The Confrontation
The cold wind cut through the barren clearing like a blade, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and lingering tension. The sky above was an expanse of deep purple and charcoal, the stars barely peeking through the heavy clouds. Emjay stood in the center of it all, his breath forming pale ghosts in the frigid night air, his muscles taut as he faced the figure that had haunted his every step for what felt like an eternity.
The traitor stood a few feet away, their presence an ominous weight pressing down on Emjay's chest. Cloaked in the shadows, the figure exuded an air of careful calculation, the kind of stillness that spoke of confidence—danger. The mask they wore was expressionless, a blank slate of deception that only deepened the mystery of who—or what—they truly were.
Emjay's fingers twitched near his weapon, the anticipation like electricity crawling up his spine. His instincts screamed at him to act, to strike first, but he held himself back. He had come here for answers, not a premature fight.
"You called me here," Emjay finally said, his voice firm despite the knot tightening in his throat. "So talk."
A low chuckle echoed from behind the mask, almost amused, almost… familiar. "Still impatient, aren't you?" the traitor said, tilting their head slightly. "Always rushing into things without understanding the full picture."
Emjay narrowed his eyes. "I didn't come here to play games."
"No," the traitor mused, stepping forward just enough for the light to catch the edges of their mask. "You came here searching for answers."
And with that, the traitor lunged.
A Dance of Blades
The clash of metal rang through the clearing, sharp and unforgiving. Emjay's blade met his opponent's in a flurry of movement—swift, precise, desperate. Sparks flew as steel kissed steel, each strike countered with effortless precision.
Every move Emjay made, the traitor was already there, a step ahead, blocking, dodging, striking with a level of anticipation that bordered on the unnatural. It was infuriating. It was impossible.
Emjay gritted his teeth, pivoting into a feint meant to mislead, but before the move was even completed, the traitor had already stepped aside, their blade grazing his side, slicing through the fabric of his jacket. It wasn't deep, but it was a warning.
"My moves are useless," Emjay muttered under his breath, twisting out of reach of another strike. "It feels like… you know me too well."
The traitor let out a dark, humorless laugh, stepping back just enough to meet Emjay's gaze. "Or maybe," they said, their voice dripping with amusement, "it's that I know myself too well."
Emjay's breath hitched. A flicker of confusion sparked in his mind, breaking his focus just long enough for the traitor to seize the moment.
"Oh, silly me," the masked figure said with mock playfulness, reaching up with deliberate slowness. "I forgot to take this off."
The mask dropped to the ground with a soft thud.
Emjay froze.
He was staring at his own face.
A War Against Himself
It was like looking into a mirror warped by time—his own features, but older. Sharper. Eyes filled with something deeper than anger—resentment, betrayal, pain forged into something unrecognizable.
Emjay took an unsteady step back. "What the hell…?"
The older version of himself—his other self—smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Surprised?"
"You—" Emjay's mind struggled to process what he was seeing. "I've been fighting against myself this whole time?"
His older self sighed, shaking his head. "That's right."
"Why?" Emjay demanded, his voice raw. "Why are you fighting against yourself? Why am I fighting myself?"
His older self's expression darkened. "Because I despise you."
Emjay clenched his fists. "Despise me? Why? What did I do?"
His older self's gaze turned cold. "You want answers? Fine. I'll give them to you."
He took a step forward, his voice laced with venom. "A long time ago, you—no, i—had a perfect life. Friends, a future. Hope." His lip curled. "Then the dreams started."
Emjay's heart pounded. "Dreams?"
"Yes." The older Emjay's voice lowered. "In those dreams, another version of me appeared, whispering secrets. Telling me I had the power of time. That I could travel through it, but with a cots, to sacrifice one of your body parts, with that cost cones with a gift, you can see the future abd past through it، sacrifice your eye, see the future. Sacrifice your arm, feel the future."
Emjay swallowed hard. "That's crazy."
"That's what I thought too." The older Emjay's jaw clenched. "But you got greedy. You wanted to see if it was real."
A shadow passed over his face. "So, you made your choice. You sacrificed your right eye."
Emjay stiffened. His hand instinctively went to his face, to the smooth surface of the artificial eye he had worn for so long. He slowly removed it, revealing the hollow socket beneath. A shiver ran through him.
The older Emjay gave a bitter smile. "Ah. You've been hiding it well."
Emjay's voice was barely a whisper. "And?"
"And," The older Emjay said, stepping closer, "after you used the power, you stayed in the present. But another part of you—me—was thrown into the future."
Emjay's stomach twisted. "And what did you find?"
The older Emjay's eyes darkened. "Nothing. No one. A future where I was completely alone." His voice cracked. "Everyone I loved—gone."
Emjay's throat was dry. "That's why…"
The older Emjay's eyes burned. "Yes. That's why I sought revenge. Because you, the you in this timeline, were the one who made me travel. You abandoned me."
Emjay shook his head. "I didn't know—"
"You didn't care," The older Emjay snapped. "So I changed my name. I refused to be you. I became Mjodi, Afterwards i decided to use the power again, This time i sacrificed my left eye, And traveled to your timeline, And since I'm not am already an existed version, In an already existed world, My left eye didn't regenerate, And as you can see, I didn't hide it like you cowardly did, But after all that i still continued to get revenge."
Emjay's fists clenched. "And so you started this war?"
Mjodi nodded. "I found weak people. I gave them a purpose. A home. Just like you did with your team." He smirked. "We're not so different, are we?"
Emjay's eyes burned with fury. "You used them."
"I entertained myself," Mjodi corrected. "I created chaos. I made sure your life was shattered—just like mine was."
A ghost of a smirk crossed Mjodi's lips. "You know, it's funny," he mused. "You always hated the nickname 'Mjodi' back in the day. Remember when she called you that as a joke? You got so mad you tried to flip a table—except it was bolted to the floor."
Emjay's stomach twisted. He remembered. He remembered how they had laughed for days. How precious the memories were.
For a moment, he saw the younger version of himself—the one who had friends, laughter, warmth.
Mjodi attacked again. The fight raged on, neither willing to relent. Blades clashed, fists connected, blood was spilled. Emjay lunged, driving his knee into Mjodi's ribs. Mjodi countered with a savage elbow to Emjay's jaw.
They moved like shadows, tearing through the clearing, fighting with everything they had. It was a war not just of strength, but of will, of survival.
They fought for minutes, for hours—it felt endless. Both of them battered, bruised, struggling to breathe, yet neither willing to yield. The battle stretched on, a brutal, unrelenting storm.
Then, suddenly—
Pain. A sharp, cold agony in his stomach.
Emjay gasped, looking down to see Mjodi's blade buried in his gut.
Mjodi leaned in, whispering, "Checkmate."
Emjay's body trembled. His left hand instinctively covered his left eye. Regret washed over him like a tidal wave. His lips parted, voice weak.
"I wish... I could return to the past... and fix everything..."
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
Then, everything went dark.