Connor raised his arm, pointing straight at Jason. His small frame stood solid against the fractured metal floor, casting a long, defiant shadow—one that seemed far larger than he was.
"I say we all duel him," he declared, voice ringing like steel. "Right now. Together."
Jason didn't blink. Didn't move. Didn't even breathe.
But before the tension could crystallize, another voice cut through the air from behind Connor:
"And I brought some reinforcements."
Jason's eyebrow twitched—just barely, but enough to betray that he hadn't seen this coming.
From the sliding blast doors, Devin stepped forward first.
White hoodie. White jeans. White gloves. Hood up. Glasses gleaming like mirrored lenses reflecting a world only he could see. His presence felt like a glitch in reality—too still, too calm, like a man who had already calculated the next twenty moves.
Behind him came Matt, cape fluttering dramatically even though the underground air was dead and unmoving. His deck holster crackled with faint threads of probability; luck itself seemed to ripple around him. Dice-shaped motes shimmered in the air at his back, flickering like translucent constellations.
And then—
Heavy boots thundered down the corridor.
The temperature dropped.
A full squad of armed agents stormed in, spreading into formation with military precision. Their visors glowed blue; their armor hummed with charge. They positioned themselves like the walls of a fortress.
At their center marched Orlov—President of the Russian Federation. Thick-shouldered. Broad-chested.. A jagged scar slashed across his eyebrow like a permanent thunderbolt. His presence was colder than Jason's shadows.
He leveled a gloved finger at Jason, eyes burning with political fury.
"YOU." His accent hit like a sledgehammer. "You killed Pegasus. You made mockery of global stability. I come to correct mistake."
Jason tilted his head slightly. "…The Russian President. In my laboratory."
Orlov snorted. "Da. You make big problem for world. I fix problem."
Joey's jaw dropped open so hard it nearly dislocated. "WHOA—WE GOT THE ACTUAL PRESIDENT OF RUSSIA ON OUR SIDE?!"
Matt flicked his cape with practiced dramatic flair. "Luck is drawn to destiny's apex."
Devin pushed his glasses up, lenses catching the flicker of shadows. "We all have… reasons for being here. But the outcome is the same." His voice softened into something grim. "Jason must be stopped."
Connor nodded. "You hear that, Jason? It's not just us anymore. Every person you've hurt is standing here."
For the first time since fusing with Zorc, Jason's jaw tightened. His confidence flickered.
Atem stepped forward, surveying the unified force—Connor, Odion, Joey, Rebecca, Devin, Matt, Orlov, the agents. The Pharaoh's eyes softened when they returned to the boy who'd initiated the charge.
"Connor," Atem whispered, meaning heavy in the single word. A rare, warm pride shone in his eyes. "This is courage worthy of kings."
Odion planted his staff into the floor with a resolute thud. "Then we stand together. One united force."
Joey snapped his Duel Disk open. "Yeah! We're gonna flatten this overgrown demon! With ALL OF US? Dude's got NO CHANCE!"
Rebecca activated her Duel Disk, determination burning. "Not again. He's not hurting anyone ever again."
Matt lifted his deck, cape snapping. "Fortune will bend to this moment."
Devin's voice turned nearly inaudible. "And the timeline will be restored."
The Russian agents engaged their advanced duel-tech gear, forming a synchronized hum like a battalion of digital war drums.
Jason finally broke his silence.
He laughed.
Soft at first. Then louder. Then louder—until the sound echoed off every metal surface like a spiraling hurricane of distorted amusement. His shoulders shook with the force of it.
"You want to duel a god?"
He spread his arms.
Darkness erupted from him like a supernova in reverse—swirling galaxies collapsing, twisting into spirals of shadow.
"You believe numbers can help you?"
A sharp snap of his fingers cracked reality itself.
The air split open.
Dozens—then hundreds—of silhouettes peeled away from him. Each figure molded itself into a perfect copy. Some bore gold eyes glowing like miniature suns. Others had abyssal pits for pupils. Some radiated Zorc's corrupted sigils, pulsing like demonic runes.
Every clone wore Jason's lab coat. Every clone held his posture. Every clone smiled with the same chilling, surgical calm.
"These," Jason announced, "are calibrated to the exact strength of whomever they face."
Jason snapped again.
Shadow Duel Disks materialized across every clone's arm. Their blades flickered into existence, humming with unstable, malicious energy that warped the air like heat mirages.
Jason tilted his head, feigning politeness that only made the horror worse.
"To be sporting," he said smoothly, "I'll let you choose something."
He held up two fingers.
"One—my clones wield the full power of the Millennium Eye and the Millennium Necklace."
A nearest clone's Eye opened—blazing gold, radiating future-sight and mind-piercing omniscience. It was blinding.
"Or two—" Jason lowered one finger with theatrical ease.
"—you face them without mind-reading or future vision."
This wasn't KaibaCorp's usual hard-light grid—this was far worse. Jason hadn't projected an arena.
He had overwritten reality.
The ground beneath their feet shifted into an endless stone platform suspended over a spiraling abyss. Down below, galaxies twisted into black vortices, colors bleeding in and out of existence like dying stars. Towering obsidian pillars rose and sank in the void, bending like the vertebrae of some colossal cosmic serpent.
Above them, the sky cracked open into a dome of fractured circuitry and starlit chaos—half machine, half nightmare. Electrical storms flickered between shattered constellations. And at its center, a dark sun pulsed—alive, watching, feeding.
Jason looked around at the stage he had crafted, satisfaction blooming across his face.
"A fitting battlefield," he murmured. "For the last meaningful stand of those delusional enough to oppose my vision."
The three Jasons took their places on one side of the stone expanse—Prime Jason at the center, Clone A with blazing gold eyes at his right, Clone B with void-black pupils at his left. They moved in eerie synchronicity, as if sharing one heartbeat.
Across from them, Atem stepped forward, cloak rustling in the vacuum-like air. Connor took his position to Atem's right, Odion to the left, staff gripped tightly. Their stances aligned—not perfectly, but with shared resolve. Three very different wills linked by necessity.
The air between both sides felt strung like a bowstring—tight, humming, ready to snap with catastrophic violence.
Behind them, Joey, Rebecca, Matt, Devin, Orlov, and the agents split off, each facing a squad of clones in simultaneous duels scattered across the floating arena.
Jason didn't bother to watch them. They were noise. Background. Warm-up.
His voice echoed across the void, amplified by nothing but raw authority.
"Turn order," he announced, raising one hand as though plucking the law of causality itself. "Let's be scientific."
"Team Mortal moves first."
Connor slid a card from his deck, eyes narrowing, the wind from the abyss tugging his hair upward. "Fine by me."
He glanced at Atem. "You want to take point? Or I can soften them up."
Atem's eyes met his—calm, focused, warm even in this nightmare. The faintest hint of a smile touched the Pharaoh's lips.
"You have already prepared your path," Atem said. "Take it."
Connor nodded once, sharp and confident. "Then I'll start."
Turn 1 – Connor
Connor drew his opening hand, eyes scanning the cards quickly. Calm calculation passed across his face, followed by a slow, satisfied exhale.
"First," he said, "I activate Pot of Greed to draw two more cards."
The familiar grinning jar appeared, cackling before fading as Connor slipped two fresh cards into his grip.
"Then I set one monster face-down," he continued, sliding a card into place. A card-sized stone rose from the field, face hidden, pulsing faintly. "And I set two cards in my back row."
Two slabs of glowing stone appeared behind his monster, energy humming quietly.
He looked directly at Jason, his expression flat.
"I'll pass my turn over to Odion," Connor said.
Turn 2 – Odion
Odion drew, his movements deliberate. The stone platform beneath them responded to every step he took as if honoring his weight.
"I will begin with defense," he said gravely. "I set three cards face-down."
"I end my turn."
Turn 3 – Atem
The Puzzle glowed as Atem drew, energy bristling around his fingers. His face was composed, but there was a deeper stillness in his eyes now—Atem, fully himself, under his true name.
"Jason," he called across the field, "you may think godhood frees you from destiny, but you've only wandered deeper into it."
Jason smirked.
Atem placed his first card.
"I summon King's Knight in Attack Position!"
The golden-armored knight appeared with a flourish, cloak snapping in an invisible wind.
(ATK 1600)
"Then I set two cards face-down," Atem continued, his back row forming. "And end my turn. We will see how your 'godhood' handles mortals who refuse to kneel."
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