Doppelgangers—mysterious and misunderstood — were a rare species, few in number, yet rich in spirit.


    They did not seek war.


    They did not crave power.


    They simply wanted to live in peace.


    Far from the eyes of humans and other species, they built a quiet sanctuary—a village nestled deep within an untouched valley, hidden by dense forests and towering cliffs.


    Here, they farmed their land, tended to their animals, and raised their families, just as any other civilization would.


    Yet, unlike humans, every doppelganger possessed a unique gift.


    They could shift their forms, becoming any monster or human they desired.


    At the core of their existence, both literally and figuratively, was a small, glowing gem embedded in their bodies—the source of their shapeshifting ability.


    But among them, one doppelganger stood above the rest—Grion, their leader.


    A kind and just ruler. A loving husband. A devoted father.


    He, like every leader before him, carried a special gift—immortality.


    It was a power passed down through generations, given only to the one who would bear the burden of leadership.


    With his wife and young daughter by his side, Grion ruled wisely and gently, ensuring that their people could thrive in secrecy.


    Their village was small but prosperous, their hearts light with the joy of a life untouched by war.


    Or so they thought.


    One day, as the sun hung low in the sky, a group of doppelgangers discovered injured humans in the nearby forest.


    The humans were wounded, starving, desperate.


    Grion, as always, chose compassion over fear.


    The strangers were brought into the village. Their wounds were treated.


    Their hunger was satisfied.


    For days, the doppelgangers cared for them, tending to their injuries, feeding them, offering them shelter.


    The humans smiled at their kindness.


    Laughed with them.


    Thanked them.


    And when they were strong enough, they left.


    The village continued their daily lives, unaware—


    That their greatest mistake had already been made.


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    A month passed.


    It was a day like any other.


    The sun rose over the valley, casting golden light over the village.


    Children played, farmers worked, and the doppelgangers continued their peaceful existence.


    Then—


    A tremor in the earth.


    A distant metallic clang.


    And then—


    Shouts. Footsteps. Weapons. Armor.


    From the forest, they came—the same humans they had once saved.


    But this time, they did not come in need.


    They came in war.


    Behind them, an army marched—a force of soldiers clad in steel, weapons gleaming under the daylight.


    The doppelgangers stood frozen, confused, fearful.


    They had done nothing wrong.


    They had only helped.


    And yet—


    The soldiers drew their blades.


    Arrows were nocked.


    A war horn blew, shaking the very air.


    Grion stepped forward, his golden eyes filled with disbelief.


    “Why…?”


    His voice was soft, yet it echoed in the silence.


    The man who had once thanked him—now stood at the front of the army.


    His expression was cold.


    "Monsters like you should not exist."


    And the slaughter began.


    -----


    The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning wood, a sickening blend of death and destruction.


    The once-peaceful valley echoed with the sounds of steel cleaving flesh, the agonized cries of the helpless, and the merciless laughter of those who held the blades.


    Without a moment’s hesitation, without a shred of remorse—the human army descended upon the village like a storm of steel and fire.


    Swords flashed, spears thrust forward, and arrows rained down like a merciless downpour, striking down doppelgangers before they could even comprehend what was happening.


    The village, their sanctuary, had become a slaughterhouse.


    Panic surged through the streets like a wildfire, but there was nowhere to run.


    The towering cliffs that had once shielded them from the world now served as their prison.


    Doppelgangers were shapeshifters, not warriors.


    They had no weapons, no battle formations, no experience in the ways of war—only the desperate will to survive.


    Some tried to transform—into towering beasts, monstrous creatures, even into the very humans who had betrayed them.


    They hoped to frighten their attackers, to make them reconsider.


    But fear did not halt the blades. Fear did not stop the slaughter.


    The humans outnumbered them tenfold. Blades tore through soft flesh, severing limbs, piercing hearts, crushing throats.


    Blood soaked the soil, thick and dark, painting the village in hues of red and black.


    Children screamed, their voices shrill with terror, as they watched their parents butchered before their eyes.


    Mothers clutched their infants, pleading for mercy, only to be run through where they stood.


    Fathers threw themselves at the invaders, their fists and claws striking out in desperate defiance, but their fury was nothing against sharpened steel.


    Some doppelgangers fell to their knees, hands raised in surrender, their voices trembling with disbelief.


    "Why? Why are you doing this?"


    The humans scoffed, their faces twisted with disdain.


    "There is nothing to say to monsters."


    And they drove their swords through their skulls.


    At the heart of the carnage stood Grion, their leader.


    His red eyes blazed with fury, his voice a deafening roar as he tore through the ranks of invaders.


    His claws sliced through flesh, his rage turning the air thick with the scent of blood.


    Spears and swords struck his body again and again—stabbing, slashing, piercing deep. But he did not fall.


    He could not fall.


    His wounds sealed themselves within seconds, flesh knitting back together even as the weapons were pulled from his body.


    He kept fighting.


    But it didn’t matter.


    For every soldier he struck down, ten more took their place.


    He watched helplessly as his people fell around him.


    A young girl, no older than five, reached out for her mother—only to be silenced by a soldier’s sword.


    An elder, his wrinkled hands raised in surrender, was impaled through the mouth by a waiting spear.


    A mother shielded her infant with trembling arms, sobbing, whispering prayers to gods who would not answer—only for an arrow to pierce through both their hearts.


    Bodies littered the ground, broken and lifeless.


    Their blackened doppelganger blood seeped into the earth, swallowed by the land that had once been their refuge.


    Smoke curled into the sky, thick and suffocating, as the village burned.


    Their home, their haven, was being reduced to ash.


    Then, through the smoke and blood, he saw them.


    His wife. His beloved.


    His daughter. His precious child.


    The soldiers had cornered them, their faces twisted with sadistic pleasure.


    His wife held their daughter close, tears streaking down her face, her body trembling as she whispered soft reassurances.


    Grion’s heart shattered.


    He lunged forward, claws ripping through soldiers in his path.


    His roars tore through the battlefield, a desperate plea, a command, a prayer.


    "DON’T TOUCH THEM!"


    But it was too late.


    A soldier grabbed his wife by her hair, yanking her away from their child.


    His daughter screamed, struggling, reaching out for her mother.


    Grion’s voice cracked with desperation. "No—please! Take me instead! We saved you! WHY?"


    The soldiers sneered. "Monsters should know their place."


    The sword sank into his wife’s stomach.


    Her breath hitched.


    Her lips parted in a silent gasp as blood dripped from her mouth.


    She turned her gaze toward Grion—eyes filled with sorrow, with love, with farewell.


    "Grion..."


    Her body crumpled to the ground.


    Their daughter wailed, tiny arms reaching out.


    A soldier raised his sword.


    And in a single stroke—


    Her small body was split in two.


    Grion’s scream shook the heavens.


    "NOOOOO!"


    He charged forward, blind with agony, deaf to reason, uncaring of death.


    Swords plunged into his chest, arrows buried themselves deep into his flesh.


    But he did not die.


    He could never die.


    And so, the human mages intervened.


    Chains of magic wove around him, tightening like vipers, binding his limbs, forcing him to the ground.


    A frost spell surged through his body, encasing him in unyielding ice.


    He could do nothing but watch.


    Watch as the last of his people were butchered.


    Watch as the soldiers laughed, cheered, celebrated their glorious victory.