Stryker rubbed his eyes, still shaken by the dream. His heart raced, and his skin was drenched in cold sweat. He grabbed his phone and called security.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes, sir. All clear," the guard replied.

"Good," Stryker muttered, though it didn't calm him. The dream felt too real. He could still feel the pain, still hear Aron's cold, mocking voice, and see the blood splattered everywhere. His limbs had been cut off, only to grow back, making him relive the agony over and over. He shook off the memory. For now, it was over.

[Later that Night]

Stryker had increased his mansion's security—more cameras, and motion sensors in key spots. He tried to sleep, but exhaustion from his body regenerating pulled him into a restless slumber.

Just as he closed his eyes, it began again.

A sharp, icy blade sliced through his flesh.

Stryker woke up with a scream. His arms and legs were gone—cleanly severed again. His bed was soaked with blood. Aron stood at the foot of it, his ice blade dripping red.

"No... no! This isn't real!" Stryker gasped, terrified. His wide, bloodshot eyes stared at the stumps where his limbs had been.

Aron smiled coldly, not saying a word, watching as Stryker's limbs regrew in horrifying speed. As soon as they healed, Aron moved again.

Slice.

Stryker screamed louder this time, his voice raw.

"You still think it's a dream?" Aron whispered, his voice icy. "I told you, I'll make your life a living hell."

[Three Days Later]

The nightmare continued every night. Every time Stryker closed his eyes, Aron appeared, cutting him apart like he was nothing. The pain was unbearable, the blood endless, the fear consuming him. His body healed, but his mind didn't.

He stopped eating. Sleep was impossible. Even during the day, the line between reality and nightmare blurred. His once safe mansion felt like a cage. Every corner seemed to hide Aron. Every sound, every flicker of light was a threat.

But it wasn't just at night anymore.

[The Shower Incident]

Stryker stood in the bathroom, steam rising from the hot water. He stood under the showerhead, trying to clear his mind.

But as he rubbed his eyes, he felt a sharp sting.

When he looked down, he saw it—a thin shard of ice sticking out of his chest. His heart nearly stopped. Ice? In a hot shower?

Before he could react, another shard pierced his leg, then another through his shoulder. He screamed, but the water drowned it out. He stumbled, the pain sharp and real.

But then, he blinked—and the ice was gone. The wounds disappeared, the blood gone.

He collapsed onto the bathroom floor, breathing hard. Was it real? Or just his mind?

[The Dining Hall]

Later, he forced himself to eat, his body weak from lack of food. Sitting alone in the large dining hall, Stryker barely tasted the soup as he ate.

But halfway through, his stomach turned violently. He gagged, his throat burning as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

Poisoned.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for Aron. But no one was there.

He blinked—and suddenly, he was fine. No pain, no blood, no poison.

He wasn't sure if it had been real, but now he couldn't eat again.

[Exploding SUV]

Three days later, Stryker had a meeting in the city. He didn't trust his mansion's safety anymore, so he left in his armored SUV, packed with guards and extra security.

As they drove, Stryker's paranoia grew. He felt Aron's presence, even in the SUV. His hand stayed glued to his gun, never letting go.

At a stoplight, the guards glanced at him, sensing his unease.

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Then, the explosion hit.

Fire erupted from underneath the vehicle, flipping it into the air. Metal twisted and tore as flames engulfed the car. Stryker's body slammed into the ceiling, bones breaking. The pain was unbearable, fire and smoke clouding his vision.

Then—blackness.

He woke up, gasping, back in his room. His SUV was fine, parked outside. His guards were alive and safe. The explosion had never happened. He looked at his body and saw that he was wearing his suit for the meeting, yet he didn't even realize when he fell asleep.

But Stryker's heart wouldn't stop racing. He could still feel the fire on his skin.

[The Elevator]

The final straw came in his underground base.

Stryker took the elevator down to the research labs. As it descended, he leaned against the wall, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

Halfway down, the lights flickered.

The elevator groaned, then jerked violently. The cables snapped.

Stryker's heart jumped as the elevator plummeted. Weightlessness hit him as the ground rushed up. He screamed, bracing for impact.

But instead of crashing, the elevator stopped gently at the bottom.

Stryker stumbled out, drenched in sweat. His scientists stood there, confused, the elevator working perfectly.

[Back at the Mansion]

Stryker's mind had broken. He barely spoke, pacing the halls with wild, bloodshot eyes. The guards whispered about him, but he didn't care. He couldn't tell what was real and what was Aron's nightmare.

Night came again. He sat in his study, gun in hand, waiting.

Midnight passed. No sign of Aron.

Then, at 3 a.m., the sound of ice forming.

Stryker's heart froze. He turned toward the shadows, knowing what was coming. Aron stepped out, ice blade ready.

"You can't escape," Aron said calmly. "I told you—I'll haunt you until you break."

Stryker raised his gun, but his hand shook too much to aim. Aron's blade gleamed in the dark.

Then—slice.

Stryker screamed as his limbs were cut off again. He gasped, blood spraying everywhere.

When he blinked, Aron was gone. His body was whole. The clock read 6 a.m.

Stryker sat up in bed, panting, holding his gun tighter.

It was a nightmare. But one he could never escape. Aron would make sure of that.

Stryker paced the halls of his mansion, his mind unraveling with every second. Aron's cold voice still echoed in his head, the mutant's power twisting his reality into a waking nightmare. The screams of his own agony haunted him, replaying every time Aron severed his limbs, only to watch them grow back—making Stryker relive the torment over and over. He had faced mutants his entire life and fought against them in the name of God, but Aron's cruelty was different. He was a devil, an abomination that had infiltrated Stryker's very soul.

Mutants were a plague—imperfections in God's creation. For years, Stryker had believed that his mission was divinely guided. He was chosen to purify the world, to remove the stain of mutants, and bring peace to humanity. But now, he was the one being tortured, hunted by the very evil he had sworn to eradicate.

Tonight, something stirred deep inside him, a desperate need for divine intervention. He had devoted his life to God's work, purging the earth of mutants, but Aron was unlike any enemy he had faced. Stryker could feel his faith slipping, but that only made him cling to it harder. He would not let the devil win.

He grabbed his Bible, the leather worn from years of use, and held it tightly in his hands. The scripture had always guided him and reminded him of his purpose. Mutants were demons, unnatural beings that tainted the purity of God's creation. But Aron… Aron was worse than any he had ever encountered. The torment, the mind games—this wasn't just physical. Aron had gotten into his soul.

With trembling hands, Stryker thumbed through the pages, searching for solace, for a sign from God that he wasn't alone in this fight. His heart raced as he came across a verse he had read countless times before: "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places."

Aron was wicked in its purest form, a mutant who had twisted his God-given powers into something evil. He was created to fight alongside him to cleanse this world, yet, how dare he turn against his pure mission and bare his fangs at his creator? Stryker's breath came in short gasps as he held the Bible close, murmuring prayers under his breath.

But then—the sound of ice forming.

Stryker froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced around the room, panic gripping him. The frost crept along the window, the familiar sensation of Aron's presence sending chills down his spine. He dropped the Bible and reached for his gun, though he knew it was useless against the mutant's abilities.

"No… not now…" he muttered, backing into the corner of the room.

The frost thickened, and then Aron appeared, stepping from the shadows with that same cold, cruel smile. "You think your prayers will save you?" Aron whispered, his voice cutting through the room like a blade of ice. "I told you, Stryker. I'll make your life a living hell."

Stryker's hand shook as he raised the gun, but Aron moved too quickly. A flash of icy blue light, and Stryker's limbs were severed once again, blood splattering across the floor. He screamed, the pain unbearable, but it wasn't just the physical agony. Aron had invaded his mind, twisting his faith, and making him doubt everything he believed in.

"By the way, why are you asking God for help when you cloned me? Oh, and you decided to become a mutant yourself, so there's that," Aron laughed. "I mean, come on, how stupid are you?"

Stryker gasped, the blood loss making him lightheaded. His body writhed in pain as his limbs began to grow back, but his mind was reeling from Aron's words.

"What do you want?" He croaked, his voice hoarse.

"Whose clone am I?" Aron whispered.

"All... F... Kugggg!!" As Stryker was about to reveal the identity of the person whose DNA he used to create Aron, his head began to swell up, followed by his entire body. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth as his body began to deform, his bones cracking under the pressure.

"What the fuck?!" Aron jumped back, creating a distance between them.

Stryker's body turned into a balloon as it continued to swell up. It was like that Harry Potter scene, but instead of flying away... Well, he exploded.

He exploded into tiny pieces, splattering all over the room. Blood and entrails painted the walls and floor.

"Fuck!" Aron cursed as he raised a psionic barrier, shielding himself from the bloody onslaught. "Fucking shit."

The room was silent, only the sound of Aron's heavy breathing echoing in the space. He looked around, confused, the pieces of Stryker's body scattered everywhere. It was a gruesome sight. 'Now, that's a nice ability. A trigger to prevent information leakage... How interesting,' he thought, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, this was certainly unexpected," Aron said with a sigh as he glared at the bloody pulp on the floor. "All F... All For One..."