Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

The smooth stone ground cracked, giving way to rough, uneven terrain. The towering structures in the distance faded, replaced by the crumbling ruins of what had once been a city. The sky darkened, the golden streaks swallowed by heavy, rolling clouds. The air smelled of smoke and something acrid, something wrong.

Jude's chest tightened. He didn't recognize this place, but something about it felt familiar.

The older him gestured. "Look."

Jude turned, and his breath caught.

Bodies.

Scattered across the broken ground, unmoving. Some were barely more than silhouettes in the dim light, but others… others were close enough that he could see their faces.

His stomach twisted.

He knew them.

Lyara. Elias. Others whose names he didn't even know but whose faces had become familiar. They were all there.

Dead.

Jude took a step back, shaking his head. "No."

The older him didn't say anything.

Jude's breathing was uneven. "This isn't real."

"Not yet."

Jude whipped his head toward him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The older him held his gaze. "This is a possibility."

Jude clenched his fists. "You're trying to mess with me."

The older him shook his head. "I'm showing you the truth."

Jude's hands were shaking. "This won't happen."

"Won't it?"

Jude's jaw tightened.

The older him stepped closer. "You think you can save them."

Jude's breath hitched.

The older him tilted his head. "You think that if you fight hard enough, if you make the right choices, if you do everything in your power, you can change the outcome."

Jude's pulse was pounding.

The older him smiled, but it was cold. "You can't."

Jude's hands curled into fists. "You don't know that."

The older him's expression darkened. "I do."

Jude shook his head. "Then why are you here? Why show me this?"

The older him was silent for a long moment. Then, he sighed. "Because you need to understand."

"Understand what?" Jude snapped.

"That there is no winning," the older him said quietly.

Jude froze.

The older him looked past him, at the ruins, at the bodies. "No matter what you do, people will die. No matter how strong you become, you will fail. No matter how hard you fight, you will lose something."

Jude's breathing was unsteady.

The older him met his gaze again. "And you have to decide if you can live with that."

Jude swallowed.

The older him continued. "Because if you can't, then turn back now."

Jude clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. "That's not an option."

The older him studied him. "Then you're not ready."

Jude gritted his teeth. "Then I'll get ready."

The older him didn't respond immediately. Then, slowly, he nodded.

The world around them began to fade, the ruins dissolving, the bodies vanishing into mist. The heavy air lifted, the golden light returning.

Jude exhaled shakily.

The older him stepped back. "Then go."

Jude hesitated. "Is this the last time I'll see you?"

The older him smiled faintly. "Probably not."

Jude sighed. "Of course."

The older him chuckled, but it was a tired sound. "Good luck."

Jude nodded. Then, without another word, he turned and stepped forward.

The moment he did, the world shifted again.

When he opened his eyes, he was back.

The grand hall. The masked figure. Lyara.

He exhaled.

The figure studied him. "And?"

Jude straightened. "I'm ready."

The figure nodded. Then, they stepped aside, revealing a final doorway.

Jude took a breath.

Then, he walked through.

Jude barely had time to brace himself as he stepped through the doorway and into the unknown. The transition was seamless, yet his senses struggled to adjust to the sudden change. One moment, he was in the grand hall, surrounded by shadows and the weight of unspoken judgments. The next, he was standing on an expanse of cracked earth, the sky above him swirling with deep reds and oranges, as if frozen in the middle of a setting sun that never truly set.

The air was thick with heat, pressing against his skin, but there was no wind, no movement. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.

He turned slowly, his boots crunching against the dry ground.

He wasn't alone.

A figure stood several paces away, their silhouette outlined against the glowing horizon. They were motionless, watching him with a stillness that sent a ripple of unease through him.

Jude's muscles tensed instinctively. He had been through enough trials to recognize when something wasn't right.

The figure took a step forward.

Jude's breath hitched.

It was him. Again.

But not the same as before.

This version was different from the older one he had spoken to in the last trial. This one wasn't worn or burdened by knowledge, this one radiated something else entirely. Power.

Jude's own face stared back at him, but his doppelgänger's expression was unreadable. His stance was loose, relaxed, yet there was something coiled beneath the surface, something dangerous.

Jude's fingers twitched at his sides. He had faced copies of himself before, but this felt different. This one didn't feel like an illusion or a test of his resolve.

This one felt real.

The other Jude smirked. "Took you long enough."

Jude frowned. "Who are you?"

The smirk widened. "You already know."

Jude's gut twisted. He had a sinking suspicion that this wasn't just another obstacle designed to push him forward.

This was something else.

Something worse.

The other Jude tilted his head. "You think you're ready."

Jude clenched his fists. "I am."

The other him chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "No. You're not."

Jude narrowed his eyes. "Then why don't you prove it?"

The smirk faded. "Gladly."

The attack came without warning.

Jude barely managed to react in time, twisting to the side as a fist shot past his face, the force of it sending a sharp gust of air against his cheek. His other self didn't hesitate, closing the distance in an instant, his movements fluid, controlled.

Jude blocked the next strike but felt the impact rattle through his bones. This wasn't like fighting an enemy. This was something else entirely.