Magic is not merely an extension of the body—it is a force that, if left uncontrolled, can destroy both the caster and their surroundings. This is why grimoires exist.

  A grimoire is a mage’s lifeline, a collection of refined techniques, runes, and incantations that allow magic to be cast with precision and efficiency. While a mage can summon their element naturally, doing so without structure results in reckless energy consumption and weak, unstable spells.

  Those without a grimoire are like swordsmen without technique—swinging wildly, wasting strength. Meanwhile, those with ancient, refined, or forbidden grimoires wield power beyond the ordinary, capable of bending the very essence of magic to their will.

  But grimoires are not just books. They are artifacts of knowledge, symbols of authority, and weapons of war. Some are passed down through generations, while others are stolen, hunted, and hoarded. The greatest mages are not just powerful—they are guardians of the rarest grimoires.

  And some are willing to kill for them.

  Frid stumbled into the dark alley, blood dripping from his left arm. His breath came in ragged gasps, his illusion magic barely holding. His once handsome disguise flickered, revealing the gaunt face of a man who had been running for too long.

  Behind him, footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows, his grin widening as he twirled a grimoire in his hand—his own, complete and intact.

  "You’re slower than I expected, Frid," the figure taunted, his voice filled with amusement. "What’s wrong? Out of tricks?"

  Frid gritted his teeth. He had underestimated this man. The difference between them was clear—the hooded figure had perfect mastery of his magic, while Frid’s illusion grimoire was incomplete, limiting him to a mere disguise.

  But he had no choice but to fight.

  Frid pressed his hand against his grimoire, forcing his magic forward. His form shimmered and split, creating three identical copies of himself in the alley. The copies mimicked his every move, all bolting in different directions.

  The hooded figure didn’t even hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, his grimoire glowed, activating a spell. A sudden burst of air pressure collapsed the alleyway, sending debris flying and disrupting Frid’s illusions.

  Two of his copies flickered out instantly. The last Frid—the real one—barely managed to roll away, but a surge of pain shot through his ribs.

  Damn it.

  The hooded figure laughed. "Illusion magic? Cute. But your grimoire is incomplete, isn’t it? You can’t even fool me for long."

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  Frid clenched his fists. He had to think. His opponent had a superior grimoire, refined techniques, and full control over his element. But Frid still had one advantage—desperation.

  He flipped through the worn pages of his grimoire. There had to be something—anything—he could use. The figure wasn’t in a hurry. He was toying with him.

  But Frid would make him regret it.

  With a final breath, he channeled all of his remaining energy into a single deception.

  The alley grew darker. The air grew cold.

  And for the first time, the hooded figure’s smile wavered.

  Frid’s real battle had just begun.

  The darkened alley twisted unnaturally, as though the very air had thickened. The hooded figure took a step forward, his amusement giving way to a slight furrow of his brow.

  Frid didn’t miss it.

  Doubt. Hesitation.

  It was a small crack, but one he could exploit.

  The illusion wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. It only needed to buy him time.

  The walls elongated, stretching unnaturally, while the cobblestones beneath their feet rippled like disturbed water. Frid infused every ounce of his will into the deception, altering depth perception, distance, and space itself. It wasn’t real—but to the senses, it might as well have been.

  The hooded figure’s grin returned, but it was thinner this time. "Trying to play with my mind, are you?"

  Frid didn’t answer. He didn’t have the energy to waste on words.

  Instead, he moved.

  He dashed sideways, vanishing into the illusionary distortion he had crafted. His body flickered, appearing in multiple places at once, weaving through the shadows of his own creation.

  The hooded figure’s eyes flicked across the shifting space, trying to track the real Frid. Then, with a snap of his fingers, his own grimoire pulsed.

  Boom!

  A surge of raw energy erupted outward, dispersing the illusions in an instant.

  Damn it!

  Frid barely managed to duck as a razor-thin blade of wind sliced through the space where his head had been. He rolled into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall, masking his presence as best as he could.

  "You’re smarter than you look," the hooded figure admitted. "But you’re still a rat in a corner."

  Frid wiped the sweat from his brow. His breathing was uneven. He couldn’t keep this up.

  His illusions were working—but only for moments at a time. His opponent had better control, more refined techniques, and superior magic output. The only thing keeping Frid alive was his unpredictability.

  But that wouldn’t last forever.

  He needed something more.

  His fingers brushed against the worn leather of his grimoire.

  There was one last illusion he hadn’t tried.

  It was a gamble—something he had never fully tested before. But if it worked…

  Frid took a slow breath.

  Then he stepped forward, out of hiding.

  The hooded figure’s head snapped toward him. His grin widened. "Giving up?"

  Frid didn’t speak.

  He simply raised his hand—and let the illusion take hold.

  The alley shifted again.

  But this time, it wasn’t the environment that changed.

  It was Frid himself.

  His form melted, twisted, reshaped—not into a copy of himself, but into the hooded figure’s own reflection.

  A perfect double.

  For the first time, true uncertainty flashed across the hooded figure’s face. His eyes darted between his grimoire and Frid’s new form, suspicion clouding his expression.

  Frid smirked. "Having doubts now?"

  The hooded figure’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Clever." His fingers tightened around his grimoire. "But not clever enough."

  A sharp pulse of energy flared to life around him.

  He was done playing.

  And Frid realized—this fight was far from over.