unwavering. "But you can't outrun what's coming. We need to face it together."

Raen's chest tightened as the room shifted again. The throne of mirrors loomed before him, and for the first time, Raen saw it for what it truly was: not just a throne of shattered glass, but a throne built of memories.

Memories of everything he had ever done.

The world around him seemed to collapse, and the Shatterborn power surged through him again, this time more violently than ever before.

Raen turned to face Lyra, but she was no longer standing beside him. She had vanished.

And in her place...

A shadow loomed.

It was tall, dark, and its eyes glowed with an insatiable hunger.

Raen's breath hitched in his throat as he took a step back.

The figure spoke with a voice like thunder.

"You've taken too long, Raen. And now you will pay the price."

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Raen's body tensed as the shadows closed in on him, the darkness swallowing the light, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had no weapon, no allies, no hope.

Only the shadow remained.

And then, as the figure reached for him, the ground beneath Raen's feet crumbled, sending him falling into an endless void.

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[End of Chapter 36]