The doppelgangers inched closer, their focus locked on Scott. He watched them carefully, gaze flicking between forms as they encircled him with silent, murderous steps.

  This can’t be all there is to this phase, Scott thought, deliberately ignoring the possibility that the clones had already read his mind.

  In this strange, suspended realm, he was just a man. The nihilistic forces he once wielded refused to answer. His war hammer he had watch shatter. The chains were gone. The clones were stripped as well—no powers, no tricks.

  But their numbers? Their numbers could drown nations.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way, Scott,” a clone suddenly said.

  Scott turned to face it, the hint of a smile creeping across his lips. “I’m curious,” he began. “How exactly were you guys planning to decide who gets to be ‘real’?”

  His gaze swept the army, settling on the first clone—the one who spoke with that maddening calm. The clone chuckled. “Clever.” He smirked. “Trying to turn us against each other, huh?” His grin widened, pitying. “It won’t work. We all know only one of us can replace you. That’s the rule. But there’s no replacing you... while you’re still here.”

  He shrugged. “So until you’re gone, we’re united. Any more tricks?” he added with a mocking tilt of his head.

  “Nope.” Scott gave a dry shake of his head. “That was it.”

  “Ha! Thought as much. Hope you’re ready?”

  Scott didn’t answer. His silence said enough.

  He couldn’t tell who moved first—maybe it didn’t matter. Only the plunk-plunk-plunk of boots striking water reached his ears as the clones surged forward from every direction.

  Scott shifted into a stance—arms slightly raised, feet grounded. The first clone lunged, swinging with vicious precision. Scott slipped past the blow, then slammed an uppercut into the clone’s jaw.

  Crack.

  Its eyes rolled back as the body crumpled.

  No time to watch.

  Another attacker came from the left—then the right. Scott ducked low and launched two snapping kicks. Both connected with temples.

  Thunk. Thunk.

  Two more bodies hit the water.

  Then pain exploded in his spine. A boot crashed into his back, launching him forward—straight into the arms of a towering clone who caught him in midair and crushed him into a bearhug. Bones creaked.

  Scott gritted his teeth, refusing to scream. Instead, he drove both index fingers into the clone’s eyes.

  Pop.

  The clone howled in agony, releasing its grip.

  Scott landed hard, stumbling in the ankle-deep water. A brutal fist crashed into the side of his head. The world spun. His vision dimmed. He staggered, blinking stars from his eyes.

  Another strike flew toward his face—He twisted just in time and answered with a flying knee.

  The clone’s skull shattered beneath the blow.

  “Come on!” Scott roared, veins bulging, face contorted in rage and adrenaline.

  The clones hesitated—for a heartbeat. Then, with a guttural roar of their own, they charged with twice the fury.

  Scott didn’t wait. He threw himself into the storm.

  He dodged a fist, spun, and countered with an elbow that collapsed a skull. Another clone charged—Scott pivoted and delivered a ruthless kick to its crotch. The clone dropped like dead weight.

  Then pain again.

  A punch slammed into his neck. A sweeping kick struck his sides, sending him falling, though airborne.

  In midair, another massive clone lunged—Scott crossed his arms to block, but the clone feinted, pivoting its fists into his unguarded stomach.

  Stomach fluid burst from Scott’s mouth. He flew back, crashing through several clones before skidding to a stop.

  “Fuck,” he gasped.

  Air left his lungs in a strangled grunt. His stomach heaved. He dropped to his knees, bile trailing from his lips. His hands clutched his gut as if to hold himself together.

  He bit down hard on his lip, blood mixing with spit. The stampede returned—thousands of copies, thundering forward.

  Scott forced himself upright.

  He roared. He charged. Another massive clone met him with a brutal punch. Just then, Scott’s vision blurred—his mind buckled for a split second.

  By the time he refocused, the fist was already an inch from his face.

  Fuck, Scott cursed inwardly—and then the punch landed squarely on his nose.

  It fractured on impact—blood and other fluids leaking from the injury. Even before Scott’s body hit the ground, a flying kick crashed into his head, knocking him out cold. But unconsciousness was a fleeting mercy. Another brutal blow tore him back into the savage melee.

  Then came another. And another.

  Soon, a relentless barrage of fists and kicks rained down on him from every direction. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t fall into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. Every strike jolted him back from the edge, compounding his suffering.

  As time dragged on, Scott began to realize: death wasn’t coming for him. No—death seemed content to watch him suffer. And he wasn’t alone in that. Whenever he landed a decisive blow, the clones eventually recovered too. But unlike Scott, they weren’t being hammered nonstop by vicious strikes and sadistic blows.

  “There’s only one way this ends,” one clone said, stomping repeatedly on Scott’s bloodied, fractured skull.

  “Give up,” he added, delivering another cruel kick as the others followed suit.

  Scott couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He lay there, face submerged in the crimson-stained pool, drowning in blood and pain. Unlike when he was trapped in the abyss—where he could laugh in defiance—the suffocating sensation now overwhelmed both his body and mind.

  Still, death continued to mock him.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Any ordinary mortal would’ve died from the sheer volume of blood lost—not to mention the broken bones, ruptured organs, and endless agony. But Scott lingered.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, or how much torment he’d endured—but eventually, someone grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head above the bloody waters.

  His vision was blurry, but it slowly began to clear. The mysterious space was healing him—slowly mending his shattered body.

  “Almost awake, aren’t you?” a clone’s voice teased.

  Scott couldn’t tell which one had spoken, but several stood before him now. Two sharp slaps landed across his cheeks, taunting and almost playful.

  As his vision sharpened, he saw them clearly: a group of bloodied, impassive clones, their gazes steeped in cruelty. One crouched in front of him, smiling warmly despite the blood splattered on his clothes.

  “Had enough?” the crouching clone asked, his tone light, mocking.

  Scott slowly turned his gaze, spitting at the doppelganger. The clone dodged effortlessly, chuckling as he delivered more slaps—sharp and patronizing.

  “That’s so unhygienic,” he said, wiping his hand in the water. “There’s only one way this ends, Scott. There’s no need to be so needlessly stubborn.”

  “Fuck off,” Scott croaked, voice ragged and weak.

  The clone laughed, slapping his thigh in amusement. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “You see, we’re more than ready to keep going,” he said, eyes gleaming. “No one here pities you. But you could spare yourself the torment. Just yield. Accept your—”

  He tilted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding another spit.

  “Stop that,” he snapped, his cheerful fa?ade cracking.

  “I told you this was pointless,” another clone said, stepping forward.

  “He’s more stubborn than any of us,” added another. “I only came to show you how futile it is to reason with him.”

  “People like him only understand pain,” another muttered—and then drove his foot into Scott’s face.

  Scott’s nose shattered again. He started to laugh.

  “You’re all fucking right,” he rasped, a strange delight in his voice. His cackles were manic, feverish. “No matter what you do—no matter how long this takes—there’s no way I’m yielding to any of you bastards.”

  His laughter echoed, and the clones stirred.

  “Wait,” the crouching clone said, raising a hand. “Are you really going to let him provoke you like that? C’mon—we’re better than that.”

  He turned back to Scott. “No need to goad us. Even without your antics, we’re fully prepared for this,” he said, voice turning cold. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand how far we’re willing to go.”

  Scott’s laughter grew.

  “Look at me,” he said through cracked lips. “I’m literally shaking in my boots.”

  The clone chuckled, then reached out, gently tilting Scott’s chin upward. “So, what’s your play here?” he asked. “To be tortured endlessly? Because if that’s what you want—we’re more than happy to oblige. Time doesn’t matter here. We can’t die. Neither can you.”

  He paused, smiling darkly.

  “Unfortunately for you, there’s only one of you. And a lot of us. So, your only path forward... is suffering.”

  “So fucking what?” Scott snapped, locking eyes with him.

  The clone’s grin widened, but something flickered in his gaze—a subtle crack in his certainty.

  “Whether you like it or not, you’ll eventually break. And trust me when I say—we have all the patience in the world for that moment.” He suddenly paused, his grin widening.

  “Or are you hoping to suddenly wake up somewhere else, abandoning this version of yourself like you’ve done before?”

  Scott didn’t speak.

  The clone began to tap Scott’s cheeks—gentle at first, then harder. Each strike grew more forceful, the taps becoming slaps.

  “Go on, Scott. Run away—just like you always do. Each time you flee, you step closer to succumbing to your madness. And sooner or later, it will claim you. When it does… we’ll be the ones who replace you.”

  Scott laughed—quietly at first, then louder. “There you go with that delusion of yours again,” he said through laughter, louder now. “If you replace me, then what?”

  His eyes darted between the other clones. “Does any of this go away? Do you think you’ll suddenly be in control of this madness—”

  “As opposed to what?” the clone snapped, cutting him off. “Living not even as afterthoughts, but as mental plagues meant to be eradicated?” His gaze remained locked with Scott’s.

  “It doesn’t matter which of us replaces you. It doesn’t even matter if we fulfill our dreams or get swallowed by the madness,” he said, voice darkening, “because no matter the outcome, this hell will cease to exist.”

  Scott’s brow creased. That conviction—it wasn’t posturing. It was real.

  “You truly don’t understand us, Scott,” the clone continued, shaking his head. “You might be the most iron-willed among us, but make no mistake—we do not fear our erasure.”

  He slowly rose to his feet. “We welcome it.”

  Those were the last words Scott heard before a foot slammed into his face, driving him into the crimson waters. Then came the others. The clones descended like a storm—kicking, stomping, pummeling his body without pause.

  No inch of him was spared. They didn’t stop.

  Even as Scott’s limp form floated in the blood-red water, unrecognizable and broken, they kept going. Unrelenting. Ruthless. Something had to give—either Scott’s mind… or their own.

  They were ready to find out.

  Clank.

  Clank.

  Clank.

  Scott opened his eyes to the sound. The abyss stretched endlessly before him. A partially opened door lingered in the distance, guarded by two towering figures. Above it, the fractured burning moon hovered, and beside it—an all-seeing eye now teetering on collapse.

  Scott stared up at the moon and the eye. The cracks had grown—spiderwebbing like broken glass, threatening to split them completely. His gaze drifted to the massive doors.

  The guards had unraveled more than half the chains.

  Did I jump again? he wondered, floating weightlessly in the void. The fact that he felt no pain or saw no one confirmed his thoughts.

  He didn’t know how—never did. But somehow, once again, he had escaped. From the pain. From the clones. From that hell.

  His eyes wandered to the darkness beyond the door. It was different—darker than the surrounding void. There were no shifting shapes. No whispering voices. No divine radiance or cosmic presence. Only pure, oppressive black.

  Clank.

  The sound echoed again, louder this time.

  Scott stirred. He looked around, searching—but there was no visible source.

  I recognize that sound... but why can’t I remember where I heard it?

  Clank.

  He turned again, frantic now. Then—he saw it.

  A planetary mass emerged from the nothingness, gargantuan and unfathomable in scale. Its sheer presence dwarfed him, as though it had always been there, hidden just beyond sight.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  He barely finished the thought when another one emerged. Then another. And another. Veils were lifting across the abyss. Countless worlds—identical, perfect reflections of each other—manifested like stars blooming in a dead sky.

  Then a sharp crack filled his ears. He snapped his gaze back to the moon.

  It had split. Cleanly.

  Its jagged halves drifted apart, shedding light that was now dimming. Above it, the all-seeing eye shattered—fracturing into infinite, glimmering particles.

  What the hell is going on this time?

  Then—footsteps. Measured. Calm. Echoing louder and louder from beyond the door.

  Scott turned, wide-eyed. The two guards standing at the gates lifted their arms. In a single motion, they snapped the remaining chains.

  Like the eye, the guards dissolved into fine dust—scattering across the void, leaving only silence in their wake.

  Scott stared at the door. It was now fully open.

  No sinister energy leaked from within. No cursed presence. Only quiet. Quiet so heavy it threatened to crush him.

  And for as long as he could remember… he felt fear.

  Clank.

  The sound rang out again—closer than before.

  “Where’s that damn noise coming from?” Scott roared.

  But his voice—like everything else—was swallowed by the void’s immensity.

  Suddenly, mirrors appeared before him. Dozens. Hundreds.

  Each one reflecting a version of himself—shattered remnants he had left behind in his desperate bid to move forward.

  Then it hit him.

  Their emotions—rage, despair, defiance, hope, hopelessness, pain, bloodlust—exploded into him all at once.

  The surge was violent, like a dam breaking.

  His body began to decay before his very eyes. His legs crumbled like discarded paper set ablaze, curling and disintegrating into ash. Then his midsection ruptured—an eruption of fire and flesh.

  Then—his left arm simply vanished. No explosion. No pain. It just ceased to exist, as if it had never been there at all.

  Besieged by the turbulent emotions of his forsaken selves, Scott watched in horror as his right hand began to wither. His shoulder wrenched itself free from its socket, sinew and skin peeling away. The upper arm dissolved into nothing, the invisible affliction creeping steadily down toward his forearm.

  In the heart of the storm, amid the chaos of his unraveling mind, a soft glow ignited in his right hand.

  Then—before his eyes—his upper arm reformed. His shoulder snapped back into place, flesh and bone knitting together in a flash of golden light.

  A warmth surged through him. Not heat, but something deeper—ethereal and calming, like being wrapped in a memory long forgotten. The mirrors surrounding him began to fracture. Some cracked. Others shattered completely. With each one that broke, the tempest of his emotions dulled.

  Then the warmth touched his left side. His missing arm returned, the void in his midsection sealed itself, and even his legs reformed, steady and whole once more.

  The last mirror shattered.

  Only the warmth remained.

  Scott stared down at his right hand, speechless. This… it’s the same warmth. The guardian’s warmth…

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?” A voice spoke behind him.

  It was clear and calm, without the slightest tremor—yet Scott's body trembled all the same.

  He didn’t know who—or what—stood behind him, or when they had arrived. But he felt them. A presence older than time, vast and consuming. A force that would erase him for a single careless word.