I think it was the hair. No, maybe the eyes. Something about
him... so familiar. The man who walked down the dark street
towards me was near completely shrouded in mist. I tugged at
the bonds my mind had placed on me, but it was no use. The
other part had taken over. I could not break them. I watched
the silent figure, as he drew ever closer. I struggled
endlessly, my efforts growing more futile by the second.
Closer. The chains of my mind's eye incised my skin,
punishing me soundly for my perseverance. And suddenly, he
was there. His ice-cold hand grabbed my throat holding me up
from my worn position on the ground. My blood chilled as the
haze cleared and his face was made clear. Logically, the
scream that escaped my lips should have rent the night air
with its fear and despair. But there was nothing. Nothing,
as the bitter grip enveloped me and my eyes began to glaze,
watching that face-that face-leering indifferently... so
cold, so cold.

It's no use," said the professor. "The brain's hold on him
is too tight," he explained, while designating the
motionless figure on the table with a wave of his hand. "But
there must be something you can do!" pleaded Jay. "I'm
sorry," replied the professor. "Only time can tell now what
will be. The rest is up to him."

He lashed out once again, the sword which he had formulated
out of the air cutting another gash just below my cheekbone.
But his ethereal laughter scored deeper than any cut, jab or
thrust of his ever could. "Fight," he beckoned. "Fight!"
But how could I? How could I fight... him? My own sword hung
at my side, the bonds of my mind long since disappeared. I
stood there in limbo, torn between the will to live and the
idea of fighting this... this monster.
What else could he be called?
A thief of shadows, mimicking copycat... or a stained
mirror, cracked down the middle. I had no choice. It was
fight or die... although I couldn't be sure if the end
result wouldn't be the same either way. I lifted the point
of my sword from the ground, and struck. The stranger
parried excellently and just as accurately on my next
attack. It seemed to make no difference what I did; my
opponent's uncanny grace countered my every move. And yet,
he had suddenly grown quiet, a face of solid refine. I
suppose it was the confines of the dank street that caused
me to take a certain measure... this invader of my mind's
eye knew my every move before I made it; of course, how
could he not?
As hopelessness grew and the black closed in on me like a
suffocating cover, I took a swing at his unprotected
stomach. As he doubled over gasping for air, I made a
desperate thrust, burying my sword in his skull. In horror,
I freed the sword from my grasp, stumbling back and nearly
falling. His head slowly rose, my sword still protruding
from it, but his face was a portrait of absolute calm, and
words of any sort had yet to breach his lips. He looked at
me, his thin lips curling in to a sadistic sort of smile,
his dark eyes burning in to my soul, hinting of a deeper
evil I could not begin to comprehend. But how...? Myself...
how could I... to myself?
But it didn't matter, because all that existed now were
black depths, and I was falling, falling once again...