Scott took a deep breath, a crippling dread rooting him in place. His mind stirred, struggling to trace the voice’s origin—trying to make sense of the question it had asked.

  In the moment I was being erased… whoever—or whatever—that thing was, it came through the door, he thought, glancing toward the door.

  The darkness that had once engulfed the frame had vanished. Now it stood open, unremarkable—just a doorway to nothing.

  The nature of my madness… The phrase echoed in his thoughts, drawing a frown. He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard those words before, but never had an answer. Madness wasn’t something the mind could measure—or even understand.

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?” The voice came again, calm and unhurried.

  Scott trembled. A strange compulsion surged through him, as if something else had taken root inside. And he wasn’t alone. The planetary manifestations around him quaked—some erupting in fiery infernos, their cores shattering like glass.

  Then, just as suddenly, Scott stilled. His trembling ceased. His gaze fixed on the destruction around him, devastation carved by unseen hands.

  It feels like something just left me... A cold emptiness crept through his thoughts. He couldn’t say what had been taken—important or trivial, he didn’t know. But part of him was gone. A part he would never get back.

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?” The question rang out again.

  Scott’s heart skipped.

  His body began trembling anew, the manifestations shuddering with him, stretching into the infinite void. That same urge to answer clawed at his subconscious, but the words refused to come.

  A thunderous bang echoed. He watched, helpless, as several more planets crumbled and vanished into dust.

  His hand moved instinctively to his chest. There was a tightness around his heart, an ache deeper than pain. He didn’t remember what had been taken—but his body did. And it mourned the loss.

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?” The voice returned a fourth time.

  Scott didn’t hesitate. “Y-Yes,” he croaked. His voice cracked like brittle ice.

  He didn’t know if it was the right answer—but he knew silence would cost him something worse. Something he might never even remember losing.

  But silence greeted him anyway. And that silence was worse.

  Was that the right answer? Why isn’t it saying anything? Tension wound tight in his chest. Or could it be that—

  A chorus of explosions cut his thoughts short. Thousands—maybe hundreds of thousands—of celestial bodies went supernova, detonating in rapid succession.

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?”

  Scott said nothing.

  Pain—not of flesh, but soul—twisted inside him. Warm tears streaked down his cheeks. Again, something was gone. And again, his body remembered.

  “No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”

  Silence again.

  His heart pounded harder. Still, he couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t face whatever stood behind him.

  Was that the right answer? The silence dragged on.

  No explosions followed. No more celestial bodies blinked out of existence.

  I shouldn’t have lied… Why did I—

  Bang!

  A violent detonation ripped through the void, wiping out several stars at once. Scott shook uncontrollably. His chest heaved, tears spilling freely now. His mind reeled, collapsing under the weight of forgotten memories—pieces of himself scattered and burned away.

  He floated in the void, dazed, lips parted in mute horror.

  Then—A touch. Light. On his shoulder.

  But before he could turn—

  His vision blurred.

  Scott’s eyes opened. Corpses sprawled endlessly before him—countless, stretching to the horizon. Each one bore his face.

  Above, the sky pulsed with madness. One celestial body dominated—a blackened moon, hanging silently in the void, its sick glow igniting chaos in the air. It loomed over the carnage, casting a twisted radiance over the battlefield.

  Scott looked down.

  A pool of blackened liquid stretched before him—thicker than tar, more viscous than blood. It flowed straight to a massive door, bound in thousands of chains. Two colossal silhouettes stood sentinel at either side, unmoving.

  He blinked.

  Wait… this place… it looks familiar. He frowned. That nagging feeling pulled at the edges of his awareness.

  Scott lifted his gaze to the moon. Then he noticed the all-seeing eye.

  I could’ve sworn they were broken… Confusion tangled in his thoughts.

  Did I imagine that?

  He looked away from the sky and toward the chained door. Then the guardians.

  Something’s off. I’ve been here before, but this… this feels different.

  His gaze drifted again—across the corpses, and the ones still locked in battle. Yet that persistent itch of familiarity clung to him, refusing to fade.

  Scott took a deep breath. This is why I didn’t want to come back here. There’s just too much that can mess with your mind.

  His gaze settled once more on the chained door. Might as well get it over with. I still need to return to the... His thoughts trailed off, a scowl twisting his face. Who exactly am I supposed to return to?

  He couldn’t say. It was as if someone had reached into his head and wiped the memory clean.

  That’s not possible, Scott told himself, shaking his head. I’ve been with the blacksmith the entire time. I only came here. There’s no way he’d mess with my memories... right?

  But something was missing—he could feel it.

  Burying the unease, Scott stepped forward.

  As if sensing his resolve, the corpses blocking his path sank noiselessly into the blackened pool. Around him, twisted doppelg?ngers—manifestations of his fractured emotions—remained locked in brutal combat, driven by madness.

  Step by step, he advanced.

  The towering guardians stirred.

  With glacial slowness, they reached for the chains and began unbinding them.

  Scott didn’t flinch. He kept walking. The door creaked open—barely an inch—and a crushing pressure descended.

  Corpses ruptured into black mist. The battling incarnations collapsed in unison, prostrating before the door as their forms began to unravel with anguished cries.

  Then came the tendrils—hundreds of thousands—snaking from the narrow crack. They hovered before Scott, then pivoted toward the kneeling doppelg?ngers.

  Scott stood motionless, watching.

  The bowed figures trembled violently, yet somehow held together. Then, like puppets pulled by unseen strings, they began to rise.

  The chains loosened further. The door creaked wider.

  More tendrils emerged, wrapping themselves around the risen incarnations. Cracks spread through their forms, glowing with a sinister black light. Their limbs moved stiffly, unnaturally.

  The door now stood half open.

  From the abyss beyond, eyes—countless and identical to the all-seeing one above—blinked into view, unblinking, fixed on him.

  The altered incarnations began to shamble forward, puppets of something deeper and older than madness.

  Still, Scott didn’t move.

  His heart clenched as he stared into the chasm beyond the door. One eye among the many stood out—its gaze mournful, shedding tears of ink. It didn’t radiate indifference like the others. It radiated pity.

  What the fuck is wrong with me today? He scanned the area, frustration growing. Am I hallucinating? Or is this real?

  Physically, he felt fine. But that gnawing sense of déjà vu refused to let go.

  He took another step. Then another. His pulse thundered with each one.

  A crack echoed behind him.

  He turned sharply and saw a fracture splitting through the blackened pool. Mangled skeletal arms reached up, clawing at the air.

  I was just standing there… what would've happened if I'd been pulled in?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  But he had no time to answer. The puppet-clones controlled by the tendrils advanced—stiff, jerking, relentless.

  Looks like I’ll have to eliminate them before I can—

  The ground beneath him gave way. Bony, twisted hands seized his ankles and dragged him down into the abyss.

  Scott opened his eyes.

  Corpses stretched endlessly in every direction—countless bodies, each bearing his face. Overhead, the sky pulsed with madness, illuminated only by a single celestial body: a blackened moon burning silently in the void.

  It loomed above the carnage, its sick radiance stoking madness and ruin.

  Scott lowered his gaze.

  A pool of dark liquid—thicker than tar, more viscous than blood—spread out before him. It led to a colossal door bound in chains. Two towering silhouettes flanked either side, unmoving.

  Scott blinked, disoriented. He looked down at his hands, then around at the battlefield.

  This looks familiar... His brows furrowed. Shouldn’t I be...

  His thoughts drifted, a scowl forming. Why did I come here again?

  He searched for the answer amid the corpses, but none came.

  Wait. What was I doing before this? I thought I wasn’t supposed to come back here...

  But again, the answer eluded him.

  His eyes found the chained door again. He ignored the guards.

  What’s behind that thing?

  Curious, he stepped forward. The guards responded immediately, reaching out to unravel the chains.

  One by one, the surrounding corpses fell into the black pool with eerie silence. The doors groaned open—and once more, chaos greeted him.

  Scott stepped forward again.

  The corpses in his path dissolved into the inky liquid. The guards kept working.

  Why can’t I shake this damn sense of déjà vu? he thought, heart pounding.

  And still, he walked forward. The door opened wider.

  Then he halted—eyes fixed on the parted doors. Beyond the threshold, hundreds of thousands—perhaps millions—of all-seeing eyes stared from the darkness. Each bore a different emotion.

  Some pitied him. Others mocked. The rest watched with cold, ruthless indifference.

  Scott didn’t take another step. His gaze lingered. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t explain what—but he felt it in his bones.

  There were too many inconsistencies in his memory since arriving here. The fact that he couldn’t recall anything, yet felt oddly calm about it, sent him spiraling into an existential crisis.

  He looked down at the tar-like pool beneath his feet. Corpses had already vanished beneath the surface. Tendrils writhed, tearing through the remaining clones nearby.

  Why does it feel like the floor’s going to cave in? He shook his head. No… it’s more like those corpses are going to drag me down.

  Am I losing it? he wondered, jaw tight.

  He took a cautious step forward—and suddenly veered aside.

  A loud crack echoed. Dozens of gnarled hands burst from the pool where he’d just stood, grasping wildly at air.

  Scott’s expression hardened. Wait… how did I know that was coming?

  His gaze shot toward the darkness, toward the myriad of watching eyes—but no answers came.

  Then the sound of jerking limbs caught his attention. The tendril-bound clones had begun to move again, their motions mechanical and stiff.

  Scott didn’t wait. He sprinted away from the compromised ground—another crack rang out behind him as more corpses clawed at the space he’d just left.

  If I get caught by those things, it’s over, he thought, eyes darting.

  Two spots had already nearly claimed him. There was no telling how many others were rigged to collapse beneath his feet.

  Then his eyes locked on the parted doors again—the source of the tar, and the only place untouched by the filth.

  Without hesitation, Scott ran.

  The clones let out guttural, beast-like roars and shed their mechanical stiffness, charging after him with bloodthirst in their eyes. He didn’t glance back. His focus was absolute.

  He barreled forward, black muck splashing in every direction. Mangled arms erupted from the pool intermittently, but each time, he swerved—dodging before they even emerged.

  He didn’t understand how he could sense them, but he did.

  And right now, only survival mattered.

  The gap in the door grew closer. He could feel the oppressive gaze of the all-seeing eye above, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t care. The clones were behind him, but he was faster.

  I’ll make it. I’m closer. I’m faster. I’ll reach it before they do.

  Only the unpredictable, corpse-filled traps beneath him remained a threat—but even that didn’t shake his eerie confidence.

  He dodged another burst of grasping limbs. The clones were far behind. The door was within reach.

  I’ve got this, he told himself.

  Then—All the eyes turned toward him.

  Every single one.

  Scott froze mid-stride. A cold dread swept through him.

  Something’s coming… His chest pounded violently, each beat frantic—warning him.

  He took another step—and the pool shuddered.

  Instinct screamed. He pivoted hard and sprinted away from the door.

  CRACK!

  A dozen massive, filth-coated arms exploded from the abyss, raking the air where he would’ve stood. They thrashed, berserk, blocking the path to the door completely.

  Scott skidded to a stop, breathing heavily.

  What the hell was that?

  Then he noticed. He wasn’t standing in black filth anymore.

  Instead, a tranquil, glowing pool surrounded him—its light pulsing in soft, neon blue.

  Wait… how did I get here? he thought, spinning around. The monstrous arms still blocked the path, and the clones were gone.

  More importantly—he wasn’t facing the door anymore.

  He was off to the side… and from this angle, he saw something he hadn’t before.

  A second door. And beside it, another version of himself.

  What the fuck…?

  Scott’s breath caught. He slowly stood up.

  “Hey!” he called out.

  But the other him didn’t respond.

  He watched, heart in his throat, as the variant walked toward the door—just as he had.

  “No! Don’t do it, you idiot! It’s not safe!”

  But his warnings were unheard.

  Just like before, corpses burst from the pool, dragging the variant into the abyss.

  Then—without fanfare—another version of himself appeared, staring forward like the last.

  Scott’s mouth hung open.

  What…?

  He turned back toward the original door he’d once approached—and gasped. The towering hands had vanished, and another version of himself now stood there, as if just arriving.

  “What the hell is going on?” Scott muttered aloud.

  There were now two versions of him, each on opposite ends of the serene pool. Each reliving the same fate.

  Did I escape some insane loop? The thought only grew more convincing the longer he watched.

  He kicked at the water beneath his feet, sending a splash toward the tar-colored pool—but it refused to cross. He approached the edge and stretched out a hand. It stopped, halted by an unseen force.

  At that moment, the pool began to pulse, the neon blue light flickering with greater intensity. Then, before his eyes, a winding path emerged, shimmering faintly in the glow.

  Scott glanced back at the newer variants on either side of the pool. Each one fought, struggled... and inevitably fell to the abyss.

  His gaze shifted forward. He took a step onto the path.

  More doors opened ahead. More variants emerged. Each one walked toward a door. Each one died the same way. Scott tried calling out. No response. Eventually, he gave up and watched in silence.

  As he walked, something began to settle in his mind—the déjà vu. He started to understand its root.

  Yet, even with this dawning clarity, something important still evaded him. Like a missing piece just beyond reach.

  Time passed—or perhaps it didn’t. Scott had no way to tell anymore. He walked.

  He walked and watched.

  The number of variants blurred together. Their deaths became predictable. Not a single one made it far enough to witness the towering hands, let alone discover the hidden path he now tread. And slowly, his pity for them began to rot into contempt.

  They made the same mistakes. Again and again. Mindless. Repetitive.

  Scott’s solitary march continued in silence. His scorn eventually faded too, replaced by a chilling indifference. The variants. The corpses. The doors. None of them mattered. Just an endless pattern. A recursive death. A cycle with no meaning.

  He could now predict a variant’s fate from the way they moved or how long they hesitated.

  The path glowed faintly beneath his boots, the soft splash of his steps the only sound that remained.

  Then—he saw something.

  Out of the corner of his eye, another variant stood—this one surrounded by clear, undisturbed water.

  No corpses. No corrupted puppets.

  Scott stopped. His mouth parted, words poised to leave. But then he squinted, noticing odd distortions around the variant.

  What are those? he wondered.

  He reached out—but again, the invisible barrier halted his hand. This time, however, the path ahead lit with a turquoise glow.

  Scott didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the variant and the swirling distortions. Seconds stretched into minutes. Or hours. He couldn’t say.

  Then—something emerged from a distortion.

  Who is that? Scott narrowed his eyes, studying the figure.

  It stepped toward the variant. They spoke, but no words reached Scott. He didn’t need them.

  Facial expressions. Posture. Lip movements. He could read it all.

  More doppelgangers appeared. Their intentions were clear—malevolence etched across every gesture. Still, the variant stood defiant, refusing to cower.

  A melee erupted.

  The variant fought with surprising ferocity at first—but it didn’t last. Numbers overwhelmed will. Strength meant nothing against the tide.

  Moments later, blood clouded the pool, and the doppelgangers gathered over the motionless form.

  Scott turned his gaze away. The other side mirrored the same scene.

  Is this the next stage? The question lingered unanswered in his mind.

  What do they mean they were born from me? Again—silence.

  He walked on.

  More variants. More distortions. More doppelgangers.

  Always the same outcome. Always the same desperate fight followed by overwhelming defeat.

  Eventually, even curiosity died. Everything became routine.

  A repetitive spiral. A simulation without end.

  Despite the silence, he could discern every word exchanged between the variants and their doppelgangers through mere sight. Their expressions, their subtle reactions—he read them like an open book.

  He had begun to understand. There wasn’t just one ‘him’ that was real. Not even the doppelgangers understood the uniqueness of his mind. Every variant believed themselves to be real, just as Scott, walking this unseen path, believed he was the real one too.

  But the more he watched, the less it mattered who—or what—was real. Neither the variants’ desperate will to survive nor the doppelgangers’ relentless frustrations held any significance. Nothing did.

  Scott kept walking, his thoughts unraveling.

  In this endless chaos… what does it mean to be real?

  No answers came.

  Could it be that each and every one of them was real? That this was simply an endless loop without any purpose?

  Scott shook his head, rejecting the thought.

  His feet kept moving.

  He sympathized with the doppelgangers at first. He could even see reason in their grievances. But in time, he realized they were simply blind to the enormity of the cycle. They fought to be real. The variants, meanwhile, survived out of sheer defiance against erasure. An eternal clash of meaningless desires.

  And still, Scott walked. The same scenes playing out endlessly.

  Was there any point to being real?

  He didn’t seek an answer.

  He no longer paid attention to the repeating battles. No more observations. No more pity. No more questions. The silence, the violence, the repetition—it was all the same.

  What am I even hoping to see at the end of this path? Why am I still moving forward?

  How long do I have to endure the silence? The meaningless confrontations? The…

  Scott sighed and raised his head.

  There was no moon. No all-seeing eye. No stars. Just the empty sky.

  Nothing watched over him.

  Yet still, he moved.

  Scott, lost in thought, suddenly halted. He looked to either side of the path—and saw nothing but infinite still waters. The variants and doppelgangers were gone.

  He didn’t know when that had happened. But still, he moved.

  One step. Two. Three. And then—nothing.

  He stood at the edge of the abyss, staring into a vast, silent void. And he could feel it staring back.

  It urged him forward.

  Scott didn’t hesitate. He crossed the invisible divide, and the waters beneath him gave way to something new.

  An infinite trail of turquoise light stretched ahead, winding through a sea of darkness.

  He followed.

  Time passed—how much, he could not say.

  Then, he saw it: another variant. The section of void he floated within was filled with glimmering celestial bodies. A door hung open. Guards crumbled into dust.

  Scott didn’t care.

  His gaze was fixed on the figure standing behind the variant—one shrouded in darkness itself.

  And then, he heard it:

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?”

  Scott’s brows furrowed. I know that voice...

  He kept watching. An explosion erupted through the void, stars vanishing in an instant.

  The being repeated the same question, again and again. With each answer, more stars perished.

  Then—nothing. The variant and the being vanished together, consumed by the final collapse.

  Scott walked again. The same scene unfolded.

  He paused. Again, the outcome was identical. Again, both disappeared with the destruction of the last celestial body.

  He moved forward.

  “They should understand it by now,” Scott muttered, frustration roughening his voice. “It’s right there in front of them. Why won’t they see it?”

  He stopped again. The same pattern.

  His gaze shifted between the glowing trail and the shadowed being. “Why can’t they see it? Isn’t it obvious?”

  Then—a crack ripped through the void.

  The luminous path vanished. The stars. The beings. The variants.

  All gone.

  Before him stood a throne of unfathomable origin, ancient beyond time, surrounded by towering statues whose forms his mind could barely perceive.

  Scott ignored the statues. His gaze locked onto the throne.

  “Do you understand the nature of your madness?” The voice returned—familiar now.

  Scott turned—and saw a variant unlike any other. One that bore all the traits the others lacked, and yet had never possessed.

  Three eyes. One upon the forehead. Each a cryptic mirror of the all-seeing eye.

  “You’re the original?” Scott asked—not a question, but a quiet confirmation.

  The variant smiled.

  “What is the nature of our madness?”

  Scott met his gaze, his heart pounding unnaturally as his lips parted.

  “Infinite Worlds, Eternal Madness.”