Hundreds of them. Thousands. Millions. Billions. As far as the eye could see. Stretching in every direction. Above. Below. All sides. An infinite gallery of glass.
And in each mirror stood Hiroto.
But not Hiroto.
Versions of him.
Different ages. Different clothes. Different expressions.
Some were older. Grizzled. Scarred. Eyes that had seen too much.
Some were younger. Innocent. Still believed the world was fair.
Some were dead. Standing corpses. Rot and decay wearing his face.
Some were monsters. Eyes red with madness. Hands dripping blood.
Some were gods. Radiating power that made Stage 12 look weak.
Each one was a path he'd never taken. A choice he'd never made. A version of himself that existed somewhere, somewhen, in the infinite branching possibilities of existence.
And they all stared at him.
And they all spoke at once.
"BROTHER."
"FRIEND."
"FOOL."
"MURDERER."
"HERO."
"FAILURE."
"SUCCESS."
"US."
The voices overlapped. Harmonized. Created a sound that was both one and infinite.
Hiroto fell to his knees in the mirror-space, clutching his head.
"What... what is this?"
A version stepped forward. This one looked almost exactly like him. Same age. Same features. But the eyes were different. Colder.
"This is the space between possibilities," the calculating version said. "The place where all potential selves exist simultaneously. You've broken through the barrier. Accessed what some call the Mirror Dimension. Others call it the Infinite Self. We call it home."
Another version pushed forward. This one was scarred. Brutal. Eyes like a predator. Blood still wet on his hands from kills too numerous to count.
"You're dying, original-self. Your Stage 1 body can't handle the strain. You'll be dead in thirty seconds unless we help you."
"Help me? How?"
"Let us in," said a third version. This one looked broken. Traumatized. Eyes hollow with horrors witnessed. "Let us share the burden. We can stabilize you. Keep you alive. But you have to open the door completely."
"What door?"
"The door between selves." A fourth version. Wise. Ancient. Eyes that held lifetimes of knowledge. "Right now, you're glimpsing us. Seeing us. But we can do more. We can lend you our strength.
"At what cost?"
The wise version's expression grew somber. "This connection? It's temporary. Five minutes. Maybe less depending on the strain. You can access us again, but not often. Once a month at most. Your consciousness can't handle more frequent contact."
"And if I let you possess me?"
A fifth version stepped forward. This one radiated power beyond comprehension. Stage 12? Higher? It was impossible to tell. The essence around him bent light itself.
"If you give control to one of us, we can do things you cannot. Fight at levels beyond your body's limits. Access knowledge and skills from our timelines. But..." The powerful version's expression darkened. "There is always a price. Always. The body is not meant to contain multiple souls simultaneously."
"What kind of price?"
"That depends on who you choose. And for how long. But pain is guaranteed. Permanent damage is likely. Death is possible." A sixth version spoke—this one looked dead inside. Nihilistic.
A seventh version spoke. This one looked... happy. Genuinely, impossibly happy.
"But you'll be alive! And that's worth it, right? Right?"
Hiroto looked at all of them.
Seven distinct versions.
Seven different paths.
Seven potential allies who could save him or destroy him.
Back in the real world, his body was dying. He could feel it. The operative's hand was probably already moving to crush his throat. The guards were raising weapons. Melissa was screaming.
Thirty seconds. Maybe less.
The Lens was cracking. His Judgment's Eye was affecting it. But not fast enough.
He needed more power.
More time.
More.
But the cost...
"If I let one of you take control, what happens to me?"
"You'll be a passenger. Aware but not in command. You'll experience everything but control nothing. And when we return control..."
"The price will be extracted," the powerful version finished. "The mirror dimension doesn't give freely. It takes.
Hiroto thought of Yuto. Of Melissa. Of Vera, broken and guilty. Of Regiran and Belle, innocent victims.
He thought of the three investigators who died because they weren't good enough.
He thought of all the future victims. All the people who would suffer if the Lens continued to exist. If the Archivists remained unchallenged.
I'm going to regret this.
But I don't have a choice.
"Which one of you can fight?" Hiroto asked. "Which one can kill six trained assassins and destroy the Lens?"
The scarred, blood-soaked version smiled.
"I am what you could have become if you'd let Nakamura's death consume you completely."
Hiroto looked at the other versions. "Is there... is there any other way?"
The logical one shook his head. "He's the only one with the combat experience necessary. The rest of us have other specialties. And you have twenty seconds before you die."
"Fifteen," corrected the dead one.
"But you'll live!" chirped the happy one.
Hiroto closed his eyes.
Thought of everything he'd lose.
Everything he'd gain.
Everything that mattered.
"Do it," he said to the killer version. "Take my body. Kill them all. Destroy the Lens. And... and take what you need."
The killer version's smile widened.
"Finally. I've been waiting lifetimes for this."
He stepped forward.
The other versions backed away, forming a circle.
The wise one spoke. "Remember, you have five minutes from the moment of possession. Maybe less.
Hiroto met the killer's eyes.
Saw centuries of murder. Of justified killing. Of becoming exactly what he hunted.
Saw what he would become if he ever let go of his humanity completely.
"I understand."
The killer version reached out.
Touched Hiroto's forehead with one finger.
Hiroto smirked.
"Let's tear them apart."
"Yeah, let's show them what Hiroto Takatana can really do."
He walked forward.