Ascendant of Shadows: The Monarch and The Eminence

The Mirrored Citadel, the corrupted N Seoul Tower, was not just a building; it was the central processing unit of the Weaver's false reality. As Jin-woo and Cid approached it at supersonic speeds, its defenses activated.

The mirrored surfaces of the tower shimmered, and from them emerged knights. Not illusions, but reflections given form—perfect, mirrored copies of the Crimson Knights from Midgar, their armor gleaming, their movements flawless.

A squadron of these mirrored knights flew to intercept them, their silver blades cutting through the air.

Jin-woo didn't slow down. He simply raised a hand. "Bellion."

From his shadow, the Grand-Marshal emerged in mid-air. Bellion, the warrior who had trained the original Shadow Army for eons, looked at the approaching knights with something akin to professional disdain.

"Mere reflections," Bellion's deep voice rumbled. "They possess form, but lack a soul. An insult to a true warrior."

He met the charge alone, his massive, centipede-like sword a whirlwind of destruction. The mirrored knights, for all their perfect form, were shattered into a thousand shards of glass by a being of pure, unadulterated martial prowess and loyalty. Bellion became a one-man army, holding back the tide of reflections while his King pressed forward.

Jin-woo and Cid reached the base of the tower and crashed through a massive, ornate window, landing inside the grand lobby.

The interior was a disorienting, maddening labyrinth. The walls, floors, and ceiling were all made of the same shimmering, mirrored surface, creating an infinite, repeating reflection of themselves. It was impossible to tell which way was up, down, or forward.

"A hall of mirrors," Cid noted, looking at the infinite versions of himself striking a cool pose. "A classic trap. Designed to confuse and disorient."

"Zeta's charges are almost in place," Jin-woo's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "The illusions here are stronger. Be wary of what you see."

As if on cue, the reflections began to change. A reflection of Cid showed him not in his Shadow gear, but in his drab school uniform, being laughed at by his classmates. A reflection of Jin-woo showed him alone, his throne crumbling, his shadow soldiers fading away into dust.

 The insult bounced off Cid's ego like a pebble off a tank.

Jin-woo's resolve was absolute, his acceptance of his own nature unshakable.

The Weaver shrieked in frustration, its psychological warfare failing completely. The reflections warped again, this time forming grotesque, multi-limbed monsters that leaped from the mirrored surfaces to attack.

This time, Cid acted. "My turn to handle the trash."

He didn't fight them. That would be too straightforward. Instead, he manipulated his slime coat, creating dozens of perfect, solid-black copies of himself. The mirrored labyrinth was suddenly filled with not just two figures, but dozens of them, all moving at once.

The reflection-monsters, programmed to attack the intruders, were now utterly confused. They lunged at clones, which dissolved on impact. They swiped at empty air as the real Cid moved between his own illusions. It was chaos vs. chaos, and Cid was a master of it.

"While you're playing," Jin-woo said, his eyes closed in concentration, "I've found the throne room. It's at the very top, shielded by a concentration of reality-bending energy. The heart of its power."

He opened his eyes. "Let's go."

Ignoring the clones and the monsters, Jin-woo simply stomped his foot. A wave of pure shadow energy erupted from him, not as an attack, but as a force of pure orientation. For a single second, the entire labyrinth was plunged into absolute darkness, and in that darkness, a single, glowing purple line appeared on the "floor," leading upwards. A path.

"A very convenient directional marker," Cid noted, letting his clones dissolve as he followed.

They ascended through the tower, the illusions growing more frantic and desperate. The very architecture tried to stop them, stairs turning into slides, hallways twisting into inescapable loops. But Jin-woo's power provided a constant, undeniable "true north," while Cid's unpredictable movements allowed them to bypass the physical traps with absurd, almost comical ease.

Meanwhile, across the city, the final pieces of the counter-attack were falling into place.

Alpha, a golden whirlwind of destruction, carved through the last of the bone-spires in her designated quadrant. "Sector Gamma is clear!" she reported through a magical communication link.

From deep within the city's infrastructure, Zeta's voice came through. "All charges are set. The primary anchors of the false reality are wired. Awaiting the signal."

In the residential districts, Beru and Igris had finished their work. Every civilian had been herded into a protective dome of shadow energy, shielding them from the psychological and physical effects of the collapsing dreamscape.

"The non-combatants are secure, my King," Beru screeched with pride.

Inside the Mirrored Citadel, Jin-woo and Cid arrived at the final door. It was a massive gate made of swirling, liquid-like mirror, and on it were reflected their greatest fears made manifest.

"A final psychological barrier," Cid observed with a bored expression. "How tedious."

Jin-woo didn't even look at it. He simply placed his palm on the gate. The Seed of the Void in his inventory flared. He channeled the 'Conceptual Severance' skill he had learned from it.

The gate didn't break. It didn't explode. The swirling, terrifying images just... stopped. The connection between the gate and the Weaver's fear-engine was cut. The liquid mirror solidified and then crumbled into fine, silver dust, revealing the throne room beyond.

Weaver-Prime-Five sat on a throne made of crystallized despair, its mirrored armor now cracked and flickering. It had thrown everything it had at them, and they had walked through it as if it were a child's haunted house.

"Simple," Cid said, stepping into the room. "Your reality is boring. Your story is poorly paced. And your main villain has a terrible costume."

At that exact moment, a signal went out from Jin-woo's mind. 

Across Seoul, a dozen synchronized explosions of pure, condensed magic detonated. They didn't cause physical damage. They were conceptual bombs that targeted the anchor points of the false reality.

The entire dreamscape shuddered violently. The sickly green sky began to flicker, showing patches of the true, dark night sky. The bone-towers crumbled. The mirrored citadel groaned, its illusions failing, the infinite reflections shattering to reveal the simple steel and concrete of the N Seoul Tower's observation deck.

The Weaver's kingdom was collapsing. Its connection to the world was severed. It was now trapped, alone, with its two worst nightmares.

"You built your kingdom on a foundation of lies," Jin-woo said, his Monarch's aura flaring to its fullest extent, the pressure in the room becoming unbearable. "And my very existence is an undeniable truth."

The Weaver rose from its throne, its scepter glowing with a final, desperate power. It was cornered, but it was still a Grand Weaver.

"Let's give them a good final act, shall we?" Cid asked, drawing his blade, a feral grin on his face.

The final battle for Seoul was about to begin.