Josuke awoke abruptly, gasping for air. His body jerked upright, sweat dripping down his face as his heart hammered against his ribcage. The last thing he remembered was being hurled into the freezing waters by the Devil. The cold had gripped him, pulling him into darkness. Yet now, he felt no pain. His body was whole, his injuries mysteriously healed. His breathing slowed as he placed a hand on his chest, expecting to feel broken ribs or bruises. There was nothing.
The world around him was familiar, yet profoundly wrong. Soryu Town stretched before him—the place he had grown up, the streets and buildings etched into his memory. But everything was distorted, draped in a gray, dreamlike haze. The colors were muted, as though life itself had been drained from the town. Buildings twisted at impossible angles, their foundations rooted in the ground while their rooftops spiraled into the sky. Some structures floated mid-air, while others were inverted, defying logic and gravity. The sky was a chaotic swirl of black and gray clouds, swirling in patterns that seemed to have no beginning or end.
Josuke stood slowly, his legs shaky but functional. He glanced around, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing. Every step he took felt weightless, as though the ground itself wasn't entirely solid. He hesitated, then stepped onto the side of a nearby building. To his shock, his feet adhered as if it were the ground, allowing him to walk up its wall effortlessly. He climbed to the rooftop and then into the sky, his movements defying every law of physics he had known.
The silence was oppressive, the only sound his footsteps echoing faintly in the distorted void. "What is this place?" he muttered under his breath. The thought hit him like a thunderclap. "Am I… dead?"
It was the only explanation that made sense. Yet, something about this place felt disturbingly real. He wandered through the warped streets, his eyes scanning the twisted remnants of his childhood. The town was eerily empty, devoid of any life. But then, faintly, he began to hear voices familiar voices.
He stopped, his ears straining. The voices grew louder, fragmented whispers of conversations and laughter. He turned a corner and saw figures moving in the distance. People he recognized. Old neighbors, shopkeepers, children playing in the streets. Their faces were animated, their expressions warm and familiar. But when Josuke approached, calling out to them, his voice echoed into nothingness. His hands passed through them like mist. They didn't see him. Didn't hear him.
He was a ghost in his own world.
The whispers surrounded him, growing louder, yet always just out of reach. Josuke clenched his fists, frustration bubbling in his chest. He felt more isolated than ever, trapped in a place where he existed but was completely alone.
Eventually, his wandering led him to the orphanage where he had grown up. The sight of it sent a pang of bittersweet nostalgia through him. The building stood exactly as he remembered it, its worn exterior and familiar creaky windows. He walked through its door, the wood creaking under his weight. Inside, the orphanage was full of life. The caretakers bustled about, and children played and laughed, their joy filling the air. But just like the rest of the town, they didn't notice him. Josuke called out, his voice growing desperate, but it was no use. He was invisible to them.
As he stood in the middle of the orphanage, the warmth of the scene began to crumble under the weight of his isolation. That's when he heard it. The sound of chains dragging across the ground, heavy and deliberate. The metallic clinks echoed through the silent streets, sending a shiver down his spine. Then, accompanying the chains, came a sound that froze him in place laughter. Deep, guttural, and disturbingly familiar.
Josuke's blood ran cold. The laughter wasn't just familiar; it was his own. Twisted and mocking, the sound reverberated through the warped town. His heart pounded as he turned toward the source. "Who's there?" he called, his voice shaky but filled with determination.
The laughter didn't answer. It simply grew louder, leading him through the streets like a cruel guide. Josuke ran, his footsteps echoing against the empty buildings. The sound of the chains grew louder, the laughter more intense. The world around him seemed to warp further, the streets bending and twisting as if responding to his pursuit.
Finally, he arrived at a large, ominous gate in the middle of a warped street. The gate was massive, its iron bars thick and etched with strange, glowing symbols. Beyond it, Josuke could see a figure sitting on a throne, shrouded in shadow.
He hesitated, then peered through the bars. What he saw made his stomach turn.
Seated on the throne was himself, or rather, a grotesque version of himself. The figure wore tattered black rags, its hair disheveled and wild. Dark, inky streaks ran from its eyes down to its neck, like corrupted tears. Chains bound its wrists and ankles, but it lounged carelessly, eating popcorn from a rusted bowl. Its eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, locked onto a distorted scene that played before it.
Josuke squinted, his breath catching in his throat. The scene showed Arthur, Hinata, Lily, and Ace, fighting desperately against the Devil. They were bloodied and beaten, struggling to stay on their feet. The twisted version of Josuke laughed heartily, clapping its hands as though watching the most entertaining show it had ever seen.
"No…" Josuke whispered, his voice trembling. "What is this? What are you?"
The figure on the throne didn't respond. It continued to laugh, the sound grating against Josuke's ears. But then, the gate creaked open, and a sudden force yanked Josuke backward, sending him tumbling to the ground. When he scrambled to his feet, the throne was empty. The figure had vanished.
"Looking for me?"
The voice was right behind him.
Josuke spun around, his heart pounding in his chest. The twisted version of himself stood just a few feet away, its chains clinking softly as it grinned, an unnervingly wide and malicious smile. Its blackened eyes bored into Josuke's soul.
"Well, well, well," the figure drawled, its voice dripping with mockery. "Look who decided to say hi."
Josuke instinctively stepped back, his fists clenched. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice filled with a mix of fear and defiance.
The figure tilted its head, its grin never faltering. "Who am I?" it echoed, its tone mocking. "I'm you, Josuke. Or rather, the part of you you've tried so hard to bury." It gestured to the surreal world around them. "Welcome to your true self your abyss."
Josuke's mind raced, struggling to process the figure's words. This wasn't possible. This thing, this twisted version of himself, couldn't be real.
"You're lying," Josuke growled, his voice steady despite the fear creeping into his heart. "You're not me."
The figure chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the warped landscape. "Believe what you want," it said, its voice low and taunting. "But you can't deny the truth forever. I've always been here, watching, waiting. And now… you're finally ready to face me."