CHAPTER 178: CHAPTER 178: REFLECTIONS IN THE DARK

The tunnel tightened as they descended, winding downward in a suffocating spiral. The walls closed in on them like the throat of some colossal beast swallowing them whole. Each step echoed with a hollow finality, the sound bouncing back strangely, as if the walls themselves were whispering their movements to something unseen below.

Lin led the way, flashlight beam cutting across the damp stone. The spiral seemed endless, every curve the same as the last, tricking the mind into believing they were trapped in a loop. Keller walked close behind, his hand brushing the wall to ground himself. Min-joon lagged slightly, muttering under his breath, his nerves fraying with each downward turn.

The air was heavier here. It pressed against their lungs, thick with dust and the metallic tang of rust. And beneath it all, faintly but undeniably, was the scent of decay.

"Feels like a grave," Keller muttered, his voice low. His breath fogged briefly in the cold, vanishing as quickly as it came.

Lin didn’t respond. He couldn’t—his throat was too tight. His instincts screamed that Jin had designed this place deliberately, not as an ordinary passage but as a psychological weapon. The spiral descent wasn’t just physical—it was meant to break their sense of direction, to crush their awareness until they felt lost in every direction but down.

Behind them, Min-joon’s muttering grew louder. "He’s here. He’s here. He’s inside." His hands trembled at his sides, fingers twitching.

Lin stopped and turned sharply, catching Min-joon’s shoulder. The younger man’s eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, his face pale with sweat.

"Min-joon," Lin said firmly, steadying him. "Focus. Jin isn’t here. He’s in your head, not in this tunnel. Do you understand?"

Min-joon’s lips quivered, forming words he couldn’t quite speak. His gaze darted to the shadows, as if expecting Jin to step out of them at any moment. "He’s... he’s laughing at us. I hear him. Not just in the walls—inside my head. Like he’s sitting right behind my eyes."

Lin’s grip tightened. "Then push him out. He wants you to break. Don’t let him win."

Keller exhaled harshly, rubbing his temples. "We’re all hearing things, kid. That bastard’s playing us. But if you lose it now, you’re done. And we can’t carry dead weight."

Min-joon flinched at the bluntness, but Lin shot Keller a look sharp enough to cut. Keller looked away, jaw clenched, muttering something under his breath. The pressure of the spiral was getting to him too—it was in all of them.

They moved again, step by step, deeper into the curve. The tunnel narrowed until they could only move single file. Lin felt the walls brush against his shoulders, cold and damp, like the touch of a corpse.

And then—

A voice.

Not the distant taunting echo they’d grown used to, but something closer.

Lin.

It was faint, almost tender. Familiar.

Lin... come back.

His heart skipped. For the first time since entering the labyrinth, Jin’s voice didn’t sound mocking. It sounded intimate. Like someone he had once trusted.

Lin’s flashlight wavered. His breath caught in his throat. He almost answered—almost. But then he realized Keller and Min-joon hadn’t reacted at all.

Which meant the voice wasn’t in the air.

It was in him.

He forced himself to move again, jaw tight. If he acknowledged it, Jin would win. If he pretended it wasn’t there, maybe it would fade. But the whisper came again, brushing his thoughts like a ghostly hand.

You’re not ready to see yourself. But I’ll show you anyway.

The spiral ended abruptly. The tunnel widened into a massive chamber, and the sudden openness was dizzying after the endless downward crawl. Lin blinked hard, his eyes adjusting. His beam swept across the space—rusted scaffolding, broken machinery, puddles reflecting faint light from cracks high above.

And in the center of the chamber, chained to a reinforced column, was a figure.

At first, Lin thought it was a man. The proportions were right—tall, broad-shouldered, head bowed. But as the light steadied on the figure, details sharpened. The skin was pale and waxy, stretched too thin over the bones. Patches of flesh bore surgical scars that crossed like maps of pain. And the face—

Lin froze.

It was his own.

The figure’s head lifted, slowly, painfully. The face that stared back was unmistakable, though distorted. Eyes sunken, cheekbones sharper, mouth trembling. But the shape, the features—it was Lin.

"...Lin."

The voice was ragged, broken, but it was his. The same timbre, the same cadence. Hearing it from another throat sent ice flooding through him.

Keller swore violently behind him. "What the hell is that?"

Min-joon stumbled back, shaking his head, whispering, "No, no, no, this isn’t real. This isn’t real—"

But it was real. The chains were real. The rasping breath was real. The eyes—eyes that mirrored Lin’s own—were very real.

The chained figure strained weakly, pulling against the restraints. Metal groaned. "Kill... me."

Lin’s stomach turned. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to attack, to end it. But his body refused. He was staring at himself—broken, hollowed, manufactured.

Keller’s gun was already up, trembling in his grip. "Say the word, Lin. I’ll drop this thing right now. Whatever it is—it ain’t you."

But Lin’s hand shot out, stopping him. His voice was hoarse. "Wait."

The figure shuddered, chains clattering. It tried to stand, muscles twitching under scarred skin. Its lips peeled back in something like a smile, something like agony.

"Jin... made me. I’m you. But better. Stronger."

The words came in gasps, as if each one cut the speaker apart. But they were clear enough.

Lin’s chest tightened. He understood, finally, what Jin had meant when he whispered I’ll show you yourself. This wasn’t just a monster. This was his reflection—his failure, his vulnerability twisted into flesh.

Keller cursed again, aiming steadier now. "Lin, we don’t have time for this freak show. That thing’s gonna snap those chains any second. We put it down before it—"

The chains shattered.

The sound was deafening. Metal links scattered across the floor as the figure lunged forward with unnatural speed, its movements jerky but powerful. Its eyes locked on Lin with desperate hunger—like prey and predator fused into one.

"LIN!" Min-joon screamed.

The clone crashed into the ground where Lin had been a moment before, stone cracking under the impact. It rose, movements twitching like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, but there was strength—too much strength.

Lin drew his blade, steel flashing. Keller opened fire, bullets tearing into the clone’s torso, but it didn’t slow. It staggered, shuddered, but then it laughed—a broken, hollow laugh in Lin’s own voice.

Lin’s stomach twisted.

He wasn’t just fighting Jin’s monster.

He was fighting himself.