Scene 1 – The Phantom Strike

The feast hall that had once glittered with shadow-lit chandeliers now burned with a different light—an unnatural glow that bled from the Mistress's magic. Phantoms, shaped like twisted reflections of Jemil's wives, stepped forward in unison, their eyes pools of gold fire. Each wore the same faces Jemil loved, the same bodies, the same postures—yet wrong, every detail sharpened and poisoned.

The real wives stiffened at the sight.

Selene's hand tightened around the hilt of her blade, her lips pressed thin.

Kaela's tail lashed, claws flexing, though her gaze trembled with unease.

Even Astra, calm and composed, swallowed hard, her storm-silver eyes locked on her phantom double.

They didn't have to wait long.

With a sound like glass shattering, the phantoms lunged.

Steel clashed as Selene's phantom met her blade head-on, sparks flying. The phantom's style was perfect—her stance, her tempo, her feints—all copied from Selene's years of discipline. It was like fighting her own reflection, but without the hesitation, without the human heart.

Kaela's phantom pounced, claws like sickles slashing through the floor, gouging deep scars into the stone. The real Kaela snarled, meeting it claw for claw. But when their strikes met, Kaela felt it—the phantom carried more than strength. It carried accusation. Every blow whispered, You couldn't protect him before. Why should he trust you now?

Astra's phantom lifted its hand, summoning a storm of lightning that crackled across the hall. The air burned with ozone, and the real Astra threw up her staff, conjuring a barrier to deflect. But even through the shield, she saw her phantom's smirk—the smirk that said, You're just a shadow in his harem, another face among many. Do you truly believe he needs you?

And then there was Jemil.

His cursed arm pulsed like molten metal, glowing brighter with every strike the others exchanged. He stepped forward to fight—but the arm moved before he could command it.

It lashed out in a savage arc, catching Selene's phantom across the chest. The blow cracked the air like thunder and sent the phantom skidding across the floor. But Jemil hadn't meant to strike.

His wives' eyes flicked toward him—concerned, startled.

And worse… his arm didn't stop.

It curled, readying another strike, golden veins crawling up his neck, reaching toward his eye. The phantom wives seemed to sense it, circling, their twisted smiles widening.

The Mistress's voice purred through the storm of battle, low and intimate, as if spoken directly into Jemil's ear:

"Do you see, summoner? Even without you, your body knows the truth. The curse is not your enemy—it is your strength. Why resist what you were always meant to be?"

The golden chains inside him rattled, heavy and seductive, tugging at his will. Every clang of phantom steel, every cry from his wives, fed the temptation to just… let go.

But letting go meant more than power. It meant possession. It meant losing himself.

Scene 2 – The Curse's Temptation

The clash of steel and claws echoed like war drums, yet Jemil barely heard it. His breaths came ragged, his chest tight, the cursed arm searing hotter with every heartbeat.

The golden glow pulsed in rhythm, spreading across his veins like molten chains threading through his body. His vision flickered at the edges, half the hall drenched in shadow, half tinted with blinding, lustrous gold.

And in that golden haze—he saw her.

The Mistress of Shackles, standing apart from the chaos, lips curved in that eternal predator's smile. Her golden eyes locked on him, unblinking, unwavering, as though the whole battlefield existed only for this one moment between them.

Her voice wasn't loud, yet it cut through the storm of noise, curling straight into his thoughts:

"You've carried the weight for so long, little summoner. Why fight the chains when you could rest in them? Power without doubt. Desire without denial. Surrender… and become more than mortal."

Jemil staggered, clutching his cursed arm as it strained against his grip like a beast desperate to be unleashed. He felt the phantom heat of chains wrapping around his torso, pulling him toward her. The burn wasn't pain. It was… intoxicating.

"Jemil!"

Lyra's voice broke through, sharp as her fire. He turned—and saw her staggering under the assault of her phantom double. Flames clashed against flames, but the phantom's blaze carried an edge that cut deeper, hotter, more merciless.

Yet her eyes weren't on her foe. They were on him.

"Stay with us!" she cried, even as sparks flared around her.

Kaela's claws raked her phantom, ripping through air that stitched itself back together. "Don't you dare give in!" she roared, desperation cracking her voice.

Astra's storm flared, lightning arcing wildly as she pushed her barrier to shield both Lyra and Kaela. Her silver eyes locked on him too. "Jemil—the curse is bait! Remember that!"

But their voices felt distant, muffled beneath the Mistress's whisper:

"They fear you, even as they cling to you. They fear what you could become. But I? I crave it. I crave you—all of you. Power, curse, and soul. Tell me, summoner… will you cling to fragile bonds, or embrace the eternal shackle that waits?"

The cursed arm pulsed violently, veins of gold surging up his throat, spreading across his jaw. His eye burned, vision fracturing into shards of shadow and light.

For a heartbeat, he wasn't sure whose desire he felt—his own… or hers.

Scene 3 – Clash of Bonds

The golden veins crept higher, threading up Jemil's cheek, glowing like molten brands against his skin. His breathing grew harsher, ragged gasps that came not from exhaustion—but from the battle inside his chest.

The Mistress tilted her head, smile widening as she spread her arms. "Yes… let it take you. Let it bind you. You were born for this."

But before Jemil could stagger another step toward her, Selene's blade rang out, cutting through the phantom that mirrored her. She lunged across the battlefield, her armor scorched, her arms bleeding, but her eyes blazing with fire. She grabbed his cursed arm with both hands, ignoring the burn that singed her palms.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury and fear. "I swore my life to you, Jemil—not to watch you vanish into someone else's chains."

Her grip tightened, shaking against his arm's thrashing pull. Her gauntlets smoked where the golden heat seared her skin, but she didn't let go.

Behind her, Lyra staggered, her flames clashing with her phantom double in bursts of wildfire. But still she screamed over the roar of fire:

"Listen to me, Jemil! You don't need her chains. You've already bound us—all of us! Not with shackles, but with your heart. Don't throw that away!"

Kaela's claws raked across her phantom's chest, blood and shadow spraying. She whirled, tail lashing as she drove her double back. Her voice cracked as she shouted:

"You're ours, idiot! Do you hear me? Ours! Not hers!"

Astra raised her staff, a storm breaking loose around her, thunder booming as lightning cut through the ceiling. Her phantom's barrier strained, cracks splitting across its surface. Sweat rolled down her brow, her silver eyes wet but steady.

"You think she offers eternity? You already have it—through us. Through everything we've fought for together. Jemil, you are not alone. Don't make yourself a prisoner again."

Jemil's knees buckled. Their voices collided in his chest, fighting against the Mistress's silken whisper. His cursed arm shook violently, torn between two worlds: golden submission and the living bonds he'd built.

The Mistress's chains stirred, rattling like laughter, wrapping tighter around his spirit. "How touching… but weak. They beg, they plead, they cling. I offer you power. Choose, summoner."

The glow flared in his eye, threatening to swallow it whole.

Selene clung tighter, her hands blistering against his arm. "Damn it, Jemil—look at me! Don't make me fight you too!"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and something in Jemil snapped. Not broken—but struck.

Scene 4 – Jemil's Breaking Point

The hall trembled with the clash of phantoms and the roar of storms, yet for Jemil, the world narrowed to a single point of agony—the war inside his chest.

The cursed arm thrashed, its glow flooding his veins, painting his skin in molten gold. His eye burned, his vision fractured into jagged shards of shadow and light. Each breath dragged chains across his lungs, each heartbeat rattled with golden laughter.

Selene clung to his arm, her gauntlets blistering, her teeth clenched. Lyra screamed his name as her phantom doubled its flames, threatening to engulf her. Kaela's claws split stone, holding back her own reflection. Astra's storm wavered, lightning faltering under strain.

They were fighting not just their doubles—

They were fighting him.

And still, the Mistress watched. Silent. Smiling. Her golden gaze never wavered.

"Yes… yes. You feel it, don't you? The chains are no longer outside you. They are you. Stop resisting, Jemil. Stop denying what you've already become."

Her words slithered through his skull like silk.

The cursed arm tore free of Selene's grip, golden energy crackling as his claws curled into a fist. For one horrifying heartbeat, his body wasn't his own. He spun toward Selene, fist trembling inches from her chest.

Her eyes widened. She didn't flinch. She didn't raise her blade.

"Then do it," she whispered, voice breaking. "If you're already lost… then at least let me be the one you strike."

The glow surged, veins crawling higher across Jemil's face. His body shook. The fist drew back—

—and froze.

Every bond screamed inside him. Every vow, every laugh, every scar they'd carried together roared louder than the Mistress's whisper.

But the chains coiled tighter, pulling at his spirit.

One more breath. One more heartbeat. One more choice.

Would he surrender to the Mistress's eternal shackles…

…or break the bonds that threatened to consume him?

The hall shook. The chains screamed. Jemil roared—

And the scene cut to black.

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