The world spiraled into chaos as Elektra plummeted toward the roaring waters below. The wind howled in her ears, tugging at her hair, biting against the raw wounds on her skin. Her limbs were heavy, numb, the pain from her battered body receding under the relentless pull of gravity. Yet, none of it truly registered.


    The coldness of the atmosphere, the certainty of the water rising to meet her, and even the faint glimmers of sunlight filtering through the misty air all faded into the background. Her vision narrowed, her thoughts clouding as something far more vivid forced its way to the surface of her mind—a fragment of memory, or perhaps a dream, crashing over her with the intensity of a wave.


    It began as a flicker, a disjointed spark of recollection amidst the chaos. For a moment, she was aware of the fall—the wind, the waters below—but then it was gone. The roar of the world around her dimmed, overtaken by a faint hum. Her consciousness unraveled and stitched itself into something else entirely, the memory pulling her under like the water below.


    Building to a prickling sensation on her skin, the hum grew into a loud, charged vibration. The air was thick, alive with an energy that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. The biting cold disappeared, replaced by an oppressive, electric warmth. Her mind reeled, struggling to process the sudden shift, but her body—was it even her body?—stood perfectly still.


    She was no longer falling.


    Elektra blinked, her surroundings resolving into sharp clarity. She sat in a circular chamber, dimly lit by an otherworldly glow. The walls were carved from dark stone, their surfaces rough and ancient, etched with intricate, glowing lines that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the crackling brazier at the room’s center. Bluish-white lightning arced lazily within the fire bowl, its radiance casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls like restless phantoms.


    She looked down at her hands instinctively.


    They weren’t hers.


    Her breath hitched, the sight jolting her like a spark of electricity. These hands were larger, broader, their knuckles rough and scarred, the palms calloused from years of battle. The hands of a warrior. She flexed them slowly, her heart racing as the movement felt foreign yet natural, like wearing someone else’s skin.


    “What is this?” she whispered, her voice faint.


    Her stomach twisted.


    The voice wasn’t hers. It was deeper, gravelly, unmistakably male.


    She stumbled back, her boots scraping against the stone floor, the sound echoing eerily in the chamber. Her eyes darted around, searching for answers in the strange room that felt simultaneously unfamiliar and intimately known. Her breathing quickened as the weight of realization crushed her.


    Desperate for clarity, her gaze flickered to a gleaming surface at the edge of the chamber. A polished shield leaned against the wall, its edge catching the brazier’s glow. She hesitated for a heartbeat, dread pooling in her gut, but her legs carried her forward as if compelled by an unseen force.


    Kneeling, she leaned in toward the reflective surface.


    The face staring back at her was not her own.


    It was Warren’s.


    Her breath caught in her throat, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She touched her face with trembling hands—his hands—and the reflection mirrored her movements perfectly. The weight of her realization was suffocating, her mind scrambling to understand.


    “This can’t be real,” she muttered, her voice—his voice—shaking. “This is…”


    Returning to this hell-like dream was too much to bear. Having already experienced this place once, she had wished she had never returned to this damned dream.


    She was interrupted by the sound of deliberate footsteps echoing behind her, each step measured and unhurried, their cadence like the ticking of a countdown. She spun around, her pulse hammering as a figure emerged from the shadows beyond the brazier’s glow.


    It was herself.


    No, not quite.


    The figure was taller, older, her features sharper, her presence commanding and cold. This older version of herself moved with an almost predatory grace, her movements precise and purposeful. Her hair, streaked with silver, shimmered faintly in the brazier’s light. But it was the figure’s appearance that froze Elektra in place.


    It was Elektra–only in the future.


    Her eyes locked onto Elektra—no, onto Warren’s body. Her lips curled into a smirk, one devoid of warmth.


    “Well, Warren,” the older Elektra said, her voice smooth and laced with quiet menace. “Do you have something to say for yourself?”


    Her stomach churned as she clenched her fists experimentally. The movement felt alien, disconnected. She froze as a deep, gravelly voice slipped past her lips.


    “What...?” she muttered, the sound reverberating in her ears. Panic pricked her senses. Her breath quickened as she stumbled toward the reflective surface of a polished silver shield mounted on the far wall.


    The face staring back wasn’t hers.


    The older Elektra folded her arms, her mouth curling into a humorless smile. “Say something then, Warren?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying an undeniable edge of authority.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Elektra tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her mind raced, struggling to process the surreal situation. “I…” she stammered, “I don’t understand—”


    The older Elektra cut her off, stepping closer. “What’s there to understand? You’ve always been a threat to me.” Her tone was casual, almost conversational, but the storm brewing in her eyes was anything but.


    Elektra stumbled back instinctively, the dread in her chest intensifying. “A threat? I–you did everything for me! You protected me, made me stronger!” she cried, desperation lacing her voice. “Why would you do this to me?”


    The older Elektra’s expression softened momentarily, though the sparks around her hands flared brighter, a tear even fell down her eye. “I knew you would understand. And I love you for that, Warren.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an almost genuine sadness. “But love doesn’t outweigh survival.”


    A crackling sound split the tense silence, sharp and alive, like a thousand whispered threats tearing through the air. The older Elektra raised her hand with deliberate precision, and from her fingertips, a bolt of electricity erupted in a violent surge. The energy coiled and spiraled outward, an undulating serpent of raw power, its edges glowing white-hot as it lashed toward its target.


    Elektra—still confined within Warren’s body—felt the static charge ripple through the air, crawling across her borrowed skin like invisible needles. Her hair, or rather Warren’s, stood on end as the electric force drew closer, the sharp scent of ozone filling her lungs. Every nerve screamed in anticipation, her instincts screaming that this was a strike she couldn’t withstand.


    Panic seized her, and she flinched back, throwing her arms up in a futile attempt to shield herself. The movement felt clumsy, unfamiliar in Warren’s broader frame, the bulk of his muscles resisting her every motion. The air sizzled as the tendrils of lightning snapped and sparked, arcing just inches from her forearms.


    Her heart pounded wildly, her vision narrowing as the world seemed to slow. The electricity’s glow reflected in her wide eyes, its crackling roar almost drowning out the sound of her own breath. She could feel the raw power radiating from the bolt, a force of destruction that threatened to consume her whole.


    And yet, despite the terror that gripped her, a strange and horrifying thought surfaced: this ability, this storm—it was hers. Or rather, it would be.


    “No!” she shouted, stepping back until her heels hit the chamber’s cold stone wall. “Please, you don’t have to do this!”


    The older Elektra tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Oh, Warren,” she murmured. “You’re my brother, and I love you. But you’re also in my way.”


    Before Elektra could muster a response, the older version of herself lifted her hand, fingers spread with deliberate cruelty. The surrounding air charged in an instant, crackling with an unbearable intensity. The bluish-white light from the electricity swelled into an arc so bright it blotted out the shadows on the chamber walls. It was raw, alive, and vengeful, a force summoned to destroy.


    With a flick of the older Elektra’s wrist, the lightning surged forward like a lance of pure energy, striking Elektra square in the chest. The impact was devastating.


    Pain erupted through her body, an all-consuming agony that seemed to split her apart from the inside. Her muscles seized violently, locking her in place as the electricity poured through her veins, racing along every nerve ending. Her lungs refused to expand, and for a terrifying moment, it felt as though her entire chest might collapse under the force.


    Her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the cold stone floor, her body convulsing uncontrollably. The lightning left behind a searing heat, as if her skin and the very blood within her had been set aflame.


    Overwhelmed, her senses reeled. Her vision blurred, fading to white, before snapping back into a haze of colors and shadows. Her ears rang with a high-pitched whine, drowning out the crackle of residual electricity in the air. She gasped for air, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts as the pain wracked her frame.


    Every instinct screamed at her to move, to fight, but her limbs felt leaden, her strength drained. The agony was unrelenting, a hint at the power wielded by the older version of herself.


    “Please,” she croaked, her voice raw and barely audible. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood from her earlier wounds. “You don’t have to do this… he’s your brother…”


    The older Elektra crouched down, her cold eyes locking onto hers. For a fleeting moment, there was genuine regret in her gaze. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry your mind is starting to deteriorate. Yes, you’re my beloved brother,” she said softly. “That’s why this is mercy.”


    Another bolt of electricity arced from her hand, striking Elektra’s—Warren’s—body again. The pain was unbearable, her vision swimming in darkness. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.


    The world shattered around her.


    ***


    Snapping back to reality, she hit the water with a bone-jarring impact. The icy cold tore her from the vision, yanking her back to the present. The agony in her body flared, sharp and unrelenting, but it was nothing compared to the weight of what she had just seen—what she had just felt.


    Her body sank into the murky depths, the cold water seeping into every wound and crevice, dragging her further down. Her thoughts spiraled, the vision replaying in her mind with agonizing clarity.


    She was going to become that… that monster. She could see it so clearly now—the path she was walking, the choices she was making. If she lived, she would destroy everything she loved. She would become her own worst nightmare.


    Maybe it was better this way.


    The thought was cold, heavy, and final, sinking deeper into her with every second. Elektra let the water pull her down, her battered body limp, her mind a quiet storm of resignation. The pain coursing through her chest dulled, replaced by an eerie numbness. What was left for her up there? A future where she became the very thing she feared—a monster without limits, without restraint.


    Her limbs drifted, weightless, in the murky depths. Her lungs burned with the growing need for air, but she ignored it. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the icy embrace of the abyss.


    Then a flicker of motion cut through the darkness, sharp and intrusive.


    At first, she didn’t register what it was. Her mind, sluggish and disconnected, dismissed it as nothing. But the flicker grew, becoming a shape—human, determined, and relentless.


    Sabir.


    Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she wished they hadn’t. Seeing him was like being torn from the fragile numbness she’d found. His face was a blur through the water, but his expression was unmistakable—pure anger and something else she didn’t want to name. His outstretched hand reached for her, cutting through the gloom like a lifeline she hadn’t asked for.


    A bitter ache gripped her chest. Why was he coming after her? Why couldn’t he just let her go? It’s what he always wanted, wasn’t it?


    The weight of the water pressed harder against her, and for a fleeting second, she considered pulling away, letting herself drift further into the void. But Sabir was relentless. His silhouette grew clearer, his determination breaking through her resolve.


    Her body betrayed her mind, her fingers twitching weakly, as though they had a will of their own. His hand came closer, closer still, the faint glow of the surface rippling far above them.


    Their hands brushed, and the faintest jolt of sensation shot through her—a spark, faint but insistent. It wasn’t hope; she wasn’t sure she had any of that left. But there was something in the dud’s eyes, something she couldn’t ignore.


    The roar of the water filled her ears, and for a moment, everything else—the chaos, the fear, the crushing weight of her own despair—faded into the background. There was only Sabir, his hand reaching for hers, refusing to let her sink.