Vortex Origins

Kael moved through the wreckage with quiet control. The training room stank of scorched metal and ozone. Burnt fragments lay strewn across the floor—jagged pieces of plating, a robotic face split in half, limbs severed mid-motion.

His fist crashed into the last bot's face. The head didn't just crumple—it shattered. Kael's arm punched clean through, sparks vomiting from the wreck as his hand burst out the other side. The bot collapsed in a twitching heap.

He stood still. The floor around him was littered with mangled parts. Cracks ran across the walls, some blackened by heat, others dented from impact. Wires dangled from the ceiling like torn veins.

Kael let out a breath and flexed his fingers.

"They're too weak. I guess I really did grow stronger after that asteroid mission."

He walked toward the door. As it slid open, a swarm of maintenance bots rolled inside. They came in like insects, each already beginning its task. Some swept the limbs into tight piles. Others transformed into vacuums, sucking up dust and charred bits. A few climbed the walls with tiny legs, scrubbing the damage like they'd done it a thousand times.

Kael paused at the threshold and watched. Every bot worked in perfect rhythm—efficient, predictable.

"Yeah. I should ask Max to upgrade these things. Make them faster, maybe smarter. Something strong enough to fight back. That'd make it more fun."

He turned sharply and rushed out of the room, footsteps echoing as he made his way toward the lab.

The hallway stretched wide and silent, lights overhead casting cold shadows along the steel floor. When Kael reached the lab, he stepped inside—

—and stopped.

The room was empty.

He narrowed his eyes, gaze scanning the cluttered tables, the powered-down screens, the untouched tools. No sound of typing. No scent of solder. No low muttering over unfinished work.

"Still in bed? I knew he was exhausted, but I didn't think Max would sleep this long."

Kael let out a breath, about to leave, then stopped. His eyes lingered on the cluttered workbench near the far corner of the room. Among twisted coils and half-assembled drones sat the Duplicator. A compact, piston-shaped device. Nothing special in appearance—but it held something monstrous within.

The core of the Duplicator came from the brain of a creature no one should've dared to scavenge—a Duplicyst Tyrant, a Tier 6 abomination that once roamed one of Sector One's mines. It had no claws, no fangs, only a single grotesque ray organ that could produce perfect replicas of anything it scanned—items, structures, even living things. It didn't just mimic; it recreated, down to the smallest thread of muscle, memory, or essence.

Max had found the remains after a sweep operation, the Tyrant already long dead. He extracted the brain and forged this weapon of creation, not for war, not for power—but to mass-produce resources for his machines. The results had been… unsettling. Every test object, every duplicated alloy or battery, came out without a single flaw. Perfect.

So why was Max tinkering with it again?

Kael didn't know. He didn't care. What he saw now wasn't a mystery—it was a chance.

Max wasn't here. The room was quiet. The machines were still.

No one would stop him.

A clone of himself. Another Kael. Having two kaels on the team will not only make things fun for him, but also make the team much stronger. The idea tasted like glory.

He stepped closer and wrapped his hand around the device's handle. The grip felt sturdy, shaped like a gun's base. A trigger mechanism jutted beneath the barrel.

Point and pull. That's it.

Kael turned the barrel toward his chest. The Duplicator's core hummed faintly.

But he didn't squeeze.

What if Max was right? What if this thing didn't copy… but rewrote? What if it erased the original to birth the next? What if instead of making a second Kael… it replaced him?

The barrel drifted sideways as Kael's grip tightened. His body didn't shake, but the weight of doubt pressed into his arms.

Something shifted in the corner of his eye.

On a small shelf just above the table, inside a clear cage, something moved. A spider, the size of a grown man's palm. Its pale, silk-smooth body rested still, legs folded inward like black wire. The surface of its web shimmered with faint vibrations.

Kael turned toward it.

He could hear the whisper. Not from the creature—but from the strands.

The Whispersilk Spider.

Max's pet.

But Kael knew Max didn't keep it out of affection. At first, it had been a subject of research. Max believed the whispering wasn't the spider's voice—it came from the web. Soundless to most, but if one stood close enough, the silk resonated with something that spoke through its tension. It didn't sound. It wasn't magic. Just pure resonance—like a secret being plucked out of the air.

Even after Max finished studying it, he hadn't gotten rid of it. Maybe he felt something for it in the end.

Kael's lips curled as he stared at the creature.

"Max would be glad if he saw two of them, right?"

Kael opened the cage and reached in. The spider didn't move as his fingers wrapped around its pale body. Its legs hung limp as he set it on the steel table.

He stepped back and raised the duplicator. A click. Then a pulse of white light burst from the tip, swallowing the spider in a flash.

The glow twisted. A second shape bloomed inside it.

Two spiders now rested on the table, their curled legs and smooth pale bodies exactly the same. Even the small quiver in their stance matched.

Kael stared at them for a long time. Nothing twitched. Nothing hissed or cracked. He couldn't tell which was real, and at this point, he didn't care.

His grip tightened around the handle.

He turned the barrel toward his chest.

The grin returned.

His thumb brushed the trigger.

A flash swallowed him whole. His body lit up, then split.

The duplicator clattered against the floor.

When Kael opened his eyes, someone stood in front of him.

The young man had the same sharp jawline, the same wild black hair. But a bold red streak ran straight down the middle of his head like blood spilled over coal.

His shirt was torn, scorched around the collar and sleeves. Black smudges ran along the fabric like burn marks from something fierce—like he'd clawed his way through the ruins of a battlefield. His cargo pants were ripped at the knee, threadbare. One boot had a tear across the top.

Kael took a step forward. The clone didn't flinch.

That grin—it was the same grin Kael had worn only moments ago. But the eyes told a different story.

Not even dark.

Empty.

Twin voids stared back at him. Hollow and hungry.

Kael couldn't feel anything from the clone. Not fear or hesitation. Just the echo of himself, smiling without a soul.

His own grin widened.

"You'll do just fine."

Kael's grin didn't fade.

"I don't know what's wrong with your eyes, but I'm glad you're alive."

He crouched, picked the duplicator off the floor, and gave it a quick look to make sure it hadn't cracked. It hadn't. The clone stood in the same spot, eyes pitch black, head tilted just slightly, as if it were trying to understand him.

Kael chuckled under his breath.

"Well, with the eye thing, I guess we won't have to argue about who's the real Kael."

The clone's mouth curved into a grin.

"Yeah. I guess that's true."

Kael stopped smiling.

Hearing his own voice from someone else's lips—it hit different. Not like hearing a recording. This one breathed, looked back, and responded.

He studied the clone. The same face. Same build. Same mess of black hair, except the red streak down the middle caught the light like fire across coal. His clothes were torn and scorched from training. Fabric clung to skin where sweat had dried. No armor or accessories. Just the body of someone who had just survived a war with his own limits.

"I knew you could talk," Kael said, staring at the clone's face.

"But I didn't think I was ready to hear it."

He raised his hand, fingers twitching as if unsure.

"Do you have my abilities?"

The clone didn't hesitate. Flames exploded to life in his palm, flickering bright and hungry.

"Well yeah, of course I do. It's strange you even asked, but I guess you're right. I should probably introduce myself."

The flame sank back into his hand like it had never been there. Then he stood straighter, shoulders rolled back, eyes locked on Kael's.

"I'm Kael. One of the Sons of Flame. Tier Six. What about you? Got the same power? You should. You're me, after all."

Kael blinked, confused. The question didn't make sense. Was this supposed to be a joke? He let out a short laugh, brushing it off like static clinging to skin.

He turned away, setting the duplicator back on the table with a dull clunk. His heart beat a little faster, but the grin stayed.

"Come on then, clone-me. Let's hit the training room. I can't hold this in anymore. I need to see what I'm really made of."

He reached for the lab door. It slid open.

The blow came without warning.

Kael's eyes widened. His body twisted on instinct, but not fast enough. The clone's fist landed square against his chest. The world blurred.

Kael's body flew through the corridor like a thrown corpse.

The wall caught him. Metal screamed and bent, the force of the impact shattering the corridor's shape. The quake echoed across the base.

Dust drifted.

Kael's breath caught as he pushed himself off the crumpled wall, every muscle aching. He looked up.

The clone walked forward, flame still licking his hand.

"Clone? What did you just call me?"

Another step. His eyes glowed like embers buried deep in a furnace.

"I'm the real Kael. You're the copy."

He kept walking.

"I guess Max was right. You're losing yourself. I saw it the moment I made you—how you twitched, how you talk like you were the original."

The clone's tone twisted into something colder.

"So now, I've decided I'd kill you before you make any stupid move. Before Max finds out what I did. Before this spirals into something worse."

Kael wiped blood from his mouth. His glare burned through the dust.

"Shit."