Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 815 - 817

Chapter 815: Chapter 817

Not an exact mirror, not a perfect reflection, but a twisted, distorted version of himself. Its face was almost right, its features nearly identical, but wrong in ways that sent a chill down his spine. The eyes were too hollow, the expression too empty. It was not just a copy, it was a mockery.

The other figures around it shifted, their forms aligning into the shapes of people he had known. Some were familiar, some were strangers, but all of them were wrong. Twisted versions of the past, the present, and perhaps even the future.

Jude clenched his jaw. He would not let this shake him. He had faced worse.

The mockery of himself tilted its head, as if studying him. Then, it moved.

It was fast, faster than the creature before. Jude barely had time to react before it was on him, its own dagger flashing in the dim light. He blocked, metal meeting metal with a sharp clang, the force of the impact sending vibrations up his arm. The thing was strong, stronger than it should have been.

Jude gritted his teeth, pushing back. The thing did not speak, did not make a sound, but its empty eyes bore into him with an intensity that made his skin crawl. It was not simply fighting him. It was testing him.

The other figures moved as well, circling, waiting. They would not interfere yet. Not until they were certain of his weakness.

Jude would not give them the satisfaction.

He twisted, using the momentum to break the deadlock, striking out with precision. His dagger found its mark, sinking into the side of the mockery’s ribs. But there was no resistance, no true impact. The blade passed through as if through mist, and the figure merely shifted , its form rippling like a disturbed reflection.

Jude barely had time to react before it retaliated. The dagger in its hand slashed upward, a perfect mirror of his own movements. He dodged, but not fast enough. The blade grazed his side, a shallow cut, but it burned .

Jude stumbled back, his hand instinctively going to the wound. The pain was unnatural, spreading through his body like a slow, creeping poison.

The entity within him stirred violently.

It recognized this.

Jude’s eyes flickered to the other figures, then back to the one wearing his face. Understanding clicked into place.

These were not merely imitations.

They were pieces . Fragments of something far older, something tied to the tower, to the entity within him.

This was not just a fight. It was a trial .

Jude exhaled slowly, steadying himself. If he could not fight them as physical beings, then he had to fight them another way.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

The entity within him pulsed.

And the world shifted .

For an instant, he was elsewhere . The void he had glimpsed before stretched around him, endless and vast. The tower loomed in the distance, closer now, its form more solid than before. And in its shadow, the figures stood, not in twisted, distorted forms, but as they had been .

Real.

Whole.

Jude opened his eyes. The illusion around him cracked. The figures hesitated. And that was all he needed.

He moved, not with brute force, but with intent. He did not strike to wound, but to break the illusion . Each movement was precise, each attack directed not at the figures themselves, but at the fabric of their existence.

And one by one, they faded .

The mockery of himself was the last to go. It stared at him, expression unreadable, before finally dissolving into the nothingness from which it came.

The silence returned. The city did not move.

Jude stood there, breathing heavily, his mind racing. He had not won through strength. He had won by understanding.

The tower was closer now.

And it was waiting for him.

Jude did not allow himself a moment of rest. The tower loomed ahead, closer than before, but he knew it would not be an easy path. The city had tested him once, and it would do so again. Each trial was a step forward, but he understood now that the nature of these battles was shifting. It was no longer about physical strength alone but about unraveling the very fabric of what was real and what was not. That thing he had fought, it had been more than just a mere imitation. It had been a reflection of something deeper, a part of the entity within him that was being drawn out. The question was, to what end?

He pressed forward, his steps steady but measured. The silence around him was unnatural, thick with something unspoken. He could feel the weight of unseen eyes upon him again, but he did not turn to look. A trap would not work the same way twice. Instead, he focused on the path ahead, the way the streets warped and twisted, folding in upon themselves. The buildings were no longer merely shifting, they were collapsing into voids, entire sections of the city vanishing without a sound.

He did not know how long he walked, only that time felt increasingly irrelevant. The tower remained distant, yet he knew he was drawing closer. It was not a question of physical distance but something else entirely. It was as if he was unraveling layers of something unseen, peeling back the reality that had been imposed upon him. The city did not exist in a way that made sense. It was not a place that could be navigated by normal means. The tower was not simply a location; it was a destination that had to be earned.

The air grew heavier. The unseen weight pressed down on him, and the entity within stirred again. It was growing restless. He could feel it shifting in response to something, though it did not speak to him. It had never truly spoken, not in a way he could understand. It communicated through sensation, through the way the world responded to it. And right now, it was bracing for something.