Web of Lost Memories

His body moved on instinct, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. He swung his fist toward the doppelgänger's face, but it ducked effortlessly, twisting behind him with unnatural speed.

A sharp jab struck his back, sending him stumbling forward. He barely caught himself before crashing into the stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps.

The doppelgänger chuckled. "Pathetic."

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand. His ribs ached, his limbs trembled, but he refused to back down. This wasn't just a physical fight—it was a battle against his own weakness, his own doubts.

I won't lose to myself.

He exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to focus. If this thing moved like him—thought like him—then it would react the same way he would. That meant there had to be a way to outmaneuver it.

He took a step back, watching, waiting.

The doppelgänger smirked. "Giving up already?"

He didn't answer. He just observed.

Then—he saw it.

A pattern.

Every time the doppelgänger attacked, it always aimed where he expected himself to dodge. It knew his instincts too well.

Then I have to do what I wouldn't normally do.

The doppelgänger lunged again, fist aiming straight for his gut. Instead of dodging left like he normally would, he twisted right at the last second. The fake him faltered, caught off guard.

Now!

He struck.

His fist connected with the doppelgänger's side, sending it staggering back for the first time.

It looked up, surprise flashing in its hollow eyes.

He didn't let it recover. He charged forward, using every ounce of strength he had left. Blow after blow, he forced the doppelgänger back, breaking its rhythm, refusing to let it predict his movements.

The chamber trembled. The shadows around them flickered wildly.

The doppelgänger scowled. "No. This is—"

He didn't let it finish. With a final surge of energy, he swung his fist—aiming straight for its face.

The impact sent the doppelgänger flying backward, crashing into the stone floor. The moment it hit, its form cracked like shattered glass.

The reflection of himself flickered, the hollow eyes widening in shock.

Then—

It dissolved into mist.

The darkness that had consumed the chamber faded, the oppressive weight lifting from his chest. The air no longer felt suffocating.

He staggered, barely keeping himself upright.

It was over.

A voice—deep and ancient—rumbled through the chamber.

"You have faced yourself… and prevailed."

A warm light enveloped him, and the world shifted once again.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in the temple, lying on the cold stone floor.

Elara stood above him, her expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, she crouched down, meeting his gaze.

"You survived," she murmured. "Impressive."

He let out a breathless laugh. "Barely."

She extended a hand, helping him to his feet. "Your first true trial is complete. But you are far from ready."

He exhaled, still feeling the lingering effects of the fight.

If this was only the beginning...

What else was waiting for him in this world?