Creed: World’s Strongest

Adam followed Paps into a dimly lit training room. The air buzzed with the sound of holograms flickering to life. In the center of the room, a young man was moving with precision and speed. He split into two, his second self lunging at a holographic opponent while the original spun and threw a knife.

The hologram disintegrated on impact, the blade flying toward Paps. Without flinching, Paps caught it midair.

"Adam," Paps said, turning to him, "meet Spam. He's going to teach you how to split."

Spam glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing as he sized Adam up. "Him? He doesn't look like much."

"Just teach him," Paps said. "He needs to learn fast."

Spam sighed, circling Adam slowly. "Alright. Watch closely."

In an instant, Spam stepped aside, and a perfect copy of him materialized beside him. They moved in unison, then broke apart to attack different holograms. When they finished, Spam's split faded, merging back into him.

"Your turn," Spam said, crossing his arms.

Adam closed his eyes and focused. He clenched his fists, straining to replicate what he'd seen. Nothing happened.

Spam groaned. "He can't even envision it."

"He'll learn," Paps replied firmly. "Take him to Emac."

Spam rolled his eyes but gestured for Adam to follow. "Fine. Let's see if he can work some miracles."

Paps led Adam to brightly lit room. The was little mats on the floor, where Emac sat.

"I need you to teach him how to split," Paps said, his tone urgent.

Emac raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Splitting is more Spam's thing." He hesitated, then sighed, as though weighing a reluctant obligation. "But fine. Let's see if he's worth the trouble."

Adam shifted uncomfortably as Emac gestured for him to step forward.

"Watch carefully," Emac instructed, his voice low and deliberate.

Without waiting for a response, Emac split. It wasn't like Spam's flashy demonstration earlier—this was fluid and seamless, like watching a shadow peel itself from its owner. Another version of Emac stepped out of him, identical but distinct, its eyes gleaming with something colder, sharper.

Adam stared, his mind racing to process what he'd just seen. "You didn't even move," he muttered.

"I don't need to," Emac replied, merging back into his original form in the blink of an eye. Then, he split again, the second version stepping to Adam's side as if it had always been there.

"What did you see?" Emac asked, his voice calm but pointed.

Adam blinked. "You made a copy of yourself."

The words had barely left his mouth when something slammed him against the wall. Pain shot through his back as he gasped for air.

"Not a copy." The second Emac—Dot—had him pinned, his grip like iron. His voice was a cold whisper in Adam's ear. "Don't ever call us that."

The original Emac chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Sorry about Dot. He's… particular. None of the splits like being called copies. They're as real as we are."

Dot released Adam, stepping back and dusting off his hands as though the encounter had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Nice to meet you," Dot said flatly before turning and walking away, his steps eerily precise.

Adam leaned against the wall, catching his breath, his mind reeling.

"Sit. To envision it, you have to understand it," Emac said, gesturing to the floor in front of him.

Adam hesitated before lowering himself onto the cool surface, his back still sore from Dot's earlier lesson. Emac settled across from him, his sharp gaze unwavering.

"Think about the split. What am I splitting?" Emac began, his voice calm but probing. "You said 'copies.'"

Adam flinched at the word.

"Copies indicate inferiority," Emac continued, his tone hardening. "Each time a copy is made, something is lost. A detail, a flaw, an essence. They are not copies. They are not clones. So, what else do I split?"

Adam furrowed his brow, the gears in his mind turning as he replayed what he had seen. His gaze dropped to Emac's flawless, seamless duplicate earlier. The realization hit him like a bolt.

"Everything," Adam said quietly. "Even your clothes."

A faint smile tugged at Emac's lips as he nodded. "Exactly. Everything. Matter, energy, intent—it's all part of the split."

Adam leaned forward, his curiosity overcoming his hesitation. "But… what else?"

Emac tilted his head, observing him for a long moment. "Consciousness," he said finally. The word hung heavy in the air, reverberating with weight.

Adam blinked, his eyes widening. "Wait—what?"

"Consciousness," Emac repeated, his tone firm. "When I split, I don't create mindless puppets or shadows. Every split is me. A fragment of my mind, my instincts, my memories. It's why they don't like being called copies. To them, they're just as real as I am."

Adam's breath caught. "So, they're… independent?"

Emac's smile faded. "To a degree. They act on my will, but they can think, decide, even rebel if I'm not careful. Splitting isn't just about doubling your body. It's about sharing your soul. And that," he said, leaning forward until his eyes bored into Adam's, "is why you can't half-ass it. You're not just splitting things. You're splitting yourself."

Adam swallowed hard, the enormity of what Emac was saying sinking in. For the first time, he wasn't just intimidated by splitting—he was terrified of it.