The air was thin and sharp at the peak of Mount Morris, the wind howling like the cries of ancient souls. Jagged rocks jutted out of the ground, as if the mountain itself were trying to tear the sky apart. Aric stood at the edge of the peak, his chain coiling restlessly in his hands, the blackish-grey energy of Khaos flickering around it like a living thing.
Ahead of him, his original body stood—staring back with an unsettling calmness. The figure that had once been him wore a cruel smile, its eyes hollow and cold. There was no doubt now. The body that had been stolen from him was no longer his; it had been claimed by something darker.
"You...," Aric muttered, his voice low, the wind carrying his words away into the sky.
The figure said nothing, only grinning wider.
Aric's patience snapped. With a flick of his wrist, the chain lashed out, aiming to ensnare his former self. But the figure moved with unnatural speed, dodging the attack with ease. It was a movement Aric knew all too well—because it was his own. Every shift, every step, mirrored the way he once fought.
They clashed violently, their bodies moving in a deadly dance atop the mountain. Aric's chain lashed out, striking with the power of Khaos, while his original body fought back with the same agility and strength he once possessed. The blows were fierce, shaking the very ground beneath them.
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"Is it Khaos?" Aric shouted through gritted teeth as he swung his chain again, the energy around it pulsing dangerously. "Did Khaos take control of my body?!"
The figure didn’t answer, dodging another strike with a smile that chilled Aric to his core.
Doubt gnawed at him. Ever since that night—the night he had lost everything—he had always wondered if the chaos inside him had manifested, if Khaos itself had taken over. But as the fight dragged on, a gnawing realization settled in his chest. It wasn’t Khaos. This was something far worse. Something far more deliberate.
The figure finally responded with a laugh—a low, guttural sound that grated against Aric's nerves. “Khaos?” It said mockingly, its voice carrying an eerie echo. “You really think that pitiful Wench could have taken over?”
The figure suddenly lunged forward, faster than Aric could react. A fist slammed into his gut, knocking the wind from him. Aric stumbled back, gasping for breath, but the figure didn’t relent. Another blow came, this time to his jaw, sending him sprawling across the rocky ground.
Aric’s chain fell limp beside him, the energy dimming for a moment as he struggled to his feet. His old body stood over him, looking down with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
“I was wondering where your pitiful soul went,” the figure said, its voice dripping with malice. “You switched bodies on that night... left this one behind like a coward.”
Aric’s eyes widened. Switched bodies? He hadn’t consciously done anything. That night... it had all been a blur of chaos and pain. Could he have somehow...?
The figure’s grin widened, its eyes gleaming with something close to amusement. “No matter. You’ll be gone soon enough.”
Aric clenched his fists, feeling the surge of Khaos building inside him. He couldn’t let this twisted version of himself win. Whatever had taken over his body that night—it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Khaos. It was something else entirely, and he had to stop it.
With a roar, he surged to his feet, his chain snapping back to life with a pulse of blackish-grey energy. The ground around them cracked under the pressure of Khaos, the air growing heavy with its oppressive force.
“You think you can just walk away with my body?” Aric growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I won’t let you.”
The figure only laughed, its cruel smile never faltering. “Then try, Aric. Try and take it back.”
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To Be Continued...
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