Chapter 22 Emily Vs Emily

Chapter 22 Emily Vs Emily
The room shook as Emily stepped forward, placing herself between Elara and the clone. She didn’t look back, didn’t check if Elara was breathing, didn’t ask if she was hurt.
Her focus was locked on the thing wearing her face.
The clone’s feet lifted off the ground again, floating with that same blank expression. It tilted its head, studying Emily like she was the copy instead.
Emily exhaled slowly.
“Alright,” she muttered. “If you want a fight… then pick on someone your size.”
She vanished.
Elara blinked—she didn’t even see the movement. One second Emily was there, the next she was behind the clone, slamming a kick into its spine. The clone shot forward like a human arrow, smashing into the wall and leaving a crater.
Kalaen swore under his breath. “That speed… I’ve never seen Emily move like that.”
Elara didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her jaw was hanging open.
The clone recovered instantly and sent a shockwave through the room. Emily didn’t dodge—she raised a single hand and stopped it in midair. The magic rippled around her fingers like trapped water.
Emily flicked her wrist.
The shockwave snapped back and struck the clone full-force, throwing it upward and crashing it into the ceiling.
Emily didn’t give it a chance to breathe.
She jumped. Not climbed, not leapt—jumped—straight up, reaching the clone in seconds. Her fist lit up with a strange, red glow, and she slammed it into the clone’s face. The impact created a burst of wind so strong Elara had to shield her eyes.
The clone dropped.
Emily landed on top of it, pinning it to the ground with her knee on its chest. She grabbed the clone’s wrist as it tried to cast something and crushed its fingers like they were nothing.
“No copying my spells,” she said flatly.
The clone hissed and swung its other hand. This time Emily caught the arm and tore it offf. The clone’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
Elara felt her heart jump. Emily… was terrifying.
But Emily wasn’t finished.
The clone’s body started to glow as it prepared a huge blast. Emily narrowed her eyes.
“Oh no you don’t.”
She slammed both hands onto the clone’s chest and unleashed her magic point-blank. The floor beneath them cracked, the walls shook, and the clone’s entire body was swallowed in a violent explosion of red energy.
When the dust settled, the clone lay motionless—half of its form flickering like a broken mirror.
Emily got to her feet slowly, dusting off her hands.
Elara had no words.
She just stared at Emily, who looked—somehow—both exhausted and still furious.
Emily turned toward her and Kalaen.
Her voice came out low.
“Next time,” she said, “please don’t run ahead of me. I really don’t like nearly losing people.”
Elara nodded quickly. She didn’t trust her voice.
Kalaen watched Emily with a new look—part respect, part concern.
And Elara realized something simple and frightening:
Emily was not just “knowledgeable.”
She was not just “experienced.”
She was not even just “strong.”
She was a monster in her own right.
The world snapped back into place so fast Elara thought she might throw up.
One second they were inside the burning dungeon room with the broken clone, the next they were standing in the middle of the castle courtyard—same clothes, same dust on their skin, same bruises, same pounding heartbeat.
Emily was the first to speak.
“…We’re out?” she muttered, looking around.
Kalaen checked his sword, then the air, then the walls. “No traps. No illusions. It actually let us go.”
Before Elara could even process the shock, a calm voice spoke from behind them.
“Took you long enough.”
All three turned.
Azael sat in a chair near the courtyard staircase, legs crossed, sipping tea like he’d been there the whole time. A tray of snacks sat beside him. He didn’t look tired or stressed—just mildly annoyed.
Elara froze.
Emily stiffened.
Kalaen muttered, “…oh, this is bad.”
Azael lowered his cup.
His eyes, bright and sharp, focused directly on Elara first—checking her bruises, the tear in her sleeve, the dried blood at the corner of her lip. His jaw tightened for a second.
Then he spoke.
“Who,” he said very calmly, “thought it was a good idea to open a sealed block in my archives?”
No one answered.
Emily cleared her throat. “My Lord, it was an accident—”
“Emily.”
Azael didn’t raise his voice, but she stopped talking immediately.
He stood up slowly, placing the cup on the table. His gaze shifted to Kalaen next.
“You were with them. You didn’t stop it?”
Kalaen swallowed. “To be fair, my Lord… I didn’t know what she was opening.”
Azael stepped forward, and for a split second, the air grew heavier—like something ancient and dangerous was standing behind him.
But then it vanished.
He reached Elara, brushed a bit of dirt off her cheek, and sighed.
“You were gone for five hours,” he said. “Five.”
Elara whispered, “…sorry.”
Azael stared at her for a long moment.
Then he turned sharply to the other two.
“Emily. Kalaen. Inside. Now.”
Both of them moved instantly.
Azael waited until they were several steps ahead before looking back at Elara.
He didn’t smile, didn’t scold her again—just held her eyes for a moment as if making sure she was really standing there and not another illusion.
Then, quietly:
“We will talk. Later.”
He walked inside without another word.
Elara let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Kalaen whispered beside her, “He is… surprisingly calm.”
Emily sighed. “No. He’s not calm. He’s planning what to say so he doesn’t terrify her.”
Kalaen blinked. “That’s him ‘not terrifying’?”
Emily shrugged. “He’s trying.”
Elara didn’t know what to say. Her legs still felt weak from the dungeon, from the spell, from the fight, from nearly dying.
But one thing was clear:
Azael was back and the peaceful days were over.