Creed: World’s Strongest

Adam was on his way back to his room when he spotted Paps talking to someone in the hallway. Adam gave them a quick nod in acknowledgment and kept walking.

"Adam!" Paps called out, ending his conversation and jogging to catch up with him.

"What did he say?" Paps asked, falling into step beside him.

"Oh, nothing much," Adam replied casually. "He wanted Ugo to train me."

"That's great," Paps said, his tone upbeat. "Ugo is strong."

"I told him Emac was training me," Adam added, keeping his tone neutral.

Paps stopped mid-step, his brows furrowing. "You turned down Sern's offer?" He shook his head, incredulous. "Sern is the strongest of the Bekanna. Under his tutelage, you could be unstoppable. It's not too late to change your mind."

Adam smiled faintly. "You guys are strong too, especially for someone like you—a 70-year-old man."

Paps laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "Seventy? I'm afraid you're off by a century or so."

Adam blinked, confused. "Wait… what do you mean?"

"One hundred and seventy," Paps said, grinning as Adam froze mid-stride, his mouth slightly open.

They continued walking, passing by Emac's room. Adam paused at the doorway. "Catch you later, Paps."

Paps waved him off and kept moving, but Emac stepped out of his room just as Adam entered.

"Paps," Emac called, walking briskly toward him. "Spam asked us to meet him at the training room."

Hearing this, Adam doubled back and followed the two men.

When they entered the training area, Spam was already waiting, a wide grin spread across his face. "Watch this," Spam said, his voice brimming with excitement.

In an instant, Spam split, creating a second version of himself. The duplicate stood nearby, mimicking his posture but looking wary. Spam pulled a throwing knife from his belt and stepped back, spinning the blade in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Adam asked, frowning as Spam took aim.

"Relax," Spam said, his grin widening.

With a flick of his wrist, Spam hurled the knife at his split.

Adam reacted without thinking. He caught the knife mid-air, inches from the split's neck. His grip tightened on the blade as he glared at Spam. "What the hell is this?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you doing?" Spam's split echoed, trembling.

Adam turned to Paps and Emac. "Why aren't you stopping this?"

Neither answered, their expressions unreadable.

Spam smirked and stepped to the side. "Move, Adam," he said calmly.

Adam didn't budge, but Spam threw another knife—this time with perfect precision. It whizzed past Adam, missing Adam by a hair, and struck it the split directly in the neck.

The split staggered, clutching at the blade as blood poured from the wound. It collapsed to the floor, gasping, and Adam dropped to his knees beside it.

"What have you done?" Adam asked, horrified.

Before anyone could respond, the split's body ignited. Flames erupted from its skin, consuming it entirely until nothing was left but a dark stain of blood and ash.

Adam stared at the charred spot on the floor, his hands trembling.

Spam clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. "R&D helped solve the body problem," he said cheerfully. "It's not perfect, but they're still working on it."

Adam slowly stood, his face a mask of disbelief. He looked at Spam, then at Paps and Emac, who remained silent. Finally, he shook his head.

Without another word, Adam turned and walked away, leaving them behind.

Later, Emac went to visit Adam in his room.

"I understand how you feel," Emac began, standing near the doorway. "But, with time, you'll come to understand. We, the Bekanna, don't experience death the way others do. After watching yourself die a few times… you learn to turn it off."

Adam was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His room was barren compared to Emac's—a blank canvas of white walls that only made it feel emptier.

"Turn what off?" Adam asked, sitting up.

Emac walked closer, leaning against the wall. "I guess it's time for the second lesson in the art of splitting. The mind—or the mind theory. This part is… more complicated than splitting consciousness. You're creating something new—a baby, in a sense. And like any child, you have to teach it right from wrong.

"You see, you can be selective about the memories you pass on to your split. That shapes their values, their personality—everything. It's an incredible tool… but also a dangerous one."

Adam furrowed his brow, trying to absorb it all. Emac's voice softened as he continued.

"Using the mind theory, you can do amazing things. But you can also do some… not-so-amazing things. Take Spam, for instance."

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the name. "What about him? What did he do?"

Emac hesitated, then sat down beside Adam on the bed. "After watching so many of his splits die, he decided he didn't want to feel anymore. So he severed his split bond."

Adam's breath caught. "Severed it? But what happened to his split? What did it do?"

Emac looked at him, his expression unreadable.

 "Remember earlier when was scared. Spam should have felt that and developed empathy."

"Spam's splits aren't like the rest of ours. It's true he can create over a billion splits in less than thirty seconds, but they're weak—barely stronger than humans. They're fragile, compared to other splits."

Emac stood by the door, his hand resting on the frame as he glanced back at Adam.

"A key split is the best day of your life," he said quietly. "But losing that split… that will be the worst."

With that, he stepped out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Adam remained on the bed, his thoughts swirling. Was it all worth it? Everything he'd done, everything he was risking—was there a point to any of it?