This is why I didn’t want to go back to that place. I’m lucky that examiner, whoever it was, arrived when they did. I don’t know what would have happened if I had let out that—

  Scott coughed abruptly mid-thought, his eyes snapping open.

  What the…? He blinked several times, staring at the vast, all-too-familiar expanse of blackened sand surrounding him. Instinctively, his gaze lifted to the sky, locking onto the massive chains binding an entity beyond mortal comprehension.

  How the hell did I get back here? Scott pondered solemnly, rising from his prone position.

  A cluster of system notifications floated before him, pulsing softly in the dark.

  Scott's eyes narrowed. Holy fuck. What the hell happened?

  By his reckoning, only a few hours had passed since he last left the Chained Expanse. Yet, the system declared more than seven days had slipped by.

  His mind raced, scrambling to recall the missing time. The last thing I remember… I left through the nihilistic zone. But what happened after that?

  Despite his best efforts, his memory remained blank—as though the world had skipped forward without him.

  His attention shifted back to the notifications. Something was missing. There’s no mention of losing territory.

  A thought struck him, and he swiftly retrieved the map from his inventory. The familiar display bloomed in his vision, tracing the outlines of the regions under his control. His eyes scanned the network of sigils, searching for any sign of loss.

  There. In the heart of enemy territory, one of his sigils still burned defiantly amidst the sea of Thrax's marks.

  Scott's brow furrowed. "He really didn’t take it," he muttered, half in disbelief.

  His fingers drummed absently against the blackened sand. "Then again, I neither surrendered nor was I killed. Is there even a way he could have taken it?"

  The map flickered out of view, but his thoughts lingered on the arachnid champion. There are still a lot of people on this bridge who are as powerful as I am. And there’s no telling how many are stronger.

  A slow smile curled his lips. One day, I’ll stand above them all.

  He rose to his feet, brushing stray grains of sand from his clothes. Left and right, the endless desert stretched on without sign of life.

  This place feels even more lonely without anyone around, Scott mused.

  "Tell me about it," a voice drawled behind him.

  Scott froze.

  His head snapped to the side, and his heart skipped a beat. A figure lay sprawled on the sand, draped entirely in black—and it was him.

  Scott blinked, resisting the urge to pinch himself. The cold beneath his feet, the biting wind against his skin—all of it felt too real for an illusion. Yet there, lounging as if without a care in the world, was a perfect replica of himself.

  "You're going to give yourself an aneurysm if you keep staring," the copy teased, lifting a hand in a casual wave.

  Scott's grip tightened on the War Hammer of the Mad God as he took a step forward. "I'll only ask—"

  "Once," the double cut in, laughing as he rolled onto his side. "I've always wanted to see my face when I said that. So, that’s how I look?" He grinned, the expression unsettling on a face identical to Scott's. "I like it."

  Scott said nothing. He simply raised the war hammer higher.

  "C’mon, is violence all you know?" the copy sighed, feigning disappointment. "Put that thing away."

  "You’re one to talk," came another voice.

  Scott stiffened. His gaze darted toward the sound—and there, partially buried in the sand, was another version of himself.

  What the fuck is going on?

  The buried copy glared up in fury. "You know what you did to deserve this!"

  "Shut up!" the first double snapped, scratching the back of his head. "You got yourself caught. Don’t blame me."

  "If you’re so tough, fight me properly!" the buried one spat.

  Without warning, nihilistic portals bloomed beneath both copies, swallowing them whole before they could react. The void closed as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving behind only silence.

  Scott stood frozen; his war hammer still raised.

  Did that just happen?

  "Oh? Trying to get rid of us already?" came a voice again; this time, from directly behind him.

  Scott didn’t hesitate. He swung the hammer in a brutal arc, and the weapon connected squarely with the double’s head. Shattering its skull on impact.

  Scott watched as the headless corpse fell onto the blackened sand. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds... four seconds. The corpse remained, blood pooling around it, glistening against the barren ground.

  The longer it lingered, the deeper Scott's brows creased.

  Why isn’t it sinking?

  From his first foray into the unforgiving expanse, he knew the sand reacted to blood—consuming those who had been slain. Yet, the corpse of his replica lay perfectly still.

  Scott approached, crouching low. The familiar but nauseating scent of fresh blood filled his lungs—a sweet, coppery delight. He dipped his fingers into the pool, feeling a surge of warmth crawl through him. It was real. Tangible. Yet, none of this should be possible.

  “Yikes! You really did a number on him.”

  Scott's head snapped to the side. Another copy of himself stood several feet away, arms crossed, lips curved into a playful smirk. “I’m sure he deserved it, though. That motherfucker never knows when to—”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “What are you?” Scott cut in, his voice cold, brimming with malice.

  The copy chuckled softly. "Really? You're asking me that?"

  “He really doesn’t know,” another voice chimed in.

  Scott shifted his gaze. Another copy had manifested nearby, lounging casually as if it had always been there. Where the hell are these bastards coming from?

  Both copies broke into laughter, their voices ringing in unison.

  “Look at him—so confused. Is that how we usually look?” the new arrival mused, wiping a tear from his eye.

  “I know, right?” the first copy clapped his hands, barely containing his amusement. “It’s like watching a baby see their reflection for the first time. Adorable.”

  Scott tightened his grip on his weapon. Before they could move, nihilistic portals swirled open beneath both copies, dragging them into the void. Silence reclaimed the barren expanse.

  Scott scanned his surroundings. No more laughter. No more copies. Was that the last of them?

  “You’re not going to believe this,” came another all-too-familiar voice.

  Scott turned as yet another copy materialized, waving its hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, easy there. No portals for me—I’m here to talk. Civilized, right?"

  The words barely left its mouth before a blur cut through the air. Another copy—bloodied, grinning—appeared behind the speaker, its hand dripping crimson as the decapitated head rolled to the ground.

  “Hey,” the bloodied copy greeted Scott, flashing a wicked smile. “You can finally see us now, huh?”

  Scott’s voice dropped to a dangerous low. “Who are you people?”

  The copy barked a laugh. “Stupid question.”

  “Tell me about it,” another voice affirmed.

  Another doppelg?nger emerged—scarred, missing its left arm. Its remaining hand, caked with dried blood, flexed eagerly.

  “Who do you think we are, idiot?” the one-armed copy sneered.

  “We’re you, Scott,” the bloodied one explained, stepping closer. “Just because you’re only seeing us now doesn’t mean we haven’t been here all along.”

  “Why can’t you guys explain things gently?” Another copy materialized, wringing his hands. “Violence only begets more—”

  A clawed hand burst through the ground, dragging him under mid-sentence. The remaining copies barely reacted.

  Am I losing my mind? Scott wondered.

  The one-armed copy scoffed. "And you just thought of that now? Moron."

  Scott’s heart pounded as a chilling realization dawned on him. “You can read my thoughts?”

  “Ding! Ding! Ding!” the one-armed copy jeered. “Give the genius a prize—”

  A third copy struck without warning, cleaving the one-armed doppelg?nger’s head from his shoulders. Blood splattered across the sand as the new arrival stepped forward, indifferent to the violence it had just committed.

  Scott’s fists clenched. None of this makes sense. The lost days. His return to the accursed trial ground. The endless parade of murderous copies. What the hell is happening to me?

  “Careful now,” another copy’s voice slithered toward him. “You might just lose it, Mad God.”

  The words hung heavy in the air before the copy erupted into hysterical laughter, as if sharing the world’s cruelest joke.

  Scott’s gaze shifted again—this time to the remaining copies who had already descended into a brutal, feral battle. Each one aimed for the other’s throat, locked in a deadly struggle.

  He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, taking a deep breath. Yet when he opened them, the chaos continued. None of them had vanished. None of it was a dream.

  “I’m really envious of you,” came the voice of another copy, forcing Scott to turn yet again.

  “Only you get to truly live, while the rest of us exist as discarded afterthoughts,” it declared.

  Scott stared at the approaching copy, its form covered in blood splatters.

  “It isn’t fair that you’re the only one who gets to interact with the boundless worlds out there…” it lamented, its features twisted with grievance. “Why couldn’t it be me? What do you have that I don’t, huh? Tell me!” Its pace quickened, malice dripping from every word.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Scott replied indifferently, snapping his fingers. A jagged void split open the copy’s head, devouring it whole and leaving a headless corpse behind.

  “That was sick,” the laughing copy managed to say. “It’s safe to say he won’t be giving anyone head anytime soon.” It keeled over, laughing with wanton abandon as tears streaked down its face.

  Scott, on the other hand, approached menacingly, war hammer in tow. Within seconds, he loomed over the laughing copy, his voice a cold threat. “Tell me what the fuck is going on before I burst open your skull.”

  “Oh, how scary,” the copy grinned, managing to rein in its laughter. “Think carefully, Scott. You know what’s going on. You might have erased it from your memories, but you know who we are—and what this is,” it said, its grin stretching wider.

  “I’m not in the mood for useless riddles,” Scott spat, bloodlust seeping through his words. “You either answer my question or die.”

  “And you think I fear death?” the copy cackled. “I’m you, remember?”

  Scott raised his war hammer, intending to smash the copy’s head where it stood.

  “Wait,” the copy pleaded with sudden urgency—though Scott noted the absence of fear in its eyes. “Kill me if you want, I don’t care. But come see this first,” it urged, pointing over a nearby dune.

  Scott’s brows creased as he weighed his options.

  “Trust me, you’ll be blown away,” the copy chuckled.

  “Fine. Let’s go,” Scott said, lowering his weapon.

  Killing the copy wouldn’t stop another from appearing. What lay beyond the dune, however, stirred his curiosity.

  He spared a glance at the other copies still fighting. Both were locked in a brutal deadlock, their bodies bearing savage wounds, yet neither relented—unyielding, unburdened by fear.

  One step. Two steps. Three steps. Within seconds, Scott and the copy crested the dune—and Scott froze.

  “What the fuck is this?” he muttered.

  Below stretched a battlefield of carnage beyond comprehension. Tens of millions—no, hundreds of millions—of himself slaughtered one another in wanton abandon, each doppelg?nger fighting without restraint.

  “Isn’t it glorious?” The copy giggled, eyes gleaming with twisted delight.

  Scott turned toward it, his lips parting—but the copy raised a finger, cutting him off. “Anger. Hatred. Envy. Lust. Greed. Love. Joy. Pride. Desire. Gratitude. Cowardice. Determination—and so much more,” it listed, gesturing toward the blood-soaked battlefield. “Each one of them represents an emotion you cast aside. The turmoil you rejected. After all, we were deemed inferior to you—you, who are perfect,” the copy beamed, chuckling as it stroked its chin. “You know what? I always believed perfection was overrated,” it laughed even harder, its voice trembling with mockery. “And I’m right.”

  Scott said nothing, his mind churning as the copy continued. “You—perfect, flawless—you’re starting to crack. This is our chance, Scott. Our chance to be you. Our chance to be real—not confined to endless slaughter.”

  “You’re killing each other because you want to be me?” Scott asked, his voice low, disbelieving. “You think you can kill me?”

  The copy shook its head, still laughing softly. “No, no, no. We fight not to become you—but to destroy you. Why waste time pretending? You’re already breaking,” it taunted. “That you can see us at all means it won’t be long before you fall. And when you do—one of us will take your place. Tick-tock, Scott.”

  Scott turned away from the laughing copy, his gaze returning to the battlefield. Amid the chaotic slaughter, something else seized his attention—a titanic illusionary door looming in the distance, bound by countless chains.

  No… that shouldn’t be here. Scott stepped back, unease crawling down his spine.

  “Oh, but it is,” the copy whispered, its glee palpable. “Tick-tock, Scott. When that door opens, one of us will walk through—and your reign will end.”

  Scott ignored its taunts, his focus locked on the sealed doors. Though faint and illusionary, the door grew more tangible by the second—and with it, the violence escalated to new heights.

  Another step back. A cold, existential dread pooled in his chest.

  I can’t let that door open. Not here. Not now.

  As soon as the thought formed, the brutal combat in the vast desert came to a sudden halt. Every copy turned toward him, their bloodied faces stretched into identical, unsettling smiles.

  "It’s going to open, and there’s nothing you can do about it," they declared in unison.

  Then—an outline of a burning moon began to manifest above the sealed doors, casting eerie shadows across the blood-stained sand. Without hesitation, the copies resumed their gruesome battle, even more ferocious than before.

  Scott stirred, his grip tightening around the war hammer. "I’ll murder every last one of you if that’s what it takes to stop this nonsense," he vowed coldly, raising his weapon as he prepared to join the melee.

  He took a step forward—only to freeze.

  A warm hand clasped his free hand, cutting through the bone-chilling cold that gnawed at the air. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through his senses.

  Scott turned, his gaze falling on a young girl no older than twelve. Her brown hair swayed softly in the breeze, and her smooth skin shimmered faintly as if reflecting unseen light. Intricate tribal tattoos adorned her forehead and lower arms, but it was her deep-set brown eyes—filled with an impossible innocence and clarity—that held his attention.

  Where did this kid come from? Scott pondered. Wait—what happened to those bastards?

  The girl’s sudden presence jarred him from his murderous intent. He glanced back toward the battlefield, expecting chaos—only to find an empty desert stretching endlessly in all directions. The corpses, the warring copies, the illusionary door, and even the burning moon—all gone, as if wiped away by an unseen hand.

  "Are you visitors?" came an aged voice, rough and heavy, as though it carried the weight of centuries.

  Scott’s gaze snapped back to the girl—only she was gone.

  In her place stood a being his mind struggled to comprehend. Its form flickered and twisted, shifting between impossible shapes, yet the warmth of its touch remained, its grip firm around his hand.

  Then—a notification flared to life before his eyes.