Bloodscript: Survival Game of the Reborn
For every hazard I blunted, three new ones seemed to spawn.
We hit the shattered mirror field.
Each shard reflected a different version of us—alive, dead, younger, older, from worlds we hadn’t yet walked.
Step on one the wrong way, and it bit into our boots, trying to slice through to skin.
“Blunt,” I thought, too tired for poetry. “Round the edges. Take the worst of it off.”
The mirror teeth dulled a fraction.
Not enough to make them safe.
Enough that they tore our soles instead of our tendons.