The corpses tore into Scott as his deranged laughter echoed throughout the void. The cycle played on endlessly—bodies devouring him, their voices thick with lingering resentment, clashing against Scott’s unhinged mirth.

  He sank deeper into the abyss, and not even the burning moon’s light above could reach the void's oppressive darkness. Pain—glorious in its cruelty—raged through every cell in his body. And yet, his mind remained steeled. Clear. Unshakably resolute.

  Whenever his eyes managed to recover, he glanced upward—toward the crack he had fallen through. But there was nothing. Just black. Endless, merciless black.

  “I want to be you,” one corpse moaned, clinging tightly to him.

  “I want to be free too,” another whispered, its voice steeped in regret and agony.

  Then came a third: “If I can never see the light, then neither shall you. You discarded me into this pit—and here, in this pit, you will die.”

  Their words swirled in his mind, laced with venom, each one clawing at the edges of his sanity. And still, the pain surged—his body endlessly shredded, only to be regenerated again and again.

  He’d lost count of how many times it happened. The torment never dulled. Being drowned and devoured alive never lost its bite. But his laughter... it never faltered.

  “Laugh all you want,” the voices sneered. “You’re one of us now. You’ll never leave.”

  The corpses attacked without end. They were legion. Billions, maybe more. All of them victims of the same abyss—once competitors in a war that never ended, now nothing but afterthoughts who blamed him for their suffering.

  And Scott... lingered.

  He hovered between mindless agony and something else—something primal. A twisted happiness, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside.

  He didn’t know how long he had been trapped. The groans, the moans, the screaming voices—they’d faded into a distant hum. The pain no longer mattered. Neither did the corpses, nor their hate.

  Nothing did.

  He continued sinking, deeper and deeper, the pool around him thickening. It no longer felt like water—but tar. A crushing, viscous void.

  Clank.

  His body twitched.

  That sound… I know that sound.

  Clank.

  It echoed again. Rhythmic. Dull. Almost boring in its monotony—but familiar. Comforting, even.

  Scott blinked.

  The pain was gone. So was the pressure. The suffocating grip around his chest vanished.

  And so had the darkness.

  He was back.

  Back beneath the burning moon.

  He looked up—eyes wide—as the moon’s cracked surface greeted him. Cracks? When did that happen? Or rather—how did it happen?

  Scott’s gaze drifted higher—to the all-seeing eye above the fractured moon. It stared back.

  And then—it cracked too.

  Tiny fractures spread across its surface, and from those cracks… smaller variations of the all-seeing eye emerged, like spores.

  Scott instinctively lowered his gaze. He gasped.

  Gone was the blackened pool. Gone was the abyss.

  Instead, he stood ankle-deep in a serene, mirror-like pool. No ripples, no motion—just stillness.

  His eyes followed the pool’s path to the half-open door in the distance. The shadowy silhouettes were still there, tirelessly working to unravel the heavy chains—but struggling with the bulkier ones.

  Wasn’t I just in the—? His thoughts scattered as he looked around. No tendrils. No hidden eyes behind the door. No corpses.

  Only silence.

  Behind the doors hid darkness so thick, not even the moonlight could pierce it.

  Scott took a step back, grounding himself. This shouldn’t be possible. The last thing he remembered was being ripped apart—again and again—by those damned corpses.

  So how… am I here?

  His gaze swept the space. Nothing stirred, save the tireless guards at the door.

  Did I… complete the trial?

  His eyes returned to the door. Narrowed.

  I’ve never made it past the midway point. How did I do it this time?

  “Who said you did?” came a voice. Familiar in its tune.

  Scott turned to his right.

  There it stood—an incarnation of himself. Smiling, waving gently. But this one… was stained. Parts of its body were splattered with what looked like black ink, the blotches pulsing faintly.

  Scott narrowed his eyes. Who the hell is this fucker now?

  They looked the same—except for the wild, almost ridiculous hairstyle the incarnation wore.

  “That’s not very nice. Why would you call me a fucker?” the being chuckled softly.

  Scott, on the other hand, didn’t flinch at having his thoughts read. It wasn’t the first time, after all.

  “Are you responsible for the next phase? Or just another obstacle I have to overcome?” he asked, keenly observing the doppelganger.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Neither,” it replied with a grin. “I’m here to make a deal.”

  “A deal?” Scott echoed, his brows tightening. Of all the things he expected, that wasn’t one of them.

  “Trust me,” the clone said, giggling. “Never thought I’d be asking myself for trust. How ironic,” it chuckled before composing itself. “But I believe it would be mutually beneficial.”

  Scott stayed silent, sizing up the clone while keeping his thoughts guarded. The doppelganger didn’t press further. It waited, mirroring Scott’s stillness with eerie patience.

  Then, Scott broke the silence. “What kind of deal?”

  The clone’s smile widened. “One that ensures your survival… and mine.”

  “And why would I want to keep you around?” Scott asked coldly, folding his arms.

  “Ah,” the clone chuckled, a gleam of something wild in its eyes. “You really don’t know what we are, do you?”

  “Don’t start with the ‘I’m you and you’re me’ bullshit,” Scott snapped, rolling his eyes. “If that’s all you’ve got, then fuck off. I’m not in the mood.”

  The clone simply laughed, shaking its head with amusement.

  “Now that I see you face to face,” it said, gaze briefly flicking to the moon before locking back onto Scott, “I understand why it was you who survived.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “None of us had that primal resolve,” the clone continued, “that willingness to throw everything away just to preserve existence. You—you're the embodiment of our survival instinct.”

  Scott scowled. “If you're—”

  “Aren’t you even curious how you got here?” the clone interrupted.

  Scott opened his mouth, then shut it. He’d be lying if he claimed he knew how he’d escaped the abyss.

  “Does it matter?” he muttered. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  The clone burst out laughing. “This is exactly what I mean. You want to know, but not enough to chase the answer. The how and why don’t matter to you. Only the result does.”

  It laughed so hard, tears welled in its eyes.

  “I wish I could be that ignorant. That defiant… But I’m not,” it said, meeting Scott’s eyes. “I envy you… and yet I don’t.” It smiled softly, pacing in slow, thoughtful circles. “To answer your question—yes, it does matter.”

  Scott tilted his head, more annoyed than intrigued.

  “I know you hate philosophical crap,” the clone said, “but do you really think the you standing there is the only version of yourself that exists?”

  Scott frowned, not quite understanding the question.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Do you really believe you escaped that place?” the clone asked again, smiling faintly.

  Scott didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Even now, he didn’t know how he got here.

  “Enough with the riddles. Just say what you mean,” Scott growled.

  The clone shook its head, a flicker of disappointment in its gaze. “That’s the curse you carry as the ‘true’ Scott,” it whispered, then raised a single finger and pointed. “Instead of words, why don’t you see for yourself?”

  Scott’s gaze followed the finger—toward the still, rippling-less pool. Just water. Nothing else.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he muttered.

  No answer came. He turned back. The clone was gone.

  “What the fuck?” Scott spun around, scanning the space—but there was no trace of the incarnation.

  Then—knock.

  A sound echoed sharply, like knuckles tapping glass.

  Scott’s eyes darted toward the source.

  It wasn’t the chained guards by the door—they hadn’t moved.

  He glanced at the fractured, burning moon. Not that either.

  Knock.

  It came again.

  Scott instinctively looked down—and froze. Reflected in the clear water… was hell.

  Corpses. Endless, ravenous, tearing into another Scott—an incarnation screaming in silence as it was ripped apart over and over again, only to regenerate and suffer again.

  Scott stared at his own wide pupils reflected in the water, mirroring the abyss he had barely escaped.

  He knew this view. He had lived this view.

  It was him. Yet… it wasn’t.

  How? He didn’t know.

  All he could do was stare, as the reflection writhed in agony, lost to the infinite feast of the dead.

  How is this even possible? If I’m here, then who’s that supposed to be?

  No answers came. Even the screams, wails, and laughter—so familiar to him—didn’t reach his ears. It felt like he was staring at something conjured from imagination.

  “You see what I mean?”

  Scott turned. The clone had returned, standing in the same spot he’d last seen him.

  Scott lowered his gaze once more. The grotesque, cannibalistic scene was gone. Only his own reflection rippled back at him from the water.

  Then the clone spoke again. “That’s just one of the many ‘you’ you’ve discarded.”

  Scott looked up, his eyes narrowing.

  “Your primal instinct to survive is so strong that even when you don’t yield—when you can't overcome—you simply abandon and start anew,” the clone explained with a smile. “But you don’t have to take my word for it. See for yourself.”

  As the clone’s voice echoed, mirrors began to rise from the tranquil pool, each displaying moving images.

  Scott’s lips parted slightly as he scanned them. One mirror showed a version of himself lost in the nihilistic zone. Others showed versions of him suffering in different stages of the Mad God’s inheritance—some broken, some screaming, others staring blankly into nothing.

  I remember this... I remember surviving these... But the reality of what he saw conflicted with that belief.

  “Technically, you did survive,” the clone chimed in. “But only by abandoning another part of yourself.”

  Scott turned toward him, eyes narrowing. “So, are you another version I discarded?”

  The clone tilted his head, giggling. “Not quite,” he said softly.

  “You see, Scott, you may not realize it—but your mind is incredibly unique.” He began pacing slowly. “Most of the corpses and clones were incarnations of emotions you deemed useless. Their only goal was to reunite with you—their origin. Some even believed they could replace you. Foolish, really.”

  He stopped and smiled. “But I—and others you’ll come to meet—we’re different.”

  “How so?” Scott asked, skeptical.

  “We weren’t born of suppressed or discarded emotions. We were born from choices—your thoughts, your what-ifs. Every time you imagined yourself becoming something else, a version was born. Every time you chose one path and wondered about the others, another version took form.”

  Scott’s expression darkened. He couldn’t fathom the number of selves that must’ve splintered off from the sheer volume of his decisions.

  “You see where this is going, right?” the clone said with a chuckle.

  The mirrors began to sink back into the waters as he continued. “You must be wondering why you've never met us before. Even when you first approached the door, we didn’t show ourselves. I can sense your curiosity… Nice eyes, by the way,” the clone teased with a giggle.

  “If you’re dying to say it, just spit it out,” Scott replied, deadpan.

  “You caught me,” the clone said, smiling wide. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. I always wondered what kind of person you were. And honestly? I’m not disappointed.”

  “Enough with the useless rambling,” Scott growled.

  “Feisty temper,” the clone laughed. “I wish I could get angry like that. But the truth is—wait!” He suddenly shouted, noticing Scott moving toward the open doors.

  “You win. I’ll talk. Please, just listen.” The clone raised his hands pleadingly. “I promise to keep it brief and to the point.”

  Scott paused, glancing back. “Let me remind you—you need something from me. Not the other way around. This is your last chance.”

  The clone nodded quickly. “Loud and clear.”

  He cleared his throat. “As I said—we are born from your choices. We exist in a place you can’t easily perceive. And like you, we have minds, dreams, goals... and thoughts.”

  “What place?” Scott interrupted.

  “Your mind,” the clone answered. “The nature of your madness—which you hide so well—is what gives us life. Without it, we wouldn’t exist. For that alone, I—at least—am eternally grateful.”

  He paused, and his voice shifted. “But… something’s changed. An opportunity none of us ever thought possible has appeared. A chance to live. To exist beyond imagination. A chance for our dreams to come true. A chance to be real.”

  He stared directly at Scott. And Scott met his gaze, unflinching.

  “You’re our chance, Scott,” the clone declared. “And a lot of us have big dreams.”

  Plunk.

  The sound echoed—one, then another—like raindrops falling into still water. Figures began descending, materializing from thin air. Hundreds... thousands... tens of thousands. Each one a variation of Scott. Their numbers multiplied by the second, flooding the tranquil space with silent pressure.

  Scott’s gaze swept over the crowd, then settled back on the original clone.

  “Friends of yours?”

  The clone smiled. “I lied, Scott.”

  “You don’t say.” Scott narrowed his eyes, wearing a sarcastic grin. “Couldn’t tell at all.”

  “Your emotions couldn’t replace you,” the clone continued, “but we can. Don’t hate us, Scott. We just want to be real.”

  Scott laughed. A deep, amused sound that echoed louder than the falling bodies.

  “Forget those pathetic dreams you’ve clung to. The only thing you’re getting out of this—” He cracked his neck to one side. Crack. Then the other. Crack. “—is death.”

  His voice cut through the space like a blade. “Come at me, you bastards. I don’t have all day.”