Aryan ran through the burning city, his breaths sharp, his heartbeat erratic. The air was thick with the stench of ash and blood. Skyscrapers collapsed like sandcastles, their shattered glass raining down like falling stars. Explosions rocked the earth beneath his feet. The sky—no, the entire world—was splitting apart.

And then he saw them.

An army of faceless soldiers marched through the ruins, their boots crushing corpses as they advanced. Their weapons pulsed with eerie, violet energy. At their center, towering above the destruction, stood a figure cloaked in shadows—his presence alone warping the air around him.

The Void Emperor.

Aryan had seen him before. A hundred times. Maybe more. And every time, the result was the same.

He died.

The Emperor raised a single hand, and reality itself bent to his will. Aryan’s body flickered, his vision distorted. The world around him fractured like a shattered mirror. And then—

Darkness.

Aryan awoke with a gasp, his fingers clawing at damp sheets. His chest heaved as he stared at the ceiling of his small apartment, sweat dripping from his forehead.

The same dream. Again.

He turned to the clock on his nightstand. 3:47 AM.

His heart still pounded against his ribs. His throat was dry, his body shaking. He had seen himself die in that vision—felt the pain of being torn apart. It had been happening for months now, but lately, it was getting worse. More vivid. More real.

He swung his legs over the bed and rubbed his face. "Get a grip, Aryan," he muttered to himself. "Just a dream."

But he knew it wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The next morning, Aryan moved through his day in a haze. The world around him felt…off. People moved slightly out of sync, their voices a half-second delayed. Objects in his room seemed different—his desk lamp wasn’t where he left it. His phone vibrated with messages he didn’t remember sending.

And his reflection.

It didn’t move.

He had noticed it first while brushing his teeth. He spat, wiped his mouth, and looked up. His reflection was still brushing.

He froze, his stomach twisting into knots.

The reflection smiled.

Aryan stumbled back, knocking over a bottle of soap. His pulse thundered in his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again—

Everything was normal.

His reflection mirrored him perfectly.

He touched the sink, exhaling sharply. "Okay…okay. Just stress. I need sleep."

But deep down, he knew that was a lie.

That night, Aryan lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He was too afraid to sleep. Too afraid to dream.

His lamp flickered.

Then his phone screen flashed. New Notification: UNKNOWN MESSAGE.

He hesitated before opening it.

UNKNOWN: "He is coming. Run."

His breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled as he typed a reply.

ARYAN: "Who is this?"

No response.

Outside, the wind howled. Shadows stretched unnaturally across his room. Then—

A knock at the door.

Slow. Measured. Three precise taps.

Aryan’s stomach dropped.

He wasn’t expecting anyone.

He reached for his baseball bat under the bed, creeping toward the door. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn around, to pretend he didn’t hear it. But he had to know.

Another knock.

He gripped the doorknob, inhaled sharply, and swung it open.

Nothing.

Just an empty hallway.

But then, he saw it.

A single mark, glowing faintly on the floor—a symbol he had never seen before. As he stared at it, something in his head clicked.

His vision blurred. His ears rang. The world around him bent and twisted like melted glass. And suddenly—

He wasn’t in his apartment anymore.

Aryan stood in the middle of a war-torn city, just like in his dreams. Flames devoured the skyline. The air was thick with smoke and death. His heart pounded as he turned in a frantic circle.

Then, he saw him.

Another Aryan.

Blood dripped from his lips. His clothes were torn, his body battered. He stumbled forward, grabbing Aryan’s wrist.

"You…need…to run," he choked out. "They’re hunting us. All of us."

Aryan’s breath hitched. "Who?"

The sky split open. A massive ship loomed overhead, casting a shadow over the battlefield. Soldiers dropped from the sky, their faceless visors glowing red.

His other self gritted his teeth. "No time—"

A pulse of energy ripped through the ground, sending Aryan flying. He hit the pavement hard, pain exploding in his ribs. When he lifted his head—

The other Aryan was dead.

A massive figure stepped through the flames. Cloaked in darkness, his very presence seemed to consume the light around him. His glowing crimson eyes locked onto Aryan.

The Void Emperor.

Aryan’s body trembled. He knew he had to run. Had to move. But the Emperor simply raised his hand—

And reality shattered.

Aryan gasped, sitting up in bed.

His room was intact. No fire. No blood. But something was wrong. His arm burned.

Looking down, he saw it.

A glowing symbol, etched into his skin.

A voice whispered in his head.

“The hunt has begun.”

Aryan turned slowly to his mirror.

His reflection didn’t move.

It grinned.

And then it lunged.

[END OF CHAPTER 1]