The crystal wall gave way, showering the floor in heavy, jagged shards that dissolved into blue mist before touching leather boots.
Knees buckling, Tobi hit the pale floor hard, palms scraping raw against the crystal as he scrambled backward on all fours.
“No…” Air hitched in his chest.
“No…
help me!
Stay back!” “Tobi, run!” someone yelled from the crowd, a hand reaching out before pulling right back.
Nobody dared step into the path of the glass.
From the gap, a figure stepped out.
Same crumpled university shirt, same dust-covered sneakers, same posture.
But the mouth was fixed in an impossible, ear-to-ear curve.
Tobi kept kicking his legs out, tears cutting through the grime on his face.
“Please…
please…” The duplicate tilted its head.
A low, wet noise rumbled from deep in its throat—Grrrrrr…—like air forced through a dry pipe.
Then its lips moved, silently mouthing Tobi’s own words back at him: Please…
please…
Tobi froze.
That single second of sheer confusion was all it took.
The duplicate lunged.
Hands locked around his throat.
A sharp, terrible snap cut through the hall, and dark crimson spots dotted the floor.
A girl’s high-pitched scream tore through the room.
Just like that, the first death landed right in front of them.
A few feet away, a boy dropped to his knees, staring at the stain as his hands shook out of control.
“I don’t wanna die…
WE’RE GOING TO DIE HERE!” The crowd surged backward.
Walls splintered with dozens of fresh cracks as more figures stepped out from the glass, empty eyes locking onto the group.
One duplicate bounded forward, cutting toward a girl who had frozen mid-step.
Miss Grace moved first—years of Taekwondo muscle memory overriding the panic.
Planting her left foot, she whipped her hips around and slammed a side kick straight into the duplicate’s ribs.
BAM!
The creature stumbled back, hitting a crystal pillar.
“Move!” Miss Grace barked, throat dry as she dropped into a low stance.
“Center of the room!
Don’t freeze!” A couple of guys tried to cheer—”Miss Grace can fight!”—but the noise died in their throats.
The duplicate didn’t groan.
It didn’t reach for its ribs or catch its breath.
The second its back touched the pillar, it pushed right off, joints popping into alignment as it stepped forward again, expression completely unchanged.
Physical force hadn’t even slowed it down.
Over on the flank, another duplicate closed the distance on Maxwell.
John yanked at his sleeve.
“Maxwell, run!
Wetin you dey wait for?!” Maxwell didn’t move.
Street instincts and pure adrenaline took over.
He grabbed a splintered chair leg off the floor, knuckles white as he swung the wood blindly.
“Oya, come,” he growled, teeth clenched.
“Na me and you!” The duplicate lunged.
BOOM!
A heavy fist slammed straight into Maxwell’s midsection.
“Ugh!” All the air left his lungs in a violent gasp.
He folded in half, chin cracking against the floor as the wood slid away.
The duplicate leaned down, cold fingers reaching for his neck.
Vision blurring, Maxwell clawed at the ground until his fingers closed around a heavy fragment of glass.
No clean technique.
No martial arts form.
Just pure, messy panic as he jammed the edge upward with everything he had.
SCHLICK.
The jagged crystal bit deep into the neck.
Maxwell screamed, throwing his body weight sideways to force the blade through flesh and bone.
The head detached, rolling across the floor with a dull thud before the body went limp.
Maxwell lay on his back, chest heaving, blood dripping from his palm where the glass had cut his own skin.
He wiped spit off his chin with a trembling forearm and forced himself up.
“You see?” he wheezed, pointing a shaking finger at the corpse.
“Na so…
we go always find way…” “They can die!” a guy near the back yelled.
“Look!
They’re not immortal!
Pick up glass!” Desperation took hold.
People scrambled for debris—broken wood, sharp crystal shards.
For five chaotic minutes, they fought like cornered animals, swinging wildly and forcing a few more reflections down.
Hope started to ripple through the hall.
Ayomide stayed near the middle, watching the fallen bodies.
He didn’t reach for a weapon.
Why is it this easy?
A cold sweat broke on the back of his neck.
Every reflection came from glass.
Karl said this was an awakening…
so what are we actually being tested on?
If hitting them with broken wood is the answer, then this world’s rules don’t make sense.
A soft noise echoed across the floor.
The severed head lying on the crystal rolled.
It stopped right beside the neck.
A second later, without blood or dramatic display, it was attached again.
The duplicate sat up.
Then it stood.
It tilted its head, looked right at Maxwell, and silently mouthed: Na so…
Maxwell backed away, color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse himself.
“…No.” All around the hall, the other fallen reflections pulled themselves up, empty eyes locking back onto the group.
The brief hope vanished, leaving behind an absolute, suffocating weight.
Someone dropped a wooden stick, voice barely a whisper: “How…
how do you kill something that can’t die?”