The Phantom’s Blade

Act I — Night Intrusion

Sleep should’ve been a mercy.
But for me? Mercy never clocks in on time.

I lay sprawled across my bed, still in ceremonial robes, incense and parade dust clinging to me like guilt.

The ember pulsed in my chest, a rhythm that wasn’t mine — a second heartbeat I never asked for. Dreams clawed at me: rain, headlights, Ray’s grin, running on a loop.

And then the air shifted.

Not a dream. Not imagination. Reality bent.

Moonlight sliced the marble. Shadows moved like water. Guards chatted outside, oblivious. Inside, silence tightened until it rang louder than sound.

 Even the air tasted metallic, like the room itself was holding its breath.

A figure slipped through the curtain like smoke — cloaked, faceless, blade glinting, breath shallow. The chamber smelled of moon and iron, of endings waiting to be written.

But my ember beat first.

Violet-gold light flared under my skin, glitching the air. The blade bent in midair, screeching as if metal hit warped glass.

My eyes snapped open.

Me (half-asleep, sarcastic):
“Really? Can’t a miracle boy get one night off?”

Act II — Fight in Shadows

The assassin froze. Blade twisted, then righted itself with a flick. Silent. Deadly.

I squinted, smirk tugging at my lips.
“Ahhh, Shadow Phantoms. Assassins. Spies. Ghosts dressed as people. Cute.”

I laughed, but it was thin. Because a thought clawed its way up from memory.

I never thought they were real.
Mother used to whisper of them like bedtime horrors — “Stay in bed, Haise, or the Phantoms will take you.”
I thought they were just stories to scare children.

But now?

The rumors stood in my bedroom.
And their blades were real.

Lore: The Silent Phantoms (in my head)

No banners. No songs. No records.

Only silence. Only shadows.

They’re not Heaven’s sword.
They’re its hidden dagger.

Some say they don’t just lurk in shadows.
They wear masks of life itself.

A captain, a lieutenant, an officer.
An acolyte healing the sick.
A servant carrying trays of wine.
Even the legion soldier you marched beside yesterday—

—any of them could be Phantom.

And you’d never know until the knife slid between your ribs.

Tonight, twenty of them stood in my chamber.
Silent. Patient. Certain.

For the first time, my smirk cracked.

Me (muttering):
“Fantastic. The bedtime ghost stories were true… and apparently they come in bulk.”

Then they moved — not three, not four. Dozens. Twenty silhouettes spilling from shadow like ink poured across silk, each blade a promise.

The room filled with a quiet worse than war. The kind of silence that presses on your lungs, makes you wonder if breathing is permission to die.

Act III — The Assassin’s Test

I rolled off the bed, hand snapping up — flame spiraled, lighting the chamber. One Phantom slid past it like smoke.

Water lashed; another cut through without slowing. Earth spiked; they vaulted. Wind sliced; one bent backward like his bones were liquid.

Silent. Efficient. Predators honed for this mission.

My teeth grit.
No chants. No words. Just instinct. Too smooth, too natural. Almost like they’d trained for this exact scenario.

Then — the ember pulsed.

Snap.

Air fractured. Tiles bent like rippling water. One Phantom froze mid-step, blade caught in warped momentum. His mask tilted. Confusion? Fear? For the first time, hesitation.

I chuckled.

“Oh, that’s new. You didn’t expect the glitch package, did you?”

The Real Fight Begins

The first blade hissed past my cheek. I ducked, yawning mid-motion.

“Come on. At least make me sweat. Or is this the warm-up routine?”

They surged together. Shadows peeled back, revealing more. From the walls. The ceiling. Curtains. Twenty blank masks in a death ring.

I stepped sideways. The floor folded — Eventide Step. One blink, and I was upside down on the ceiling.

I tapped a Phantom’s shoulder. He spun, blade slashing air, confused by the impossible angle.

“Cute trick. Shame I do it better.”

Another lunged. My instincts kicked in — Stellar Reflex. I read his strike before his fingers even tightened on the hilt. To him, I was impossibly fast. To me, inevitability.

A third Phantom came high. I tilted back, flicking water into his mask. He staggered, blinded for a beat. Another lunged from the flank — too late. Eventide Step. I blinked behind him, my grin sharp.

“Try harder.”

My Parallax Ghosts trailed me — shimmering afterimages that darted, feinted, struck, and vanished. Blades slashed at them, hitting only echoes. The Phantoms’ rhythm broke, their silence filling with frustration they couldn’t voice.

And then I flexed.

Starphase.

The world split like glass panes sliding apart. For a heartbeat, I wasn’t in the room. I was between frames, walking across a star-field that flickered violet and gold.

The Phantoms’ blades cut through where I had been — only to slice air. I stepped back into reality behind them, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder.

“Sorry, wrong frame. You boys should really learn to keep up.”

Reality Breaks

They regrouped, professional, disciplined. Their coordination was flawless. But cracks were there.

So I snapped again.

Snap.

Reality flipped.
The floor became the ceiling. The chandelier swung upward like a pendulum of doom. Shadows stuttered, warping like broken glass.

The Phantoms staggered. Their perfect rhythm turned sloppy. They slashed desperately, trying to adjust to rules that no longer applied.

“What’s wrong? Don’t like my redecorating?”

I twisted my hand — Axis Distortion. The chamber tilted sideways. Shadows stretched wrong. Gravity betrayed them. They collided with walls, even each other, movements ruined.

One lunged. I vanished. Starphase. The stars blinked once and spat me out behind him.

I tapped his mask before planting a kick that sent him crashing into the wall.

Another swung high. Too slow. I let Chrono Flicker drag time — his blade crawled like honey, and I sidestepped with a yawn.

“Adorable. Truly.”

Then time snapped back. My fist cracked his mask, shattering porcelain. He crumpled.

Endgame

Now the chamber was a kaleidoscope of broken reality. Walls sideways. Ceiling inverted. Shadows twitching like stuttering glass.

Three killers gasped for breath. More lurked in the corners. But every motion, every swing — erased before it mattered.

And then I saw it.

They weren’t here just to kill me.
They were studying me. Watching what I’d reveal. Cataloguing every impossible move.

Testing how far I’d bend before I broke.

That hesitation gave them away. They edged backward. Shadows opened like doors. A retreat. Mission unfinished.

My smirk faded. My voice dropped cold.

“That leaves me with no choices.”

Snap.