Chapter 62: Shadows of the Past

IMPORTANT A/N: Should I create a discord? A poll will be going up on my profile soon after I've posted this chapter, so vote there!

IMPORTANT A/N 2: Please make sure to leave a review on chapters. I know I sound like a beg but I need feedback to improve, so I'd appreciate it if you guys were more vocal about what you loved or hated.

The battle surged with ferocity as shadows twisted and clawed through the forest like living nightmares. Oda and Sharya stood firm, though the oppressive darkness made every breath feel heavier. The faint moonlight barely penetrated the canopy, leaving Dimitri Veil's Phantom Magic to dominate the battlefield. His shadows moved with an almost playful cruelty, as though he were toying with them.

"Do you hear that?" Dimitri's voice oozed from the shadows, as if carried on a phantom breeze. "The sound of your futile resistance? It's adorable, really. Two children pretending to be warriors."

Sharya gritted her teeth, her katana raised in a defensive stance. "We're not pretending, Dimitri. You talk too much. Maybe we'll shut you up for good."

Dimitri materialized a few paces away, leaning casually against a tree. His silhouette shimmered with dark tendrils of magic, his expression a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Oh, bold words from someone who's already sweating. But don't let me stop your little rebellion. Struggle all you like. It's the only entertainment I'll get before the Chimeras change everything."

"Enough of this!" Oda barked, his grimoire glowing with mana as he cast another spell. "Spatial Magic: Tether Strike!" A glowing line of distorted space shot toward Dimitri like a whip, slicing through branches and phantom figures alike. Dimitri dodged effortlessly, his body dissolving into a shadowy mist that reformed behind Oda.

"You're quick," Dimitri admitted, his hand resting mockingly on Oda's shoulder. Oda whipped around, slashing with a portal-enhanced blade of mana, but Dimitri faded away again. His voice echoed all around. "But you're missing the point. This isn't a fight. This is the beginning of the end."

Sharya launched herself into the fray, her katana glowing as she called out, "Clone Magic: Doppelganger Blitz!" Four identical copies of her appeared, each with the same determined expression and poised to strike. The clones moved in unison, weaving between Dimitri's shadows and slashing at every angle.

Dimitri sighed theatrically as he raised a hand, summoning a swirling vortex of shadow. The phantoms surged forward, each one targeting a clone with uncanny precision. The forest was a cacophony of clashing steel and magic as Sharya's clones battled the shadows. Despite their speed and coordination, the phantoms overwhelmed them one by one, leaving only Sharya standing amidst the dissipating illusions.

"Impressive trick," Dimitri said, applauding mockingly. "But you'll need more than parlor magic to stop me."

Oda growled, his grimoire flipping to another page as he prepared a new spell. "Sharya, don't let him distract you. He's trying to rattle us."

Sharya's eyes narrowed as she tightened her grip on her katana. "I'm not rattled. I'm pissed." She sprinted forward, her blade gleaming with mana as she aimed directly for Dimitri's chest.

Dimitri sidestepped her strike with inhuman speed, his form flickering like a mirage. "You two don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice smooth and condescending. "The Chimeras aren't just another group of renegades. We're the answer to a Kingdom that's rotting from the inside. Your Magic Knights are so busy protecting their titles and territories that they've forgotten what real power looks like."

Oda hurled another distortion spell, forcing Dimitri to leap back. "Power that destroys innocent lives? That's not power—it's madness!"

Dimitri's grin widened as he gestured grandly. "Madness? Is it madness to show the world its true face? To strip away the lies and force people to confront their weaknesses? The Chimeras exist to unshackle this Kingdom from its delusions. Chaos isn't the enemy, little knights. It's the cure."

Sharya lunged again, her blade sparking as it clashed with Dimitri's conjured dagger of shadow. The two locked weapons, their faces inches apart. "You're delusional," Sharya hissed, her voice shaking with fury. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind destruction."

Dimitri's eyes glinted with malice as he pushed her back effortlessly. "And you're just another pawn, fighting for a system that doesn't care about you. Tell me, Magic Knight—when was the last time your precious order saved someone without a political agenda attached?"

Sharya stumbled but recovered quickly, her katana glowing brighter. "We save people because it's the right thing to do. Not for glory, not for power—but because it's our duty."

"Duty." Dimitri spat the word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "What a charming excuse for obedience. But you'll see soon enough. When the Chimeras are done, there won't be a Kingdom left to protect. Just pure, beautiful chaos."

Oda charged forward, his Spatial Magic coiling around him like a shield. "Not if we stop you first! Spatial Magic: Lockstep Collapse!" A shimmering dome of warped space formed around Dimitri, forcing his movements into predictable patterns. "Sharya, now!"

With a burst of speed, Sharya closed the distance, her katana slashing in a perfect arc aimed to sever Dimitri's grimoire hand. But as her blade connected, it passed through him like mist. Dimitri's laughter filled the air again, louder and colder than before.

"Did you really think I'd make this easy?" he taunted, reappearing atop a boulder, his shadows spiraling around him. "This was fun, but I think it's time we ended our little game."

The shadows around him grew darker, denser, until they swallowed the light entirely. The air grew thick with mana, and for the first time, Oda and Sharya felt the crushing weight of Dimitri's power.

"This is your last chance, knights," Dimitri said, his tone deadly serious now. "Run. Run back to your Captain. Tell them the Chimeras are coming. And tell them to savor the illusion of order while it lasts."

Sharya and Oda exchanged a glance. There was no way they were backing down. Not now. Not ever.

"Last warning," Dimitri said. "If you were informed of my magic, you wouldn't face me in the nighttime."

"Oh please!" Sharya said, rolling her eyes and pointing her katana at Dimitri. "There's two of us, and one of you. It's you who should be surrendering."

"But it won't be me you will be fighting," Dimitri said, his voice still deadly grave. "It's the shadows of your past. Phantom Magic: Waltz of Memories!"

The battlefield twisted into a surreal nightmare as Dimitri's spell began to take shape. The air shimmered, reality warping and distorting until three figures emerged from the dense shadows. They stepped forward, their features illuminated by an unnatural, eerie glow. Dimitri's voice rang out, cold and mocking.

"Behold your past, Magic Knight. Your sins. Your triumphs. Your failures. Let's see if you can conquer them again."

Sharya's blood ran cold as she recognized the figures before her. Standing to her right was Rela Hansen, her older sister, with her Azure Flame Magic blazing around her like a divine inferno. Rela's eyes were fierce, her expression unreadable but filled with the same confidence Sharya had faced during their climactic battle in the Royal Capital. To her left was her younger brother, Apollo Hansen, cloaked in shadow, his Shadow Magic writhing around him like living serpents. His face, though familiar, bore a coldness that pierced her heart.

Sharya clenched her fists around her katana, her knuckles white. "Dimitri... you bastard."

Dimitri chuckled, his silhouette merging with the darkness. "Oh, it's not me you need to worry about. Can you fight them, Sharya? Can you raise your blade against the ones who shaped you?"

Apollo stepped forward first, his shadowy tendrils curling ominously. "Sister," he said, his voice hollow and distant. "You couldn't protect me before. Can you protect yourself now?"

Rela's flames surged higher, her gaze drilling into Sharya. "You were always the weak one, little sister. Prove me wrong—if you can."

Sharya's breath hitched, but she quickly pushed the rising tide of emotion down. She steadied her blade, her stance firm. "You're not real. Neither of you are. You're just puppets." Her voice cracked slightly, but her resolve hardened. "And I'll cut down any illusion that tries to stand in my way."

Oda, standing several paces away, found himself facing a figure of his own. A woman emerged from the shadows, her form deteriorating, as though time itself had eaten away at her essence. It was his aunt, Myla Fullbright, yet not as he remembered her. Her normally sharp and lively eyes were dim and lifeless, her once-powerful frame hunched and frail.

Oda's heart sank. "Aunt Myla?"

She raised her wooden staff, though her hands trembled with decay. "Oda," she rasped, her voice a haunting echo of the vibrant woman he once knew. "Why didn't you save me?"

His eyes widened in horror. "What... what are you talking about?" He stepped back, confusion and fear clashing within him. "This isn't real. This isn't you."

Myla advanced, her wooden staff clattering against the ground. With each step, she seemed to age further, her body crumbling. Oda was paralyzed, the scene dragging him into memories he had buried deep.

A flashback hit him like a tidal wave, pulling him into the past. He saw her younger self, full of vitality, standing in the square as she sparred with him for the first time. Her laughter, her fierce determination—they were so vivid, yet they were swallowed by a moment he couldn't forget.

It was the day she returned from her first mission as a Magic Knight. Oda remembered her collapsing in their small home, clutching her stomach, her body wracked with unnatural spasms. Myla had been poisoned by a curse. Even now, Oda didn't know how it happened, only that it changed her forever. Though she survived, the curse sapped her strength, decaying her magic and her spirit over time.

Oda blinked back to the present, his aunt's decayed form now in front of him. The weight of Dimitri's magic pressed down on him. "Why show me this?" he growled, his voice laced with anger. "Why her?"

Dimitri's laughter echoed around him. "I didn't choose her, boy. The shadows of your heart did. You see, I merely open the door—what steps through is entirely up to you."

Oda gritted his teeth, summoning his mana to his palms. "You don't know anything about me."

"Perhaps," Dimitri mused. "But does that change what you see? Fight her, or fall. The choice is yours."

Back in Sharya's corner of the battlefield, her phantom siblings made their move. Rela launched a torrent of azure flames, searing the ground and forcing Sharya to leap back. Apollo's shadows followed immediately, snaking toward her like vipers. She deflected the attack with a wide sweep of her katana, her mana flaring.

"Is this the best you've got?" she shouted, though her voice wavered slightly. She locked eyes with Rela. "You're just an illusion. You're not the sister I fought, and you're not the sister I'm still looking for."

Rela smirked, her flames intensifying. "And yet, you hesitate. Why? Because part of you still believes I'm real?"

Sharya gritted her teeth. "Shut up!"

Apollo's voice cut through the tension, low and accusing. "You left me behind, Sharya. You abandoned me to the Hansen estate. Do you think I've forgiven you for that?"

His words struck a nerve, but Sharya pushed forward, slicing through the shadows with precision. "I saved you, Apollo! And I'll do it a thousand times over if I have to. But right now, I'm saving myself."

She surged forward, her katana igniting with her mana. "And if you're my shadows, then I'll cut you down too!"

Oda, meanwhile, steadied himself, focusing on the decaying figure of his aunt. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remember her as she truly was—not this twisted imitation. "You're not real," he said quietly. "And you're not her."

The figure faltered for a moment, and Oda took his chance. He raised his hand, mana swirling around him. "Spatial Magic: Eviction!"

A series of glowing portals opened, surrounding Myla's phantom on all sides. Oda's resolve burned in his eyes as he clenched his fists. "I won't let you haunt me. Not her, and not anyone else."

As both Sharya and Oda faced their phantoms, Dimitri watched from his perch, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Yes... struggle, knights. Struggle and fall. The more you resist, the deeper you sink into my web."

…

"Now you die," the phantom Rela rasped, her eyes blazing with conviction, yet so, so hollow at the same time.

An artificial resolve.

"Azure Flame Magic: Cerulean Ashes of the Lost!"

Multiple Rela's appeared from everywhere in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with something close to hatred, each one meticulously constructed out of azure flames. Each one held a flaming flail.

A spell Sharya knew all too well.

The blue haired girl, in response, created multiple clones of herself, each one holding a war fan and Yultin's Edge.

Rela's form flickered for a moment, seeming to recognise the katana that each Sharya wielded. "Imitator," the lead phantom rasped, and sent her clones after her "sister".

The battlefield roared with chaos, shadows and azure flames painting the air with a twisted mix of light and darkness. Sharya's clones danced amidst the inferno, their movements synchronized with hers as they deflected flails of searing fire and struck at the phantom Rela's duplicates. Each clash sent sparks flying, the oppressive heat suffocating, but Sharya pressed on, her grip on Yultin's Edge unwavering.

Her eyes flicked to the shadows encroaching from all sides, Apollo's dark tendrils twisting and writhing like living creatures. The voice of her phantom brother echoed again, cold and venomous.

"You ran, Sharya. You always run. Did you think I'd let you leave me behind without consequence?"

Sharya ignored him, her blade carving through another fiery clone of Rela. The phantom dissipated into a burst of embers, but it was quickly replaced by two more. Each Rela moved with the same eerie precision, their flaming flails striking in coordinated arcs. One clone aimed for her legs while another swung at her head. Sharya parried the first strike, her war fan snapping open to deflect the second, and countered with a downward slash that cut one of the phantoms clean in half.

Her real opponent stood at the center of the battlefield, a cruel smirk curling on her lips. "Still hesitating, aren't you?" Rela taunted, her eyes gleaming with malice. "You're fighting shadows of your guilt, Sharya. And the truth is, you'll never be free of it."

Sharya gritted her teeth, summoning her magic again. "Formation: Diverging Paths!" Her mana flared, and three new copies of herself materialized, each wielding a katana and war fan. They darted into the fray, their movements fluid and precise as they engaged Rela's fiery duplicates.

"You're wrong," Sharya spat, her voice shaking but resolute. "I've faced worse than you. And I'll cut through anything that stands in my way—even my own shadows."

She surged forward, her katana aimed directly at the real phantom Rela. Her clones moved to clear a path, cutting down the fiery constructs with practiced efficiency. For a moment, Sharya saw her chance. She closed the distance, her blade arcing toward Rela's chest—

—but the shadows rose again, thick and suffocating, wrapping around her legs and dragging her to the ground. Apollo's laugh was low and mocking. "Too slow, sister. You're always too slow."

Sharya snarled, twisting her body and slashing at the tendrils. They recoiled, but Apollo's voice came again, sharp and accusing. "Do you even remember what you left behind? You think you saved me? No, Sharya. You abandoned me."

His words stung, but Sharya refused to falter. One of her clones peeled off, darting toward the shadowy figure lurking at the edge of the battlefield. "Deal with him," Sharya commanded, her voice cold. The clone nodded and charged, its katana flashing as it engaged Apollo in a vicious duel of blade against shadow.

Freed from the immediate threat, Sharya refocused on Rela. She pushed herself off the ground, her body aching but her resolve burning brighter than ever. Her katana thrummed with mana as she charged again, her remaining clones flanking her.

The real Rela raised her hand, summoning another wave of fire. "Azure Flame Magic: Cerulean Ashes of the Lost!" she roared. More flaming clones erupted around her, each one wielding a flail that burned with impossible intensity.

Sharya didn't hesitate. Her clones engaged the fiery duplicates, their war fans deflecting blows while her katana sought the true phantom. She weaved through the chaos, dodging and parrying with precision, until she was face-to-face with Rela.

Their blades clashed in a deafening explosion of fire and steel. Sparks flew as Sharya pushed forward, her katana pressing against Rela's flaming weapon. "You're not her," Sharya growled, her voice filled with fury. "You're just a lie."

Rela smirked, her eyes narrowing. "A lie, am I? Then why do you hesitate, Sharya? Why do you look at me and see your sister?"

Sharya's grip tightened, her anger bubbling to the surface. "Shut up!" she screamed, pushing Rela back with a powerful swing of her blade.

But Rela's next words stopped her cold. "Do you remember why we dyed our hair, Sharya?" The phantom's voice was softer now, almost tender, but it cut deeper than any blade.

Sharya froze, her katana lowering slightly. The memory came rushing back unbidden, vivid and painful. She saw herself and Rela as children, huddled in the corner of a dimly lit room. Their father's voice boomed in the distance, angry and threatening, but they ignored it. Rela held up two bottles of hair dye, one blue and one red.

"Let's be different," Rela had said, her voice filled with determination. "Let's show him we're not afraid."

"You said you wanted to be brave," the phantom continued, stepping closer. "You chose blue because it was calm. I chose red because it was fierce. Do you remember, Sharya? Or have you forgotten even that?"

Tears stung Sharya's eyes, and her blade wavered. "You're not her," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're not her…"

The hesitation was all the phantom needed. Rela lunged forward, her hand engulfed in azure flames. "Azure Flame Magic: Cerulean Ruin!" she shouted, slamming the fiery attack directly into Sharya's chest.

The explosion sent Sharya flying backward, her body crashing against the rocky ground. Pain flared through her as the heat scorched her skin. Her fire-resistant clothes absorbed much of the damage, but the right side of her face burned with searing agony. She gasped for breath, her vision swimming as the smell of burnt fabric and skin filled the air.

Her katana lay just out of reach, and the phantom Rela approached, her flail trailing embers across the ground. "You're weak, Sharya," she said, her voice cold and final. "You'll always be weak."

Sharya clenched her fists, her mind racing even as her strength waned. The battle wasn't over, but she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. As the phantom raised her flail for the finishing blow, Sharya's resolve flared once more.

"I'm not done yet," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with defiance.

The right side of her face throbbed, the pain grounding her in the present. She would not let this phantom—or her past—defeat her.

…

The battlefield rang with the sound of wood cracking against flesh, a sharp, sickening noise that echoed through Oda's ears as he hit the ground for what felt like the hundredth time. Blood trickled down his temple, dripping into his eye and blurring his vision. He struggled to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate. Every inch of him ached, his ribs bruised, his arms heavy, and his pride shattered.

"Come on, boy!" Myla's phantom boomed, her voice rich with a teasing yet commanding tone that struck a deep chord in Oda. "That all you've got? This can't be the same kid I taught to swing a staff!" She twirled her wooden staff effortlessly, the air around it humming as she infused it with a faint coat of mana, reinforcing the wood until it gleamed like steel. Her stance was loose yet unshakable, her grin as wide and boisterous as ever.

"Get up!" she barked, slamming her staff into the ground beside him, the force sending a shockwave of splinters into his side. "I didn't raise no quitter, Oda! I raised a fighter!"

Oda coughed, blood staining his lips as he wiped at his face. "You're… not her," he croaked, though his voice faltered. "You're just a fake…!"

Myla's phantom tilted her head, her grin growing even wider. "Oh? And yet here you are, flat on your back, like the green little pup I had to whip into shape all those years ago. Face it, Oda—you're nothing without me." She drove her staff downward, the blunt end slamming into his shoulder with a dull thud. The pain was blinding, radiating through his arm, and he let out a strangled cry.

"That's the problem with you, boy," the phantom said, stepping back and spinning her staff in a lazy arc. "You think you're better than your roots. You think you've outgrown me. But look where all that thinking got you—a useless sack of bones lying in the dirt."

Her words cut deeper than her blows. Myla's phantom had the same commanding presence, the same larger-than-life personality that Oda remembered. She had been his mentor, his caretaker, his family—the one person who believed in him when no one else did. And now, here she was, tearing him down, just like the world always had.

"No," he whispered, his fists clenching weakly. "You're wrong… She—she wouldn't say that…"

"Wouldn't I?" the phantom countered, raising her staff high before bringing it down with a brutal swing. Oda barely managed to roll out of the way, the staff slamming into the ground where his head had been moments before. "I taught you everything you know. Without me, you'd be nothing. Admit it!"

Oda scrambled to his feet, his breaths ragged and his vision swimming. His Spatial Magic was useless in this fight; every attempt to cast a spell had been disrupted by Myla's relentless assault. She moved too fast, too close, giving him no room to breathe. Every blow from her staff rattled his bones, and every word she spoke chipped away at his resolve.

"You don't know anything about me!" Oda shouted, though his voice cracked. He raised his hands, summoning a glowing portal in front of him to block her next attack. The phantom's staff slammed into the barrier, shattering it like glass, and the force sent Oda staggering backward.

"Stop lying to yourself," she said, her grin fading into a scowl. "You'll never amount to anything. You're weak, boy. Always have been."

Oda's knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his head hanging low. Her words echoed in his mind, dragging him deeper into despair. Was she right? Was he really that weak? He had fought so hard to escape his past, to prove himself—but here he was, losing to a shadow of someone he loved.

As he sat there, broken and bloodied, his gaze drifted upward. That's when he saw it—a grimoire, hovering just beside Myla's phantom. Its pages glowed faintly, its presence pulsing with power.

For a moment, Oda's mind went blank. His aunt… with a grimoire? No. That wasn't possible. Myla had always been proud of the fact that she didn't have one. She'd called it a "crutch," a tool for those who couldn't handle their magic on their own.

Oda's heart pounded as realization struck. "You're not her," he whispered, his voice trembling. He rose to his feet, his body screaming in protest. "You're not her!"

The phantom raised her staff again, her eyes narrowing. "Still spouting nonsense, boy?"

"You're not her!" Oda roared, his mana flaring around him. "Aunt Myla doesn't need a grimoire! She taught me to fight with nothing but grit and my own two hands. She believed in me—even when I didn't believe in myself!" His voice cracked, but he kept going, the words spilling out like a flood. "You're just a cheap imitation! And I'm done letting you control me!"

The phantom hesitated, her grin faltering for the first time. Oda didn't wait. He raised his hands, summoning a swirling portal beneath his feet. The mana surged through him, stronger than ever.

"Spatial Magic: Collapse Vector!" he shouted. A vortex of energy erupted around him, pulling the phantom toward it. Myla's figure flickered and distorted, her staff splintering as the spell tore through her form.

Before she faded completely, the phantom locked eyes with Oda. For a moment, her expression softened, a shadow of the real Myla's warmth shining through. "Good boy," she whispered, and then she was gone.

Oda stood there, breathing heavily, his hands trembling. His body ached, but his heart felt lighter. The real Myla wasn't here, but her lessons, her belief in him - they were still with him. And that was enough.

Dimitri's voice shattered the stillness, cold and furious. "You dare defy my masterpiece?"

Reappearing in front of Oda, whose eyes blazed with resolve, he engaged the Spatial Mage in hand to hand combat.

Unfortunately for him, this was Oda's forte.

…

Sharya's fingers twitched, bloodied and raw, as the phantom Rela's words echoed in her ears. "You'll always be weak."

A low growl bubbled up in her throat, then erupted into a scream, primal and filled with all the rage, pain, and sorrow she'd suppressed for years. Her clones vanished in a flicker of mana, their energy returning to her body in a surge of power that made her muscles ache. Her vision tunneled, focusing solely on Rela's phantom, its smirk twisting into a grotesque mockery of her sister.

"You're NOT HER!" Sharya bellowed, lunging forward. She grabbed her katana with trembling fingers, its blade glowing with an intense azure mana. The phantom Rela raised her flail, but Sharya was faster. Her blade struck like a viper, slashing through the fiery construct's chest.

The phantom staggered, flames sputtering where the katana had cleaved through its body. "You think this changes anything?" Rela sneered, her voice wavering as cracks formed along her fiery form. "You can't run from what you did. You can't—"

Sharya roared, cutting the phantom off mid-sentence. Her strikes came faster now, relentless, her blade carving through Rela with precision born of fury. Slash. Thrust. Cut. Each motion was swift and brutal, fueled by years of guilt and unresolved grief.

"You don't get to speak for her," Sharya hissed, her breath ragged. Her katana glowed brighter as mana flooded through it, her entire body trembling with the strain. "You don't get to use her face. Her voice. HER MEMORIES!"

Her final swing tore the phantom apart, the fiery body crumbling into embers. For a moment, the battlefield was eerily silent, save for the sound of Sharya's labored breathing. Her legs shook, but she forced herself to stay upright.

And then Apollo's laughter echoed through the clearing.

"Well done, sister," his voice drawled, mockingly slow. "You killed one shadow. But can you kill me?"

Sharya spun to face him, her blood-soaked katana hanging at her side. Apollo's phantom loomed, its shadowy tendrils writhing like snakes. Behind him, her clone continued its duel, but its strikes were faltering, the katana's light dimming.

Apollo grinned, stepping closer. "Do you remember how you left me behind? How you promised you'd protect me, but when the time came, you—"

"SHUT UP!" Sharya screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her fury.

The phantom's grin widened. "Poor Sharya. Always so quick to run. So desperate to prove yourself. Do you even know why you fight anymore?"

Sharya's grip on her katana tightened, her knuckles white. Apollo's words tore at her resolve, but something deeper ignited within her—a flame she hadn't felt in years.

Her voice was a whisper at first, trembling but growing stronger. "The Hansen family doesn't run," she said, recalling the words her mother had taught her. "We fight. We endure. And we cut through anything that stands in our way."

Her blade hummed with renewed energy as she raised it high. Her mana flared, a whirlwind of blue light swirling around her as she assumed the Hansen family's ultimate stance. Her movements were fluid, instinctive, the years of training under her parents flooding back all at once.

Apollo's phantom faltered, his grin fading. "What are you—"

Sharya didn't give him time to finish. She surged forward, her katana carving a brilliant arc through the battlefield. Hansen Family Technique: Moonlight Rend.

The slash struck the phantom with a force that split the ground beneath it. Apollo screamed as the shadowy form unraveled, tendrils snapping and fading into wisps of dark mana. Sharya didn't stop, her katana cutting again and again, each strike imbued with the full weight of her hatred for this imitation of her brother.

"YOU'RE NOT HIM!" she cried, her voice raw. "You'll NEVER be him!"

Her final strike pierced the phantom's chest, and with a deafening crack, Apollo's figure shattered like glass. Darkness dissipated, leaving only silence in its wake.

Sharya stood motionless for a moment, her katana still raised. Blood dripped from her fingers, her face a mixture of exhaustion and fury. Slowly, she lowered the blade and took a shaky step forward, then another, before her knees buckled.

She collapsed to the ground, her katana clattering beside her. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the adrenaline drained from her body, leaving her trembling and weak. The battlefield was quiet, save for the distant rustle of wind.

Her thoughts were a jumble, but one thing was clear: she had won. Not just against the phantoms, but against the part of herself that had been shackled by guilt and fear for so long.

As the edges of her vision darkened, Sharya whispered softly to herself, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry… Apollo. I'll never run again."

And with that, she fell forward, unconscious, her body finally succumbing to the toll of battle.

A/N: yeah this chapter turned sharya into whitebeard