A world of endless mirrors stretched out before me, a silent, silver void where sky and ground were one. I was trapped in a labyrinth of my own reflection. Time had dissolved. Had I wandered for an hour? A day? A year? There was no way to know.
In every shard of glass, fragments of a lost life played out.
I saw the day I was born:the exhausted, radiant faces of my father and mother. I heard the ghost of my mother's whisper as she spoke my name for the first time—Ryan.
I watched my childhood unfold on the silver surfaces.The first clumsy steps I took; my father's face beaming with a joy so pure it ached to see. The first time I uttered the word "Mom," and the phantom warmth of her crushing hug. The reckless laughter of first friends, echoing from a past that felt like someone else's dream. Even the sting of the small cut from playing with my father's axe felt real again.
I was adrift in this sea of glass, unable to find an exit, an end, or a purpose. My silent footsteps carried me forward until I halted before a massive, jagged pane.
This was the day. The day the Black Dragon Emperor attacked.
I stood paralyzed, forced to watch the flames lick the roofs, to hear the distant screams begin once more. Then, a voice—booming, arrogant, and as cold as the mirrors themselves—shattered the silence.
"Ryan... why do you insist on revisiting this pathetic memory?"
I didn't turn. "Pride. You finally show yourself. I couldn't find you in this maze."
"You were offered paradise," he stated, his voice dripping with contempt. "And you threw it away. For this? For a single day of misery?"
Suddenly, the mirror before me didn't just show the memory.
It shattered.
But the glass didn't fall. It disintegrated into light and sound. The cold, sterile world of mirrors vanished, swallowed whole.
The smell of smoke, thick and acrid, filled my nostrils. The heat of rising flames warmed my skin. The distant, terrified screams were no longer muted echoes—they were raw, immediate, and coming from every direction.
I was no longer looking at a reflection.
I was standing in the center of my village, on the afternoon i lose everting Ryan!"
It was his father's voice, raw and urgent. But Ryan didn't flinch. He didn't cry or run into his arms like a terrified child. He stood still, his heart encased in ice. This is just a memory, he told himself. A recording. I will only see what has already happened. I will not break.
He turned. His father, Hercules, stood with his massive, worn axe in hand, his face a mask of controlled panic. "Ryan! The village is on fire! Help everyone get out!"
Ryan looked at him with eyes that had already seen the end of the world. Why does it still hurt? Why can I still feel the heat?
"Let's go!" Ryan shouted, shoving his own emotions down. He began herding the frightened children and stumbling elders toward the village gate, his movements efficient, his voice steady, a stark contrast to the chaos.
At the gates, the world exploded. Black Dragon soldiers smashed through the wood, charging in on horseback. But the lead horse was suddenly severed in two. Hercules stood in the breach, his great axe dripping, a grim, terrible smile on his face.
"Soldiers of the Black Dragon!" he roared, his voice shaking the very air. "You've come to the wrong place at the wrong time. I will butcher every last one of you today!"
He charged. He was not a man; he was a force of nature. Soldiers scrambled back in terror, tripping over each other. Hercules moved like a whirlwind of steel, his powerful legs crushing those who fell, his axe painting the earth in broad, violent strokes of crimson.
Ryan was pushing the last group through when the sky itself seemed to catch fire. Not with clouds, but with a hissing, black rain of flaming arrows.
"Ryan, watch out!" His mother's scream cut through the din.
She threw herself in front of him. Ryan watched, time slowing to a crawl, as the arrows found their mark. One. Two. Three. They pierced her body. She fell, pulling him into a final, desperate, bloody embrace. Around them, the screams of the villagers were abruptly silenced as the deadly rain found its mark. Only Ryan remained, shielded and smothered by his mother's lifeless form.
He tried to scream. He tried to move, to grab a weapon, to kill them all—but his body was bound by the unchangeable chains of the past. He could only watch, helpless, as rough hands hauled him away with ropes.
In the center of the village, Hercules stood triumphant atop a mountain of corpses. He had slain over a hundred and fifty men. No soldier dared approach—until a man on a pristine white horse emerged from the smoke.
The rider wore a golden crown and fine silks. "Hercules... the legend who kills bears with a single punch. You truly are a monster."
Hercules spat a gob of blood onto the ground. "And you? I see a noble who gets hard from the blood of those who cannot fight back. That is what you are."
The man laughed, a sound like polished glass. "You are correct. I have hunted every beast in the jungle, but it grew dull. So I thought, why not hunt the hunters?" He offered a mocking bow. "I am Prince Temurjen. And this... this is just a game to me."
"You bastard," Hercules growled, the word thick with hate. "I kill when I need food. You kill for sport. I will end this now!"
Hercules lunged, his axe a blur aimed at the Prince's head. But an invisible wall of condensed wind slammed into him, stopping him mid-air. A Knight stepped from the Prince's side. "My Lord, you should not get so close to such a beast."
Hercules grinned, a feral, bloody sight. "A Soul User? You think a breeze can stop me?"
With a roar that shook the very flames, Hercules's axe came down. The wind barrier shattered like glass. The Knight screamed, coughing blood as he collapsed. Hercules pivoted, his axe already in a deadly arc for the Prince's neck.
But the Prince was gone, teleported away in a shimmer of light, reappearing safely behind his lines.
"Impressive," Prince Temurjen called out, his voice cool. "You can even defeat a Soul User."
He gave a casual signal. His men dragged Ryan forward, the boy bound in heavy chains, the reflection of the burning village dancing in his wide, terrified eyes.
Hercules froze. The fire of battle drained from his gaze, replaced by a father's dread. "Ryan? Where are the others? Where is your mother?"
"Dad..." Ryan sobbed, the memory forcing the anguish from his throat. "They attacked from behind. The arrows... everyone is dead. Mom is gone. I couldn't save them. I'm so sorry!"
The legendary fighter's spirit broke. The titan who had just felled an army stood silent, his mighty axe dipping toward the dirt.
"Drop your weapon, Hercules," the Knight wheezed from the ground, "or the boy dies."
Ryan looked at his father. In the real past, he had begged him to fight. Now, as a man forced to watch, he said nothing. Hercules's fingers opened. The great axe fell from his hand and thudded into the blood-soaked earth.
Instantly, the Prince's men unleashed their full might.
"Wind Blade!"
"Ace Sword!"
"Blazing Fire!"
"Earth Soul!"
Four full-power Soul attacks, followed by a storm of a thousand arrows, converged on Hercules. His body was ravaged, torn, and broken by the cataclysm of energy. His soul flickered, beginning its departure.
Yet, even in death, Hercules did not yield to gravity. His ravaged body remained upright—a blood-soaked statue of defiance, a monument to a father's sacrifice, refusing to fall to the ground