The Archghoul attacked first.
It didn't move like a living thing. It bent. The worm's body folded across dimensions, appearing in front of Tom even though it hadn't taken a step.
The spiral-mouth snapped open, grinding, and the sound ripped his ears apart except for it wasn't sound. It was thoughts, and it filled his skull until he felt his own name breaking apart letter by letter.
Tom threw himself sideways, rolling through a stream of Ghira's memories blurred pictures of fire, a crown, a man in armor. His chest heaved. His skin prickled like ants crawling under it.
Tom looked back and saw nothing but a wall of flesh. The worm had become the ground, the ceiling, the horizon. His path was cut.
"Think, Tom…. think." His voice was full of tension.
He spun his Face, rotating a shard of memory. A tree branch Ghira once held as a child. It twisted into a cyclone, slicing a gap in the wall. He forced himself through, the memory shattering into white ash.
The Archghoul laughed like a cruel monster won't hesitate decapitating newborns.
The maze folded again, and he was standing in the same place as before, facing the same spiral-mouth.
Tom's lungs burned, shoulders throbbed. He knew he couldn't win, impossible in here.
He ducked under a swipe of jagged limbs, barely missing as they scraped across his scalp, tearing strands of hair.
He rolled, pulled another rotation this time not on the worm, but on the space around himself, spinning it tighter and tighter until it pushed him outward, like forcing a cork from a bottle.
The Archghoul warped reality to stop him. The ground grew teeth. The sky poured blood. His spin faltered.
Tom snapped his hand forward, caught a shard of memory floating in the chaos. A laughing Emperor Watcj holding Ghira's hand. He spun it like a shield, the image cracking under the worm's teeth. It held, just for a heartbeat.
He thought of Elior's words: If you can't kill it, outlast it. If you can't outlast it, outthink it.
So Tom did.
He stopped running. He rotated himself. His own body. His own soul.
Tom spun the fear, the pain, the smell, all of it into one single point inside him then shoved it outward, like hurling a storm.
The Archghoul reeled. Confused, for one fleeting instant.
That was all Tom needed.
He focused on the sigil Elior had burned into his forehead before the ritual. A mark, a door.
Light cracked across the rotten sky.
The worm screamed, not in anger but in hunger, it wanted him. It wanted to make him nothing, a note in Ghira's endless pain.
Tom fell through the light.
He gasped. His back hit cold floor. His eyes shut opened The world was dim, blurred faces leaning over him. Grace's trembling hands on his shoulder, Elior's steady glare, Johan's shadow in the back.
The taste of iron filled his mouth. His chest heaved like he'd been drowning.
He was back but the memory of that spiral-mouth, those faces trapped in its flesh, would never leave him. The sigil on his forehead faded away.
Tom laying on the ground, chest rising like he had sprinted across worlds. His skin was clammy, hair plastered to his forehead. His lips moved, but only air came out at first.
Grace was already beside him, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes wide with worry. "Tom? Tom! Can you hear me? Say something!"
He coughed hard, choking on spit, then groaned. "I…. I'm back...?" His voice was faint, like someone speaking from a tunnel.
Grace let out a shaky laugh that almost broke into tears. She pushed his messy hair out of his face. "Idiot…. you scared me. Thought you weren't coming back."
Arlong leaned in with his bandaged arm, a faint grin despite his pale face. "You look better than me with those messy hairs like hell." He lifted his empty sleeve with a dry chuckle.
Rosario sat farther away, lips pressed tight. He didn't say anything, but his eyes lingered on Tom like he was studying him for, for proof he hadn't brought something else back with him.
Vera crossed his arms, silent. But Tom noticed the small relief in the man's shoulders, the way he let himself finally breathe.
Elior crouched low, steady and sharp. "You almost didn't make it out. You understand that?" His voice wasn't harsh
Tom swallowed hard. His throat felt cut raw. "Yeah. I…. saw the Archghoul. Just like you said. Almost had trapped in there."
At the mention of the name, a silence fell. The survivors sitting in the corner shifted uncomfortably. The word alone carried weight, like speaking it risked drawing it into the room.
Grace's grip tightened on his sleeve. "Don't talk about it, take some rest." she whispered.
Johan finally moved from his gesture. He had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a half-burnt cigar hanging from his lips. He flicked the ash to the floor, then stepped forward, eyes cutting through the haze.
"Well," he said, voice low but clear, "one thing is certain."
Everyone turned toward him.
Johan took the cigar out of his mouth, looked at the ember, then let it die. "We're not safe anymore. If the Overseer is descending this deep, if Ghira's mind is stuffed with devils and ghosts…." He glanced at Tom, then at Elior. "Then every breath we take could be our last if we don't stay sharp."
"I mean," Johan interrupted, his grin sharp and tired, "we need to stop thinking we're just surviving. We're already in the war. And if we're not aware of it yet.…" He tapped his temple with one finger. "We're dead before we know it."
The room grew heavy, everyone were quiet again.
Tom lay on the cot, one arm over his forehead, trying to slow his breathing. His body still buzzed with the sound of that nightmare world, the smell of rot clinging to his nose.
Tom takes his hand in his inventory slot, after a moment, he brought out a book.
" I found this book in the camp. It says its about quantum physics. You can keep it if you want."
Grace hesitated but took the book and opened it. She turned some pages over and found stuffs which went over her head.
" Thank you! I will pass my time reading this. This looks very interesting. I will try it out."
Elior brushed his hand on Tom's shoulder.
" Take rest, we will be back after a minute."
Grace had gone, Elior too. The room was quiet.
He let his eyes close for a moment. Then he heard a sound. A faint scrape. The sound of cloth brushing against wood.
Tom opened his eyes. Slowly, he turned his head. The sound came from under his bed.
His heart skipped. His hand twitched for the dagger at his belt, but before he could move, a figure slid out.
It was him. Same black hair, same tired eyes. Same clothing.
Tom sat up instantly, cold sweat down his back. "The hell.…? An intruder?"
The other Tom dusted himself off, unfazed. "Relax. I'm not here to stab you. I'm you."
"Yeah, right." Tom's grip on his dagger tightened. "That's a trick. Camouflage, parasite trick."
"No." The reflection tilted his head. His voice was calm, almost soft. "I'm you. The part you keep pushing down. The one you won't look in the mirror for too long to see."
Silence. Tom didn't know whether to laugh or scream. He lowered the dagger just slightly. "….Prove it."
The reflection smirked. "Alright. You hate how your hands shake when Grace puts a hand on your shoulder. You think about losing her every time she smiles. And you haven't slept properly since you first saw your Face. Not because you're scared of it.… but because it's the only thing that feels more real than you do."
Tom froze. His throat locked up. He let the dagger fall to the floor. "What are you even yapping about?."
"Yeah." The reflection crouched, looking at him like a brother would. "I told you. I'm you."
For a while, they just stared at each other. Tom rubbed his face with both hands, groaning. "So, what? You're here to haunt me? The world is already been kicking me down so long, I've made a home in the dirt."
The reflection shook his head. "No. I'm here because you're breaking apart. You keep saying you're saving everyone. But what are you really getting out of it?"
Tom looked down at his scarred hands. He didn't answer.
The reflection leaned closer. "Let's be real. You're terrified. You feel it, don't you? The more you care about them, the closer they get, the more it's gonna hurt when they're gone. In this world, they will be gone. Maybe tonight or tomorrow.... in your arms. You know that."
Tom swallowed hard, voice low. ".…I know."
"Then why? Why keep saving them? Why throw yourself in fire again and again?"
Tom pressed his palms against his knees. His chest felt heavy. "Because.…" He hesitated. The words stuck.
The reflection waited.
After a moment, Tom whispered, " In the shadow of mortality, saving another at great cost illuminates the divine spark within us, reminding that true immortality lies in acts of profound compassion. We risk everything for others because survival without meaning is only breathing, while sacrifice gives breath to generations we will never meet."
His reflection studied him, then nodded slowly. "So it's not about being a hero."
"No." Tom shook his head. "It's about not being a coward."
The reflection leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "You still keep walls up. You joke, you fight, you carry them but do you let them see you?"
Tom's was drowning in emptiness, thinking about something looking down....
His reflection's voice softened. "You know the truth. You're scared. Not of dying but of failing. You're scared of being loved. Because being loved means being lost, too. The more they mean to you, the more it'll crush you when they're gone. You know it. So you keep a wall. Smile, laugh, push them off, keep your secrets."
Tom closed his eyes, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "….You talk too much."
The reflection chuckled. "I am you."
Tom spoke, voice steady this time. "So what drives me? Why do I keep saving them?"
His reflection tilted his head.
Tom's eyes opened, sharp, burning. "Because even if it breaks me, even if it kills me, it's still better than watching them suffer.
Perhaps no one will sing of me, but if someone lives, then my silence has already spoken louder than any song."
The reflection studied him, then smiled faintly. "That's the thing about us. We'll burn for others, but we won't let them light a candle for us."
Tom sighed, lying back on the cot. "Yeah. That's the truth."
His reflection stood, slowly fading like smoke. "Then at least admit it. You're scared of losing them. But you'd rather carry that fear than live without them."
Tom nodded once, eyes closing. "….I'd rather carry it."
When he opened his eyes again, the space under the bed was empty.