Surviving To Die 

Chapter 1

     Dominic Grayson had always been the kind of guy people described as "uncomfortably talented." His skills ranged from martial arts to weaponry, with a knack for solving problems that even made the best assassins look like rookies. But his real talent? Sarcasm. No matter the situation, he had a quip ready to go.

It all started on a Wednesday, because of course it did. Dominic was lounging in his dimly lit loft, sipping his morning joe, when his phone buzzed. The message was simple: "Meet me. You’ll regret it if you don’t." No name. No location. Just pure arrogance. Exactly his kind of thing.

"Well, that’s ominous," he muttered, eyeing the message. "Because why wouldn’t I want to walk straight into what is clearly a trap?"

Twenty minutes later, he found himself in an abandoned warehouse, because naturally, nothing screams "set-up" like a warehouse that hasn't seen action since the 80s. The air was thick with dust, and only a few old lamps flickered weakly along the perimeter. Dominic surveyed the scene, annoyed at how predictable it was. He was about to leave when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Grayson! You showed up."

Dominic turned and saw a man in a black trench coat. Tall, lean, with a crazed smile plastered across his face. Dominic raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're not my 8 o'clock. I had high expectations for this slot."

The man pulled a long blade from his coat, making a slow, deliberate show of it. "I’ve been sent to render you deceased."

"Right. Because a text threat wasn't enough. And the knife? How retro of you." Dominic stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a joe getting cold at home."

The fight was over before it even began. Dominic dodged the man’s first wild swing, rolled under the second, and with a swift kick to the knees, the guy was on the floor. A single punch to the throat finished the job. Dominic stepped back, brushing off the dust from his jacket, shaking his head.

"Amateur."

But just as he was about to turn and leave, a figure lunged at him from behind the stacked crates. A new opponent, this time armed with a pair of machetes. Dominic sidestepped the attack, groaning inwardly. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

The fight intensified, with each of Dominic’s calculated moves countered by the stranger's relentless attacks. Steel clashed against steel, the sound echoing through the warehouse. But Dominic, ever the professional, knew how to play with his food. After a few more maneuvers, he swept the guy’s legs and sent him crashing to the ground.

"Didn’t even get your name," Dominic quipped, rolling his shoulders. "Next time, start with introductions."

But before the dust had even settled, another figure stepped out from the shadows. Dominic barely had time to catch his breath before a fist came flying towards his face. He ducked, his mind racing. This wasn’t random. Someone was orchestrating these attacks—one after the other, no breaks, no time to think.

"Oh, come on! Is there a line out there or something?!" he shouted sarcastically, dodging yet another punch. The new assailant didn’t respond. Silent types. Typical.

Dominic’s muscles were starting to burn, but he wasn’t about to let it show. He delivered a quick combination of strikes, sending his newest attacker crumpling to the ground.

Breathing heavily, he scanned the room, waiting for the next one. There was always a next one. He could feel it—like a storm gathering right behind him.

And then, out of the darkness, the next figure stepped forward. Dominic smirked, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip.

"All right," he muttered under his breath, cracking his neck. "Let’s do this dance."

The battle was far from over. And Dominic knew one thing for certain: he had no idea how many were coming for him, but he wasn’t going down without a sarcastic comment to mark every punch.

Because, really—what fun was a fight without some witty banter?

Chapter 2:

Dominic’s body felt like it had been run over by a semi, but his mind was sharp—too sharp for what was happening. The room had grown quiet again, save for the rhythmic flicker of one lamp that seemed as exhausted as he was. He checked his surroundings, noting the bodies sprawled on the cold concrete.

"Is this some kind of self-help retreat where you find out how much pain you can handle?" he muttered to no one in particular. He was starting to wonder if he had walked into some elite assassin hazing ceremony. But no, this was different—too calculated, too relentless.

He leaned against a stack of old crates, catching his breath. "If the next guy doesn't bring a sandwich, I’m going to lose it."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the large, rusted doors to the warehouse creaked open again. The slow groan of metal made his stomach sink. It was as if the world was mocking him.

"Of course," he muttered. "Right on cue."

This time, the figure that entered was different. Tall, built like a tank, and wearing full combat gear. The guy looked like he had walked straight out of a military catalog. Dominic rubbed his temples. "Great. Just when I thought we were done with the knife-wielding psychos, they bring in G.I. Joe."

The soldier took one look at the fallen bodies around him and cracked his knuckles. "You’ve been busy."

"Busy is an understatement, my friend," Dominic replied, stepping forward. "I’m practically running a business out here. But hey, feel free to take a number. I think we’re up to... what? Seven?"

The soldier said nothing, unsheathing a sleek, black tactical knife from his vest.

Dominic let out an exaggerated sigh. "You guys and your knives, man. What is it, some kind of fetish? Does no one bring a decent weapon to these things anymore?"

The soldier charged at him, all brute force and no finesse. Dominic sidestepped the first attack, using the soldier’s own momentum to flip him over onto the concrete. The man recovered quickly, spinning around and swinging his knife in rapid, precise motions.

"Okay, so you’ve got some skills," Dominic admitted, blocking each strike. "But let me guess—silent type, doesn’t do small talk? Real ‘lone wolf’ energy, am I right?"

The soldier's face remained expressionless as he swung harder. Dominic’s sarcasm was met with cold determination, which, to him, was more annoying than intimidating.

"You could at least try to have fun with this," Dominic said, dodging another stab. "This is supposed to be a two-way conversation, you know? I insult you, you make a snide comment—it’s basic combat etiquette."

The soldier finally managed to cut through Dominic’s defenses, nicking his arm with the blade. Dominic winced but immediately twisted the guy’s arm, forcing him to drop the knife. With a swift kick to the chest, Dominic sent him sprawling across the floor.

"Too bad. I thought we had something there." Dominic looked down at the soldier, who was struggling to get up. "But hey, don’t feel bad. I’ve been on a bit of a winning streak tonight."

Just as Dominic was about to finish him off, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He turned just in time to see another figure enter the room—a woman this time, lithe, graceful, but with a cold, calculating expression.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Aha, so now we’re mixing it up a bit. What, did you draw the short straw?"

The woman didn’t respond. She simply smiled—a smile that sent a chill down his spine. Without a word, she reached into her belt and pulled out... throwing knives. Dominic groaned inwardly.

"Oh, fantastic," he muttered. "Because regular-sized knives weren’t enough."

The woman moved with lightning speed, hurling the blades in rapid succession. Dominic dodged the first two but had to dive behind a crate to avoid the rest. The knives embedded themselves into the wood with a series of sharp thunks.

"I get it, I get it! You’re good!" Dominic shouted, peeking out from behind the crate. "But you know what else is good? Dialogue! I mean, come on, this is getting a little one-sided here!"

She didn’t miss a beat, flipping through the air with cat-like grace and landing on top of the crate he was hiding behind. She kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.

Dominic hit the ground hard, gasping for air. "Okay," he groaned, "that was uncalled for."

She leaped down from the crate, pulling another knife from her belt. Dominic rolled out of the way just in time, the blade missing him by inches. He scrambled to his feet, his body screaming in protest, but his mind was already calculating his next move.

"You know," he said, dodging another strike, "this is really starting to feel like a bad action movie. And trust me, I’ve seen all the bad action movies."

She smiled again—cold, predatory—then lunged at him with a flurry of attacks. Dominic blocked most of them, but he was getting tired. This wasn’t sustainable. He needed to end this, and fast.

"All right, fine," he muttered, grabbing one of her wrists mid-swing and twisting it sharply. She gasped, more out of surprise than pain, and dropped the knife. Dominic kicked it away.

"I was really hoping for some witty banter," he said, before delivering a swift punch to her solar plexus. She staggered back, winded. "But I guess I’ll have to settle for silence."

He grabbed her by the arm, spun her around, and threw her into the crates. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Dominic stood over her, catching his breath.

"Please tell me that’s the last one," he whispered to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow.

But deep down, he knew better. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As he took a step back, the lights flickered—those damn lamps—and he heard more footsteps. The echo of boots on concrete. More than one pair this time.

Dominic groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Oh, come on," he said, exasperated. "Can’t a guy get a five-minute break?"

He turned to face the new challengers, a weary smile on his face. "All right then," he muttered under his breath, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

Chapter 3:

The footsteps grew louder, echoing in sync with the flickering lamps. Dominic braced himself, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. His muscles screamed in protest, but his brain was on overdrive. Three? Four pairs of footsteps? Maybe more. It was hard to tell with all the noise bouncing off the cold, empty walls of the warehouse.

And then, they appeared. Four figures—dressed in varying degrees of combat gear. One had brass knuckles, another a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire (seriously?), a third was holding a chain, and the last one? Just stood there, arms crossed, a mountain of muscle, towering over the rest.

"Well," Dominic said, clapping his hands together, "this is just getting ridiculous."

The guy with the baseball bat cracked his neck and smirked. "You’ve been busy, Grayson. Got tired of playing with the little ones?"

"Oh, you guys actually talk! Thank God. I was beginning to think I’d wandered into some kind of mute assassin convention."

Mr. Baseball Bat chuckled darkly. "Talk all you want, it won’t save you."

Dominic sighed, his eyes darting between the four. "Look, before we get into it, can we just—what’s with the barbed wire? Did you guys run out of weapons? Couldn’t find a proper bat?"

The guy with the bat sneered. "It’s to make sure it hurts."

"Ah, yes. Good old pain. You’re really leaning into the cliché, aren’t you?" Dominic took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Not that I don’t appreciate the theatrics, but let’s be real—there’s a certain art to this whole thing. And that bat? Just screams, ‘try-hard.’"

Dominic barely had time to finish his sentence before Mr. Baseball Bat lunged at him, swinging wildly. Dominic ducked, rolling out of the way just as the bat slammed into the floor with a sickening crack.

"See? Unwieldy. Too much flair, not enough follow-through," Dominic quipped, sidestepping another swing.

But before he could counter, the guy with the chain came at him, whipping the metal toward Dominic’s legs. He jumped, barely clearing the sweep, but the guy was fast—faster than he looked. The chain snapped back like a whip, this time aimed at Dominic’s head.

With a quick twist, Dominic caught the chain in mid-air, yanking it out of the guy’s hands. "I appreciate the effort, but maybe leave the medieval weapons to the pros, huh?"

The guy with the chain staggered back, stunned, as Dominic twirled it casually, as if demonstrating a point. He smirked and whipped the chain toward the barbed-wire-bat guy, who had just recovered and was charging again. The chain wrapped around the bat, and with one sharp tug, Dominic disarmed him, sending the bat clattering across the floor.

"Now, that’s just embarrassing," Dominic said, tossing the chain aside. "You had one job."

But just as he turned, he felt a fist slam into his ribs. The guy with the brass knuckles had made his move. Dominic stumbled back, the pain shooting up his side. Brass Knuckles followed up with another punch aimed at his head, but Dominic blocked it just in time.

"Okay, that actually hurt," Dominic muttered through gritted teeth. "I guess you’re the serious one."

Brass Knuckles didn’t respond—just kept swinging. Each punch was precise, fast, aimed to break bones. Dominic weaved and ducked, his body running on muscle memory. But he could feel himself slowing down. The fight was taking its toll.

He managed to catch one of Brass Knuckles' punches, twisting his arm and landing a knee to the guy’s stomach. Brass Knuckles gasped, but Dominic didn’t stop. He slammed his elbow into the guy’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Stay down," Dominic muttered, clutching his side.

But of course, the last guy—the mountain of muscle—wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t moved much, just watched, waiting for the right moment. Now, that moment had come.

"You think you’re clever, don’t you?" Mountain rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.

"Not really. Just more clever than you," Dominic shot back, wincing as he took a defensive stance. This one was going to hurt.

Mountain lunged, and it felt like the ground shook beneath Dominic’s feet. The man was a tank—each punch was like a sledgehammer. Dominic blocked the first, barely deflecting it, but the second punch caught him square in the shoulder, sending him skidding backward.

"Okay," Dominic hissed, "that was unpleasant."

Mountain charged again, this time aiming low. Dominic tried to sidestep, but the giant was faster than he looked. A thick arm wrapped around Dominic’s waist, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll. Mountain slammed him into the nearest crate, the wood splintering on impact.

Dominic gasped, the wind knocked out of him. He tried to focus, but his vision was swimming. He could hear Mountain’s heavy breathing as he closed in for the kill.

"Any last words, Grayson?" Mountain asked, cracking his knuckles.

Dominic coughed, struggling to stand. "Yeah... you need a mint."

With a groan of effort, Dominic swung his leg, catching Mountain right in the knee. The big guy roared in pain, stumbling back just long enough for Dominic to grab a loose piece of broken crate and smash it over Mountain’s head.

The giant staggered, dazed but still standing. Dominic used the last of his energy to kick him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.

Dominic dropped to one knee, panting, sweat dripping from his face. He glanced around the room, now littered with unconscious bodies. For a moment, he thought it was over.

But then, he heard it—a slow clap, echoing through the warehouse. Dominic’s heart sank.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

From the shadows, a figure stepped forward. Tall, wearing a suit. Calm, collected. Unlike the others, this one didn’t look like he was here for a fight. No weapons, no dramatic entrance. Just a smug, knowing smile.

"Well done, Grayson," the man said, his voice smooth and condescending. "But this... was just the warm-up."

Dominic, still on the floor, wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Of course it was."

The man chuckled. "Oh, don’t worry. The real fun is just beginning."

Dominic groaned, shaking his head. "And here I was, thinking this was going to be a quiet Wednesday."

Chapter 4:

Dominic stared up at the suited man, who was still clapping slowly as if Dominic had just finished a show instead of nearly breaking every bone in his body. The guy’s smile was unnervingly calm—way too calm for someone surrounded by a room full of unconscious goons.

"Look, buddy," Dominic said, struggling to stand, "if you’re here for the entertainment, I gotta tell you, the show’s over. Unless you brought popcorn. Then, maybe I’ll consider a second act."

The man stopped clapping, his smile widening. "Oh, Dominic. You always did have a way with words. But I’m afraid you’re far from done."

Dominic raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you know me? Great, because I don’t know you, and frankly, that makes this whole situation even more awkward."

The man took a step forward, hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered by the carnage around him. "Oh, we haven’t met... not officially. But I’ve been following your... progress for a while now."

Dominic leaned against the remains of a crate, eyeing the guy warily. "That’s not creepy at all."

"Come now," the man said, glancing at the bodies on the floor. "You’ve been getting better with every fight. It’s almost impressive."

"Almost impressive?" Dominic repeated, mock-offended. "Do you know how hard it is to keep a winning streak in these conditions? Not to mention all the property damage I’m going to have to explain later."

The suited man chuckled, as if Dominic’s sarcasm was exactly what he’d expected. "I think you’ll find that property damage is the least of your worries. You’ve been chosen, Dominic."

"Oh boy," Dominic muttered, rolling his eyes. "Here we go. Let me guess—you’re the mastermind behind all this? Some kind of ‘man-behind-the-curtain’ type who’s been throwing all these thugs at me for sport? Or is this a weird initiation ritual? Because, spoiler alert, I’m not joining any clubs."

The man’s smile didn’t falter. "In a way, yes. You’ve proven yourself to be quite... resilient. Most wouldn’t have lasted this long."

Dominic shrugged. "I’ve had worse Tuesday nights."

"Let me explain," the man said, his tone growing more serious. "This isn’t just a game. It’s a test. A trial, if you will. We’re looking for the strongest, the most resourceful, the ones who can endure—and rise above."

Dominic blinked, trying to suppress a laugh. "Okay, so I am in some kind of assassin reality show. Fantastic. Can’t wait for the highlight reel."

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, his calm demeanor cracking for the first time. "This is bigger than you realize, Dominic. There’s a world—hidden from the average person. A world where power is everything. And those who can survive these trials... they become part of something greater."

"Wow," Dominic said, nodding sarcastically. "That was almost inspirational. Really, you had me at ‘hidden world.’ But listen, pal, I’m just a guy who didn’t want to die tonight. So if you could kindly send me home with a decent cup of joe and maybe a back massage, I’ll be on my way."

The suited man sighed, clearly not amused by Dominic’s attitude. "You won’t be going anywhere until the final trial is complete."

Dominic crossed his arms, wincing slightly from the pain in his side. "Final trial? You mean there’s more? Seriously, do you guys have a schedule for this, or do I just keep waiting for the next lunatic to pop out of the shadows?"

The man tilted his head slightly. "Oh, they won’t be coming from the shadows this time."

Dominic was about to ask what that meant when he heard the faintest sound of footsteps behind him—again. Instinctively, he spun around, fists raised, ready to face the next challenger.

But what he saw made his blood run cold.

This time, it wasn’t just another hired thug. It was a man, around his height, dressed in a sleek black suit similar to the one worn by the guy who had been speaking to him. But there was something else—a look in the man’s eyes, something Dominic recognized all too well. It was the look of someone who had been through the fire and come out on the other side—someone like him.

"Meet your final opponent," the suited man behind Dominic said, his voice smooth and smug. "We call him... the Executioner."

Dominic sized the guy up, his sarcasm momentarily fading as the reality of the situation sank in. The Executioner looked calm—too calm. His movements were controlled, deliberate, as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles without breaking eye contact.

"Great," Dominic said, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Of course, he gets the cool name."

The Executioner didn’t say a word, just kept moving forward. There was no need for banter with this one. Dominic could feel it. This guy wasn’t here to play. He was here to finish what the others couldn’t.

Dominic’s mind raced. His body was aching, every muscle protesting with each step he took to ready himself. But he couldn’t back down now. There was something different about this fight. Something final.

"Let me guess," Dominic said, trying to summon the last of his sarcasm, "you’re the top dog in this little pyramid scheme? Win against you, and I get a free toaster?"

The Executioner’s eyes remained locked on Dominic, unblinking. His movements were methodical, each step calculated. Dominic swallowed, mentally preparing for the fight of his life.

"Fine," Dominic muttered, taking a deep breath. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

And then, the Executioner lunged.

It was fast—faster than any of the others. Dominic barely had time to react, dodging the first strike by sheer instinct. The force of the punch whizzed past his head, sending a gust of wind across his face.

"Whoa!" Dominic yelped, stumbling back. "Okay, this guy means business."

The Executioner wasted no time, following up with a series of lightning-fast attacks. Dominic blocked, dodged, and deflected as best he could, but the guy was relentless. Each hit was precise, aimed to cripple.

Dominic’s body was running on pure adrenaline, his muscles screaming in protest as he barely kept up with the onslaught. He managed to land a punch to the Executioner’s ribs, but the guy didn’t even flinch.

"Of course," Dominic muttered, ducking under a roundhouse kick. "Because why would he feel pain like a normal person?"

The Executioner responded with a knee to Dominic’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Dominic staggered, gasping for breath, but he knew he couldn’t stop. Not now.

He spun around, trying to create some distance, but the Executioner was already on him again, grabbing Dominic by the collar and throwing him across the room. Dominic crashed into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under his weight.

As he struggled to stand, Dominic caught a glimpse of the suited man watching from the shadows, that same smug smile on his face.

"You're doing well, Grayson," the man called out. "But the real test is just beginning."

Dominic groaned, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed. A motivational speech."

The Executioner was already closing in again, his fists clenched, ready to end it. But Dominic wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

With a surge of defiance, he pushed himself up, wiping the blood from his mouth and giving the Executioner a look of pure determination.

"You know what?" Dominic said, his voice ragged but strong. "I think I’ve had enough of this."

And with that, he charged forward, ready to face the final trial head-on.

Chapter 5:

Dominic dashed forward, eyes locked on the Executioner, who moved like a dark shadow, smooth and controlled, as if he knew exactly how this fight would go. Each of his attacks was sharp and relentless, but Dominic had been through too much to let himself back down now.

“You know,” Dominic grunted between dodges, “I’m really not in the mood for this. Been a long night, pal.”

He threw a punch that landed squarely on the Executioner’s side, earning a grunt from the man, though it was hard to tell if it hurt him or just annoyed him. Dominic stepped back, flexing his hand and eyeing his opponent.

"Well, at least you’re not made of steel. Points for that."

The Executioner didn’t reply, not that Dominic expected a conversation. The man’s next move was faster, a whirlwind of strikes that kept Dominic dodging and blocking like his life depended on it. And, frankly, it did.

“I’m just saying,” Dominic huffed, narrowly avoiding a kick that would’ve sent him flying. “We could settle this with a nice cup of joe, you know? Skip all the violence.”

Of course, no response. Just more relentless attacks. Dominic was starting to feel the strain—his muscles ached, his breathing was heavier, and it didn’t help that this guy seemed to get faster the longer the fight went on.

"Alright, new strategy," Dominic muttered, rolling away from another strike. "Don’t get hit. Genius idea, Grayson."

The Executioner pressed forward, his silence unnerving. Dominic tried to regain some ground, ducking and weaving around the heavy blows. His vision blurred for a second—he’d definitely taken a few hits he wasn’t feeling just yet.

“You’re, uh, really not a talker, huh?” Dominic said, sidestepping another attack. “That’s fine. I talk enough for the both of us.”

The Executioner’s next punch grazed Dominic’s side, sharp enough to remind him how little room for error he had. He backpedaled, barely keeping his balance, trying to shake off the fatigue setting in.

"Okay, Plan B," Dominic muttered, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on a broken crate nearby, splintered wood scattered on the floor. Not ideal, but maybe it could work.

Dominic grabbed a piece of the wood, brandishing it like a weapon. “Alright, let’s see how you feel about this!”

The Executioner glanced at the makeshift weapon, then continued his attack, seemingly unfazed. Dominic swung the wood, but the man blocked it easily, knocking it from his hand in one swift motion.

“Yeah, that… didn’t go as planned,” Dominic admitted, shaking out his hand. “But I’m learning!”

The Executioner moved again, closing the distance in a flash, and Dominic barely ducked out of the way. He felt a sharp twinge in his ribs as the man’s knee connected. Wincing, he staggered back, trying to catch his breath.

"You know," Dominic gasped, "you could at least pretend this is hard for you."

The Executioner, unsurprisingly, didn’t respond. Dominic tried to think of a way out, his body screaming for a break, but there was no time. The man was on him again, faster than ever.

Just as Dominic was about to get cornered, he did something instinctual—he dropped low, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. The Executioner stumbled, giving Dominic a moment to regroup.

Dominic scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. “Okay, that was a solid move. I’ll give myself that.”

The Executioner rose to his feet with alarming speed, but Dominic didn’t give him time to fully recover. With all the energy he had left, he lunged forward, tackling the man to the ground. They struggled, rolling across the floor in a tangle of limbs, each trying to gain the upper hand.

For a brief second, the Executioner’s grip tightened around Dominic’s throat, and panic surged through him. But before the darkness fully set in, Dominic managed to twist free, gasping for air as he stumbled back.

"Not… done yet," Dominic coughed, clutching his sore throat.

The Executioner stood, slower this time, showing the first signs of wear. Dominic saw it—just a hint of a limp, the slightest hesitation. He’d managed to get through, even if just a little.

"Still wanna go for that cup of joe?" Dominic said, attempting a smile despite the pain shooting through his body.

Before the Executioner could respond—or not respond, as usual—the sound of a door creaking open echoed through the warehouse. Dominic’s eyes darted toward the entrance as a shadowy figure stepped into the room.

"That’s enough," a calm voice said, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Both Dominic and the Executioner froze. The new arrival walked into the dim light, his presence commanding. It was the suited man from before, the one who seemed to be orchestrating all this madness.

"You’ve done well, Grayson," the man said, his tone smooth and almost too friendly. "Better than expected, actually."

Dominic, still catching his breath, raised an eyebrow. "Glad I could exceed expectations. Do I get a gold star or…?"

The man’s smile didn’t falter. "This trial is over. You’ve passed."

Dominic blinked. "Passed? Passed what? A psychotic obstacle course?"

The man’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You’ll find out soon enough. For now, just know that you’ve proven yourself. You’ve earned your place."

"My place? Buddy, I’m not trying to earn anything here. I’m just trying to stay alive."

The man chuckled softly, stepping closer. "You’ve already begun a journey, Dominic. There’s no turning back now."

Dominic stared at him, his heart still racing, a knot forming in his stomach. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

But the man’s expression said otherwise.

And Dominic had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

Chapter 6:

Dominic stood there, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. The suited man’s cryptic words hung in the air like the stale scent of the warehouse.

“Let me get this straight,” Dominic wheezed, finally standing upright, “you put me through a fight with Mr. Silent Rage over here just so I can ‘earn’ my place in some secret club?”

The suited man nodded, his smile still infuriatingly calm. “Precisely.”

“Well, next time,” Dominic said, rubbing his sore shoulder, “how about you just send an email? Maybe a nice welcome package? Chocolate works too.”

The Executioner had stepped back, his mission apparently over. He stood silently in the corner, watching but no longer advancing. Dominic couldn’t help but feel like he was still being sized up, like some science experiment.

“So what happens now?” Dominic asked, exasperated. “You tell me I’ve ‘earned my place,’ I get a pat on the back, and we all head home?”

The suited man chuckled. “Hardly. You’ve earned the right to move forward.”

Dominic squinted, clearly unimpressed. “Forward into what, exactly? More of this?” He gestured around the room, toward the scattered debris and broken crates.

“Forward into the next stage,” the man said, his voice steady. “There’s much more for you to learn. More tests, more challenges. You’ve only scratched the surface.”

“Fantastic,” Dominic muttered, rolling his eyes. “And here I was thinking I’d get a vacation.”

The suited man raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by Dominic’s sarcasm. “You should know, Dominic, that you’re far from ordinary. You’ve been chosen for a reason.”

“Yeah, because I’m really great at getting into fights I didn’t ask for,” Dominic shot back, folding his arms. “What’s your deal, anyway? Some secret organization of elite fighters? Do you guys have a catchy name? Cool jackets?”

The man didn’t answer, which only annoyed Dominic further.

“Right, of course,” Dominic sighed. “You’re all about the mysterious vibes. Got it.”

The suited man took a step closer, his smile fading just a bit. “In time, you’ll understand. For now, you’ll have to trust that this is bigger than you. Much bigger.”

Dominic let out a short laugh. “Oh, trust me, I’ve figured that part out. But you know, usually when someone says ‘bigger than you,’ they at least give a hint about what’s going on.”

The man glanced at the Executioner, then back at Dominic. “You’ll get your answers soon enough. But first, there’s one more opponent you must face.”

Dominic groaned. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me. This guy wasn’t enough? Who’s next, a ninja with a flaming sword? A wrestler who breathes fire?”

The suited man didn’t smile this time. “Someone far more dangerous.”

Dominic rolled his eyes again, but there was a flicker of unease in his gut. “Yeah, sure. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” the man said smoothly. “Just survival.”

Dominic stared at him, then threw his hands up in frustration. “Great. Survival. My favorite game. Let me guess, this one’s not going to be a talker either?”

But before Dominic could get another sarcastic jab in, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind him. Slow. Deliberate. He turned to see a figure emerging from the shadows of the far corner, stepping into the dim light.

This one was different. Smaller, more agile-looking, but there was something about the way they moved that made Dominic’s stomach tighten. It was like watching a predator circle its prey, except this time, Dominic was very much aware he was the prey.

The new opponent wore a mask—simple, black, with no visible emotion. Their movements were calculated, precise, and they carried themselves with a confidence that made Dominic’s skin crawl.

The suited man stepped back, as if giving the stage to the new arrival. “Meet your next challenge,” he said simply.

Dominic stared at the masked figure, his mind racing. This was different from the Executioner. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something told him this opponent wasn’t about brute strength. They were faster, sharper. And that made them even more dangerous.

“Alright,” Dominic muttered under his breath, shaking out his arms. “Here we go again.”

The masked figure didn’t waste any time. They lunged forward, moving with a speed that caught Dominic off guard. He barely managed to sidestep the first strike, but the figure was already adjusting, spinning gracefully into another attack.

“Okay, so you’re fast,” Dominic said, ducking a roundhouse kick. “Good for you.”

He tried to counter, throwing a punch toward the figure’s midsection, but they blocked it effortlessly, their movements fluid and precise. This was going to be a whole different ballgame.

The figure’s attacks came in quick succession—sharp jabs, swift kicks—forcing Dominic to stay on the defensive. He could feel his muscles screaming in protest, exhaustion creeping in from the previous fight. But he couldn’t slow down. Not now.

“Really should’ve taken up yoga,” Dominic muttered as he dodged another strike, narrowly avoiding a sweep of the leg.

But as fast as the figure was, Dominic had something they didn’t—an ability to adapt on the fly. He knew he couldn’t match their speed, so he changed his approach. Instead of trying to keep up, he let them come to him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The figure moved in again, and this time, Dominic was ready. He sidestepped at the last second, grabbing their arm and using their own momentum against them, flipping them over onto the ground. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave him a split second to breathe.

“That’s right,” Dominic said, panting. “Not just a pretty face.”

The figure quickly recovered, flipping back onto their feet with an unsettling grace. They didn’t seem rattled, just more determined. And Dominic realized this fight was far from over.

But before either of them could make another move, the suited man clapped his hands once, a sharp sound that echoed through the warehouse.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice firm.

Dominic and the masked figure both froze, still eyeing each other warily.

“You’ve proven your skill, Dominic,” the man said, stepping forward. “For now, that’s all we require.”

Dominic, still breathing heavily, frowned. “So what? I get a break now? Time to catch my breath before the next round of fun?”

The man’s smile returned. “For now, yes. But remember, this is only the beginning.”

Dominic didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.

“Great,” he muttered, rubbing his sore arms. “I’ll just… wait for my next death match invitation, then?”

The man nodded, ignoring the sarcasm. “You’ll be contacted when it’s time.”

And just like that, the suited man turned, the masked figure following silently behind him. They disappeared into the shadows, leaving Dominic standing there, alone in the warehouse, with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Awesome,” Dominic muttered, looking around the empty room. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Chapter 7:

Dominic stood in the silence of the now-empty warehouse, his heart still racing, his muscles burning from the back-to-back fights. The dim light flickered above him, casting long shadows across the debris-strewn floor. He let out a heavy sigh and slumped against the nearest crate, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor.

"Seriously, what is this?" he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "Some twisted game show? ‘Survive or Die’ with your host, Creepy Suited Guy?"

He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. The exhaustion was setting in, but more than that, it was the constant tension. The feeling that no matter how hard he fought, something worse was always lurking around the corner.

“Great, just great,” Dominic said to himself, eyes scanning the room for anything useful—a door, a phone, an exit. Nope. Nothing. “At least they could’ve left me a chair. Maybe a sandwich.”

Dominic pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. The masked figure had landed a few good hits, and he could feel the bruises starting to form. He made his way to the center of the room, trying to figure out his next move.

And then, as if on cue, the warehouse lights flickered off, plunging him into complete darkness.

“Oh, come on!” Dominic yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. “Can I get a break for five minutes?”

He fumbled in his pocket for the small torch he’d grabbed earlier. Flicking it on, he swept the beam of light across the room. The warehouse was eerily quiet now, no sign of the suited man or the masked fighter. Just shadows and silence.

Dominic took a deep breath, trying to keep his nerves in check. “Alright, focus. There’s gotta be a way out of here.”

He started walking, the torchlight barely illuminating the path in front of him. His footsteps echoed in the vast, empty space. The feeling of being watched crept back in, but he shook it off, trying to stay focused. This was all some elaborate test, right? A way to push him to his limits?

“Who even does this?” Dominic muttered, shining the torch on the far wall. “Is this some secret training program? ‘Welcome to Fight Club—where the rules are, there are no rules and no coffee breaks.’”

He reached the wall, running his hand along the surface, looking for any sort of door or opening. Nothing. Just solid concrete.

“Of course,” Dominic sighed. “No easy way out.”

He continued searching, feeling the weight of exhaustion in every step. His mind wandered as he moved. Who were these people? And why him? It’s not like he volunteered to be in some survival gauntlet.

“And that guy—Executioner 2.0—what’s his deal?” Dominic muttered, kicking a stray crate out of the way. “If these people are just going to throw random fighters at me, can they at least introduce themselves first? Like, ‘Hi, I’m here to try and kill you, but let’s shake hands and exchange pleasantries.’”

Just as he was about to give up on the wall, his torchlight caught something—a faint outline, barely noticeable in the concrete. He leaned in closer, squinting.

“Hello, secret door,” Dominic said, pressing his palm against the surface. It didn’t budge. He knocked on it, hoping to hear something hollow behind. Still nothing.

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” he muttered, stepping back and eyeing the door. “Now how do I—”

Suddenly, the floor beneath him shuddered, the whole warehouse groaning as if something massive had just shifted. Dominic stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet.

“Whoa—what now?!”

The sound of grinding metal echoed through the warehouse, and slowly, the secret door he’d found began to slide open, revealing a narrow passageway. Beyond it was only darkness, the air thick and heavy.

Dominic stared at the open doorway. “Yeah, this doesn’t scream ‘obvious trap’ at all.”

But standing around in the warehouse wasn’t exactly a great option either. At least this passageway was something. With a resigned sigh, Dominic stepped forward, aiming his torchlight down the passage.

“Into the creepy hallway of doom I go,” he muttered. “This is just a regular Friday night for me now, apparently.”

He moved cautiously, the passageway getting narrower with every step. The walls were rough, unfinished stone, and the air was colder here, damp. There was something unsettling about it, like the space had been carved out of the earth long ago and forgotten.

The further he went, the more his instincts screamed at him to turn back. But Dominic wasn’t about to give up now. He’d come too far, fought too hard. There had to be some way out of this nightmare.

After what felt like forever, the passage opened up into a small, dimly lit chamber. Lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a flickering, yellowish glow across the room. In the center stood a lone figure.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dominic groaned, eyeing the figure. It was another fighter—this one dressed in all black, their face hidden by a hood. They stood still, waiting, like they’d been expecting him.

“Alright,” Dominic said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Let me guess—another ‘test’? Or are we just skipping the introductions now?”

The figure didn’t respond, just took a step forward, drawing a long blade from their side. The sound of steel slicing through the air sent a shiver down Dominic’s spine.

“Yeah, I figured,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The figure moved fast, faster than Dominic had anticipated. But this time, Dominic was ready. He’d learned from his earlier fights—don’t try to match speed. Focus on timing.

As the figure lunged, Dominic sidestepped, deflecting the blade with a quick movement of his arm. He followed up with a sharp elbow strike to the ribs, hoping to knock the wind out of his opponent.

But the figure barely flinched, spinning around and bringing the blade down in a deadly arc. Dominic ducked just in time, feeling the blade slice the air above his head.

“Okay, so you’re tough,” Dominic grunted, backing away to reassess. “Good to know.”

The figure pressed the attack, relentless, but Dominic stayed on the defensive, dodging and deflecting as best as he could. He could feel his body slowing down, his energy draining. But he had to keep going. He had to stay sharp.

“Gonna have to do better than that!” Dominic called out, hoping a little trash talk would throw them off. No response. Just more focused attacks.

“Right, forgot—no one here likes to chat,” he muttered, narrowly avoiding another strike.

Dominic spotted an opening, and without hesitation, he moved. In a flash, he stepped inside the figure’s guard, knocking their blade aside and landing a solid punch to their side. The figure staggered back, surprised but not down.

“That’s more like it,” Dominic said, grinning despite himself.

But the figure wasn’t done. They recovered quickly, lunging at Dominic with renewed ferocity. Dominic braced himself for the onslaught, knowing this fight was far from over.

Another opponent. Another battle. And somewhere, deep down, Dominic knew that this was only the beginning of something much, much worse.

“Just another day at the office,” he muttered, readying himself for the next attack.

Chapter 8:

Dominic’s breath was coming in shallow bursts now, his muscles burning with the effort of dodging and blocking the endless flurry of strikes. The hooded figure didn’t let up, their blade flashing in the dim light of the chamber like a gleaming phantom.

“What—do you—guys eat?” Dominic gasped between dodges, barely managing to twist out of the way of another swipe. “Protein shakes—laced with adrenaline?”

The figure lunged again, and Dominic barely managed to catch the blade with his forearm guard, sending it skidding off course. He used the opening to land a quick knee to the figure’s gut. It was a solid hit, but they didn’t stagger like he expected.

Dominic groaned inwardly. “Of course, you’re made of steel.”

The figure tilted their head slightly, as if acknowledging the hit, but they were back on Dominic in an instant. This time, they aimed for his legs. Dominic barely jumped back in time, but the figure was relentless, not giving him a second to breathe.

“What’s your deal, huh?” Dominic shouted, frustrated. “You another volunteer for the ‘Let’s Take Out Dominic’ party?”

Still no answer. The figure’s movements were precise, methodical, like they’d been trained to fight for hours without tiring. Dominic, on the other hand, was running on fumes.

“Okay, okay, gotta think,” Dominic muttered to himself, ducking under a slash. “They’re faster, stronger—no big deal. I’ve been here before. It’s just a... recurring nightmare with knives.”

He glanced around the room, searching for anything he could use. The chamber was sparse, but the flickering lamps on the walls gave him an idea. He just needed a distraction—a way to break the figure’s rhythm and give himself a moment to breathe.

Dominic feigned a stumble, making it look like exhaustion was finally getting the better of him. The figure, sensing weakness, closed in, raising their blade for a finishing strike.

“Now!” Dominic surged forward, grabbing one of the lamps off the wall and swinging it hard. The lamp smashed into the figure’s arm, sending sparks flying as the metal frame collided with the blade.

The figure staggered, momentarily off-balance, and Dominic didn’t waste a second. He spun, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to the side of the figure’s head. This time, the hooded opponent went down hard, their blade clattering to the floor.

Dominic stood over the fallen figure, breathing heavily, every muscle in his body protesting the continued strain. “Well, that was... fun,” he panted, wincing as he bent down to pick up their blade.

But before he could fully recover, he felt it—the unmistakable shift in the air. Another presence. Someone—or something—was watching him.

Dominic groaned, letting the hooded figure’s blade drop. “Of course, you’ve got friends.”

He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the room. The flickering light made it hard to see, but there was definitely someone else here. He could feel it, like the weight of a shadow pressing down on him.

“Alright, mystery guest number… what are we at now? Five?” Dominic called out, raising his arms in mock invitation. “Come on out. Let’s get this over with.”

The silence that followed was unsettling. No footsteps, no whispers—just the steady flicker of the lamps and the soft sound of his own breathing.

Dominic’s grip tightened on the broken lamp he still held. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.

And then, as if from the shadows themselves, a figure stepped into the dim light. Tall, muscular, and completely unarmed. They wore a simple black suit, like the first man Dominic had fought, but this one was different. He didn’t have the same detached, eerie presence. He looked more… focused. Calculating.

“Well, you’re definitely not here for small talk,” Dominic muttered, sizing the new opponent up. “At least this one isn’t wearing a mask. Progress.”

The man didn’t respond, just started to roll his neck, loosening up his shoulders as if preparing for a long workout. Dominic couldn’t help but feel like this was someone who enjoyed the fight—someone who had been watching him this entire time and waiting for his moment.

“Alright, buddy,” Dominic sighed, shifting his stance. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Without warning, the man moved. He was fast—faster than Dominic had anticipated. A blur of motion, closing the distance between them in an instant. Dominic barely had time to raise his guard before the first punch landed.

It was like being hit by a freight train. The impact sent Dominic stumbling backward, his arms numb from the blow.

“Okay, new guy’s got some power,” Dominic gasped, shaking the feeling back into his arms. “Good for you.”

The man didn’t give him time to recover. Another flurry of punches came at Dominic, and this time, he was forced to dodge, weaving out of the way with every ounce of energy he had left. He couldn’t afford to take another hit like that.

But as the man pressed the attack, Dominic started to notice something. The man was strong, yes—unbelievably so—but his attacks were predictable. There was a rhythm to them, a pattern Dominic could exploit.

“Alright,” Dominic muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I can work with this.”

He ducked under a punch, countering with a quick jab to the ribs. The man barely flinched, but Dominic wasn’t aiming for damage. He was testing—feeling out the gaps in the man’s defense.

Another punch, another dodge, another counter. Slowly, Dominic began to push back, forcing the man to adjust his attacks.

“You’re strong,” Dominic said, breathing heavily as he dodged yet another strike. “But strength’s not everything.”

The man’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. A hint of frustration, maybe?

Dominic grinned. “Gotcha.”

With one final dodge, Dominic spun low, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. The man crashed to the floor, and Dominic quickly followed up with a hard strike to his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

Dominic stood over the man, panting, his whole body shaking with exhaustion. “Yeah, you might want to rethink your approach next time.”

But as he looked down at the man, Dominic couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The silence that filled the room was oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

He knew another opponent would be coming. And soon.

Dominic staggered back, clutching his side where the bruises from earlier fights throbbed painfully. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“One at a time, huh?” he muttered, glancing toward the dark hallway. “Fine. Bring it on.”

Because no matter how many came at him, Dominic knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Chapter 9:

The room seemed to breathe with Dominic, the flickering of the lamps dancing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He leaned against the wall for a second, trying to catch his breath, the stillness in the air almost unnerving. He knew the calm wouldn’t last long, and the tightness in his chest warned him of what was coming next.

“Why do I always sign up for the worst kind of nights?” Dominic muttered, rubbing his sore ribs. “Could’ve been home, having a quiet night with some joe. Maybe watch a movie, chill out... but no. I’m out here getting smacked around by a bunch of silent tough guys in fancy suits.”

The silence was his only answer. He half-expected another shadowy figure to leap out at him right then, but nothing happened.

“Alright, fine. I’ll enjoy the quiet while I can.”

He moved slowly toward the far door, half expecting it to burst open with another attacker. Instead, it just creaked ominously as he pushed it. Dominic peered into the hallway beyond—a long stretch of narrow corridor, lit only by a few dimly glowing lamps that barely pushed back the shadows.

He sighed. “Because dark, creepy hallways are always a good sign.”

Still, he had no choice but to press forward. He stepped cautiously into the hall, every muscle tense, his ears tuned for the slightest sound. As he crept forward, he could feel the tension building again, like something was waiting for him just ahead. But where?

Suddenly, the lamp at the far end of the corridor flickered—once, twice—before plunging into darkness.

Dominic froze. His senses were on high alert now, adrenaline flooding his veins. “Okay, here we go. Round... six?”

The quiet hum of footsteps echoed from behind him. Dominic spun around, ready for whatever was about to jump out, but the hallway behind him was empty. The footsteps stopped.

“Oh, great. Invisible enemies now?” Dominic joked, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. “What’s next, fighting shadows?”

Another lamp flickered. This time, it was directly overhead. Dominic felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, a cold chill running through his spine. He took a step back, his eyes darting left and right, but there was nothing—just the endless stretch of the dim corridor.

Then he heard it.

A whisper. Faint, barely audible, but it was there.

“Dominic…”

He stiffened, his hand instinctively tightening around the broken lamp he still held. “Okay, nope. No. Not dealing with creepy whispering ghosts now. You’ve got the wrong guy for that.”

The whisper came again, louder this time. “Dominic…”

“Oh, come on!” Dominic shouted into the empty hall, his voice echoing off the walls. “If you’re gonna haunt me, at least show your face! I’m not playing this horror movie hide-and-seek nonsense!”

A low, guttural laugh echoed through the hall in response. Dominic’s pulse quickened, and his grip tightened on the makeshift weapon. He turned slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. The laughter was eerie, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Alright, new guy, I get it. You’re trying to mess with my head. But I’ve had a rough night, and I’m not in the mood.”

Suddenly, a figure materialized from the shadows at the end of the hall—a tall, lanky figure draped in a dark cloak, its face completely obscured. This one was different from the others, less physical, more... ethereal.

“Seriously?” Dominic groaned. “You again with the cloaks and shadows? What is this, some kind of cryptic villain convention?”

The figure glided toward him silently, its feet never touching the ground. Dominic shifted his stance, readying himself for whatever was about to come. His heart pounded in his chest, but his sarcasm was the only shield he had left.

“Alright, Casper, let’s dance,” he muttered, his voice steadier than he felt.

The figure stopped just a few feet away, and for a long moment, it simply hovered there, watching him with unseen eyes. Dominic swallowed, the tension unbearable.

Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the figure lunged at him.

Dominic barely had time to react. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding the ghostly swipe. The air around him felt cold, like he’d just dodged a blade made of ice. He stumbled back, keeping his distance.

“Okay, not a fan of that!” he shouted. “Gotta be honest, this is getting a bit ridiculous!”

The figure spun around, its cloak billowing like dark smoke as it launched another attack. This time, Dominic was ready. He ducked again, swinging the broken lamp as hard as he could. The lamp passed through the figure like it wasn’t even there, but the force of the swing knocked Dominic off balance, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Really? That’s the best I’ve got?” Dominic groaned, rolling to his feet. “Of course, you’re a ghost. Because why wouldn’t you be?”

The figure loomed over him, raising its hands as if to deliver a final blow. Dominic’s mind raced. He needed to do something—anything—to stop it.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something—the lamps along the walls. The ones still flickering, still pushing back the darkness.

“Oh,” he muttered, a plan forming. “Light.”

He scrambled to his feet, dodging the figure’s next attack and darting toward the nearest lamp. Grabbing it, he ripped the whole thing off the wall, sparks flying as the connection snapped.

The figure paused, as if sensing what Dominic was about to do.

“Oh, you don’t like this, do you?” Dominic taunted, holding the lamp up like a torch. “Afraid of a little light?”

With a burst of energy, Dominic swung the lamp toward the figure. The bright glow seemed to ripple through the dark, and for a split second, the figure recoiled, its form wavering.

Dominic pressed the advantage, moving closer, the lamp held high like a shield. The figure hissed, its ghostly form flickering, becoming more transparent with each passing second.

“You should’ve stayed in the shadows, buddy,” Dominic said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and frustration.

With one final push, he thrust the lamp forward, the light overwhelming the figure. It let out a final, haunting shriek before evaporating into the darkness, leaving Dominic standing alone in the now-empty corridor.

Dominic slumped against the wall, the weight of the night catching up to him. “Okay… maybe I’ll just sleep here.”

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t over. Something—or someone—was still waiting for him. And they wouldn’t stop until they had him.

He glanced down the corridor, the shadows still lingering at the edges of the lamps’ glow.

Dominic sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Who’s next?”

Chapter 10:

Dominic took a deep breath and braced himself. The eerie quiet of the corridor felt like a warning, like the air was holding its breath right along with him. He’d been through the grinder already—fought enough opponents to fill a bad action movie. But this? This felt different.

He pressed forward, the dim light of the lamps casting long shadows across the walls. His body ached, but his mind was racing. Every time he thought he had a handle on what was happening, something stranger came along. First, men in suits, then a ghostly figure. Now, the darkness itself seemed to be watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

As he walked, Dominic’s thoughts turned to the big question that had been gnawing at him since the night began: Why? Why was this happening to him? Why were these enemies coming after him, one by one? And why did it feel like he was being led somewhere?

He reached the end of the corridor and found himself standing before a massive door, much larger and more ornate than the others. It felt like the final step in some bizarre test, the culmination of everything he’d fought through tonight.

“Well, this looks welcoming,” Dominic muttered, placing a hand on the door. It felt cold to the touch, sending a chill up his spine.

With a heavy push, the door creaked open, revealing a large, open chamber beyond. It was bathed in a soft, unnatural light, and at the far end stood a figure, their back to him. The figure wore a long, dark coat, their posture relaxed but purposeful.

Dominic stepped into the room, his footsteps echoing ominously. “Okay, I’m here. I’ve dealt with all your goons. Wanna tell me what this is all about?”

The figure didn’t move. For a moment, it was as if Dominic hadn’t spoken at all. Then, slowly, the figure turned around, and Dominic’s breath caught in his throat.

The man standing before him was... him.

Dominic stared at his own face, a twisted reflection of himself. The other Dominic had the same sharp eyes, the same scar along his jawline, but there was something off—something darker, colder. The doppelgänger smirked, folding his arms casually.

“Surprised?” the other Dominic said, his voice a perfect mirror of Dominic’s own. “You should be. It’s not every day you come face-to-face with your better self.”

Dominic blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of it all. “What... what is this? Some kind of sick joke? Who are you?”

The doppelgänger’s smirk widened. “I’m exactly who you think I am. I’m you, Dominic. Or rather... I’m what you could be.”

Dominic shook his head. “No. No, this is insane. I’ve been fighting all night, and now I have to deal with some... copy of myself?”

The other Dominic laughed—a low, unsettling sound. “You think it’s been random, don’t you? All those fights, all those enemies. But it’s all been leading here. You’ve been tested, Dominic. Pushed to your limits. And now... it’s time to see if you’re worthy.”

“Worthy? Of what?” Dominic growled, his patience wearing thin.

The doppelgänger took a slow step forward, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “You’ve been fighting yourself this entire time, Dominic. Every opponent, every challenge—they were all manifestations of the parts of you that hold you back. The fear. The doubt. The anger. And now, I’m what’s left.”

Dominic’s mind reeled. “So... you’re saying this was some kind of twisted therapy session? Fight my inner demons and come out better on the other side? That’s... that’s messed up.”

“Not quite.” The doppelgänger’s smirk faded, replaced by something colder, more calculating. “This isn’t about making you better. This is about seeing if you’re strong enough to survive. Strong enough to take control.”

“Control of what?” Dominic asked, his voice rising in frustration. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

The other Dominic’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Control of you, Dominic. This was never about defeating some random enemies. It’s about defeating yourself. The part of you that’s weak. The part of you that hesitates. The part of you that clings to hope when you should embrace power.”

Dominic clenched his fists, his anger rising. “I’m not weak. I’ve fought through everything tonight, and I’m still standing.”

The doppelgänger raised an eyebrow. “Are you? Or are you barely holding on, one step away from giving up?”

The words hit Dominic like a punch to the gut. He’d been hanging on by a thread for hours now, pushed beyond anything he’d ever experienced. But something about this twisted version of himself—something about the challenge—made him snap.

“You think you know me?” Dominic snarled. “You think you’re better than me because you gave in to some dark side of yourself? That’s not strength. That’s cowardice.”

The other Dominic’s smirk returned, but it was more sinister now. “Then prove it. Prove you’re stronger than me. Prove you deserve to stay in control.”

In the blink of an eye, the doppelgänger lunged at Dominic, his movements eerily similar to Dominic’s own. Dominic barely had time to raise his arms to block the attack, the force of the impact sending him stumbling back.

The fight was unlike any Dominic had faced so far. Every move he made, the doppelgänger mirrored. Every punch, every dodge—it was as if he were fighting a perfect reflection of himself. But there was something more—something darker in the way the other Dominic fought. A viciousness, a cruelty that Dominic had always kept buried.

“You can’t win,” the doppelgänger hissed, landing a sharp punch to Dominic’s ribs. “I’m everything you’ve ever tried to suppress. The part of you that wants to be stronger, that wants to take what you deserve.”

Dominic gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain. “I’m stronger... because I don’t give in to that.”

The doppelgänger swung again, but this time, Dominic was ready. He ducked under the blow and landed a hard kick to the doppelgänger’s side, sending him crashing into the wall.

“Maybe I’m not perfect,” Dominic panted, his chest heaving. “But I don’t need to be like you to survive.”

The other Dominic sneered, wiping blood from his mouth. “You’ll regret that.”

With a roar, the doppelgänger charged again, but Dominic was done playing defense. He met the charge head-on, their fists colliding in a flurry of strikes and counters. It was brutal, relentless—but Dominic had something his counterpart didn’t.

Hope.

In one final, desperate move, Dominic caught the doppelgänger off guard, delivering a powerful uppercut that sent him sprawling to the floor.

The doppelgänger lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No... you can’t...”

“I can,” Dominic said quietly, standing over him. “Because I’m not you.”

The doppelgänger’s form began to flicker, like a shadow being erased by the light. “This... isn’t over,” he rasped, his voice fading.

Dominic watched as his twisted reflection slowly dissolved into nothing, leaving him alone in the chamber once more.

For a long moment, he just stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of everything crashing down on him. It was over. Somehow, it was finally over.

But even as the silence settled around him, Dominic couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Whatever he had faced tonight—whatever darkness had tried to consume him—it wasn’t gone. Not completely.

Dominic glanced around the empty room, his fists still clenched. He’d won this fight, but he knew there would be more.

There always were.

With a sigh, Dominic turned and walked toward the door. The night was quiet now, and for the first time in hours, he felt a strange sense of peace.

But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last.

It never did.