Narrated by Joseph Renlanton

  I woke up early that morning. The sky was clear, and the air carried a sharp chill. I opened the balcony door, letting the cold breeze brush against my face as I gazed at the heavens, my mind wandering aimlessly. Then, a strange sensation crept over me—a feeling I had never experienced before. The wind carried the heavy scent of blood.

  Suddenly, severed heads began to rain from the sky, splattering blood across my face. The stench was so strong it felt like it would burn my nostrils. In the midst of that grotesque scene, I saw him—someone who looked exactly like me. He was tall, white-haired like I was, but his hair was cut short, while mine flowed long past my shoulders. He stood atop a mountain of severed heads, staring directly at me. The heads continued piling higher, lifting him out of sight.

  Without warning, everything vanished. The world turned blinding white, an endless empty void. Yet, the man remained, still staring at me with an unsettling gaze. Between us, a table and two chairs materialized from the whiteness. I found myself seated across from him, surrounded by massive, disembodied eyes—white sclera with dark black pupils—watching our every move from all directions.

  He placed a bundle of papers between us. I reached out, but the sheets were blank, soaked in blood. Fear gnawed at me, even though somewhere deep inside, I knew none of this was real. The man spoke first, his voice mad and unhinged:

  "Don’t be afraid. You will lose again and again and again."

  The surrounding eyes began to chant in unison, their voices echoing:

  "Again! Again! Again! Again!"

  The ground trembled beneath me. I fell into the abyss, the chant following me as I plummeted deeper into darkness. Around me, countless reflections of myself twisted and warped—some missing arms, others missing eyes, some with short hair, others bound in chains, one reduced to a hollow skull without a face.

  The chant dissolved into a shrill, piercing whistle that drilled into my mind. I wandered blindly through the dark, passing my distorted reflections—young, old, broken, incomplete. The voices slowed, weaving a new rhythm:

  "Wake up, or lose. Wake up, or win. Wake up, or lose. Wake up, or win."

  I clutched my head, trying to block out the sound. It grew unbearable, threatening to shatter my skull. Then—silence.

  I opened my eyes and found myself back at the table. The same chairs. The same unblinking eyes. The man still sat before me, calm and steady. He made the first move again, and this time, the blood-soaked pages revealed faint inscriptions. We played a game I couldn’t comprehend—but somehow, I won.

  He smiled bitterly.

  "Nothing has changed," he whispered. "You will lose."

  The world collapsed around us.

  I awoke naturally, no fear, just a strange sense of heaviness in my chest. The dream had been unlike anything I’d ever experienced. But I didn’t tell anyone. As Ansal of the gods, my brothers and I often had strange dreams—at least, that’s what they used to say whenever I spoke of mine. Still, this one felt different, more real, more ominous.

  I left my room to find my brothers already awake. Their beds were neatly made, everything in order. I washed my face, stared into the bathroom mirror—everything looked normal. Perfectly normal. Too normal.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  In the kitchen, my brothers sat around the table, eating breakfast. I joined them without a word. Everything felt just like any other day.

  Nikolai was the first to speak, bringing up today’s mission.

  "This one’s simple," he said. "There's an enemy base up north. They’ve captured one of the cursed blacksmiths. Our job is to rescue him—and make sure he ends up working for us."

  Jason chuckled.

  "So, we’re going to rescue him just to enslave him again? Great."

  Stalin finished eating, lit a cigarette, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

  "Orders are orders, dumbass. It's a stupid mission, but we don’t get a say."

  Jason grinned, lighting his own cigarette.

  "I know, baseball bat boy. But you should really cut down on the smoking before it cuts you down."

  I finished my meal and laughed.

  "Didn’t know weed cigarettes could make you weak."

  We all shared a laugh. Then we grabbed our gear and headed downstairs to the armored vehicle. It was huge, divided into compartments for the driver, the main team, and the backup crew. I always kept my motorcycle inside, just in case. Natasha was already inside, napping in the passenger seat.

  Trying not to wake her, we set off quietly. Jason drove, the vehicle humming steadily down the road. Hours passed. We finally stopped a safe distance from the enemy base, continuing the approach on foot.

  Natasha woke up, stretching lazily. We regrouped with the second team, who had arrived earlier and were waiting near the massive perimeter wall—forty meters tall and smooth as glass.

  Together—my brothers, Natasha, Elina, and Maria—we crouched at the base of the wall, reviewing the plan. Natasha started explaining, but it was complicated, full of contingencies.

  I smiled and offered a simpler idea:

  "I’ll use my electricity to boost myself over the wall, dig a hole from the inside. Their outer walls resist elemental attacks—but the inner ones don’t."

  My brothers grinned.

  "Now that’s a plan."

  I smirked back, crackling electricity through my legs, and shot upward. From the top, I saw them—a vast army waiting just beyond the wall.

  "Talk about a warm welcome," I muttered under my breath.

  I blasted a hole in the wall behind me, then dropped down. Dust and debris clouded the air. My brothers opened fire, sweeping the enemies in a hail of bullets. I coughed through the smoke.

  "Next time, maybe don't announce our arrival?" I said, brushing dust from my jacket.

  Natasha laughed, lightly punching my shoulder.

  "Come on, what’s a party without a little noise?"

  Drawing my twin swords, I charged forward with the others. The place stank of chemicals, the sterile white hallways reminding me of some twisted science lab. I hated it.

  We tore through the enemy. Jason swung his axe like a madman, hacking limbs and heads clean off. Elina and Natasha gunned down anyone who dared approach. Then, Maria surprised us all—she pulled out a rocket launcher half her size.

  Jason laughed.

  "A 140 cm girl with a rocket launcher? What’s next—a 51mm machine gun?"

  Maria just winked.

  "Funny you mention that."

  She whipped out a massive machine gun and stormed ahead, tearing through the enemy like a force of nature. Honestly, she barely left anything for us to clean up.

  We finally reached the main hall. There, chained to the wall, was the blacksmith—muscular, scarred, one arm badly burned. A man in black stood beside him, holding a sword to his throat.

  "One more step," he sneered, "and his filthy head hits the floor."

  We raised our hands and dropped our weapons, pretending to surrender. The man smirked arrogantly.

  "Good boys. You don’t want your little blacksmith to die, do you?"

  Poor fool. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

  I sent a surge of electricity through the ground. It rose as a hand, grabbing him from below and crushing him into a bloody mist. We freed the blacksmith immediately. He scowled at us, spitting blood to the side.

  "Don’t expect a thank you," he muttered. "I know you’re just going to force me to work for you too."

  I smiled faintly.

  "Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting one."

  I carried him on my back as we made our escape. Before we left, I glanced back at the base. It felt wrong to leave it standing.

  I unleashed everything—raw, unchecked electricity—crushing the entire structure into dust. My scream echoed for miles. The exertion tore something inside me. I collapsed, unconscious.

  When I woke up again, I was back in my room, lying peacefully in bed. I tried to stand—and collapsed again, fainting the moment I touched the floor