"She wasn't your wife—she was your wife's killer."
Adam's voice shook with rage.
"That might be true," his clone said, steady but firm, "but what you did makes you no better than she was. This wasn't for Chavah. This was for you. Chavah would have never wanted this."
Adam grabbed his clone by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
"Don't you dare tell me what my wife would have wanted." His grip tightened.
The clone—his clone—kicked and thrashed, gasping for air. Yves kid and fought Adonis to let his clone go.Adam let go, and his double staggered, coughing.
"You think you're better than me?" Adam said, his voice low, seething. "You are me. I made you. You are literally cut from the same cloth."
He turned, lifting Yves into his arms.
"Where are you taking her?" The clone lunged, grabbing Yves' wrist.
Adam yanked Yves away, his grip tightening as he dragged her forward. His clone struggled to stand, coughing and rubbing his neck, his breath ragged.
"You don't get to ask me that," Adam spat without turning back. "You lost the right to question me the moment you tried to stop this."
His clone took a shaky step forward. "You think this is justice?" he asked, his voice hoarse but steady. "You think this will bring Chavah back?"
Adam stopped, his shoulders stiffening. Yves, still in his grasp, looked between the two men—mirror images of each other, yet so vastly different.
"This isn't about bringing her back," Adam said coldly. "This is about making sure no one else suffers like she did."
His clone clenched his fists. "And what about Yves? Are you going to destroy her, too, in the name of your twisted revenge?"
Adam turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Yves is mine. She chose her side."
Yves' eyes widened as she felt Adam's grip tighten. She did not know what was going on.
The clone took another step forward. "Then let her choose now."
For a moment, everything was still. Then, Yves wrenched her arm free and ran.
Adam's eyes darkened. "Yves!"
His clone lunged at him, stopping him in his tracks. "Let her go, Adam."
Adam shoved him back. "You can't run from me."
His clone steadied himself, determination burning in his eyes. "Neither can you."
That night, after burying Pictoria, Adam's clone made a decision—he would no longer be Adam. The name no longer fit. He wanted no association with the man he had once mirrored. To mark the change, he took a new name: Bishop.
The next day, he gathered with Pictoria's friends for a small funeral. He stood among them in silence, never once revealing that he knew the killer. Never once admitting that he had buried her with his own hands.
Meanwhile, Adam was unraveling.
On the way back to D'sul, his mind spun. He needed every ounce of strength to face Sern, but Bishop turning against him was a devastating blow. For a moment, he considered absorbing him—pulling his clone back into himself and creating a new echo. But Yves had stopped him.
When he returned to D'sul, the first thing he did was summon his clone. He studied him, searching for a name that fit.
"He's a body echo…" Adam muttered. "Body… No, that's too easy."
The echo stared at him, silent, unblinking. There was no deference in his eyes—only contempt.
Adam smirked. "You don't like me very much, do you?"
Still, the echo said nothing.
Adam tilted his head. "What's worse? You think you're better than me?"
As Adam searched for a name, Bezarack passed by.
"Bezarack—how did you come by that name?" Adam asked.
Bezarack smiled. "It was given to me by someone special. It means 'be contempt' or 'be valuable.' Why do you ask?"
"I'm trying to pick a name for my echo." Adam rubbed his temple, looking a little strained.
Bezarack chuckled. "Then give him a name that influences what you want him to be."
Adam considered that. What did he want his echo to reflect?
He smirked. "Baserka" . That is your name."
Bezarack raised an eyebrow. "What does it mean?"
"It means distructive and violent . And that's what I need right now."
To test what his new echo was made of, Adam traveled to a waste planet. Waste planets—deemed unproductive by The Circle—were abandoned, left to rot. One of these was Eppa, a world ravaged by the Coria EG1 virus.
Orbiting near Eppa was a Dyson sphere, doubling as a planetary sentry gun, programmed to fire on any ship attempting to leave. Adam knew the risk but went anyway.
Eppa was part of a three-planet system. As he neared its atmosphere, he ran a scan. Nothing showed up.
"Where is this Dyson sphere Iyan spoke of?" he muttered before descending.
The moment Adam landed, a horde of creatures charged at them.
"Come forth," he commanded.
In a flash, Baserka appeared. With a single swing of his arm, he struck several at once—the impact sent out a shockwave, blasting the rest backward.
Adam watched, analyzing. "Hmm… his strength is that of a Spam echo. Yeah, pre-surgery Spam echo."
Despite broken bones, the creatures still pushed forward, relentless. Baserka stood ready.
Adam wasn't the only one watching Baserka fight. Hidden behind a wreckage, a middle-aged man observed in silence. Once Baserka had laid waste to the creatures, the man cautiously stepped forward.
"I am Sakar. Thank you for saving me."
Adam eyed him. "What were those creatures?"
"Skinheads," Sakar said as they walked. "They're always hungry. More will come—we have to leave."
He led them to his home, an underground shelter that reeked of something foul.
"Sorry for the smell," Sakar said. "It disguises us, keeps them from tracking us." He gestured toward a woman and a small child. "This is my wife and son. You two—are you brothers?"
Adam hesitated. "Something like that."
They sat down, the damp air pressing in around them.
"Why did you come to this planet? Did you crash?" Sakar asked with a weary sigh.
"You can stay with us," his wife offered.
"Thanks, but we'll be leaving soon," Adam replied.
Sakar shook his head. "No, you cannot leave. The sentry gun will shoot you down. Everyone knows this. No one tries anymore."
Adam smirked. "Don't worry about us—we know how to take care of ourselves."
Sakar hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Fine. Then I have a favor to ask. If you're confident you can escape… take them with you." He gently pushed his wife and child toward Adam.
Adam considered it. He was willing to risk his own life—but not theirs.
"No."
Sakar immediately dropped to his knees, bowing at Adam's feet. He begged, offering anything in return.
After a long silence, Adam exhaled. "I won't take them on my ship. But I'll handle the Skinheads."
Sakar's eyes widened. "What? Even for someone as strong as you, that's impossible. There are millions of them—and their numbers grow every day."
The Skinheads were grotesque, each one heavily muscled, even the females. Their scalp skin folded over their bald heads, their lipless mouths revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth.
Sakar urged Adam not to go to the surface, but Adam and Baserka went anyway.
The moment they emerged, a group of Skinheads had already cornered some survivors.
"Kill them," Adam ordered.
Baserka didn't hesitate. The battle was swift, brutal. The Skinheads never stood a chance.
The people they had saved thanked them and left—except for one woman.
"Can you help me?" she pleaded. "I left my dad home alone. I was supposed to bring back food days ago. Will you escort me?"
Adam barely glanced at her. "Baserka, take her."
Without hesitation, Baserka obeyed, while Adam continued his hunt for Skinheads.
When they arrived at the woman's house, she stepped forward hesitantly.
"Dad?" she called.
A guttural growl answered her.
Before she could react, a figure lunged from the shadows—her father, now a Skinhead. His jagged teeth snapped at her throat, but Baserka intercepted him. The creature sank its teeth into Baserka's arm just before he crushed its skull with a single blow.
The woman gasped and rushed inside, searching for any sign of life. But the moment she stepped in, another Skinhead pounced.
Baserka caught it midair, tearing its head off in an instant.
Then, as he moved through the house, he spotted another Skinhead. He raised his fist to end it—
"Stop!" the woman cried.
Baserka hesitated.
"That's my dad," she whispered.
Her father snarled, his hollow eyes fixated on her. He lunged, forcing her to scramble backward, tripping over broken furniture. Every time he got close, Baserka stepped in, blocking the attack—but still, she wouldn't let him strike.
Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled through the ruined room, her father's monstrous form chasing her relentlessly.
Then, finally, he bit her.
Baserka didn't wait for her to react. He crushed the creature's head in an instant.
Then, he stood over her as she gasped, trembling.
And when she turned, he killed her too.
For a long moment, Baserka simply stood there, staring at the bodies.
Watching.