Saguna found himself in a circular chamber that looked exactly like the stone circle where their trials had begun, but wrong in subtle ways. The ancient pillars stood in the same formation, but their carved symbols pulsed with cold, dark energy instead of the warm light he remembered. The platform at the center was cracked down the middle, and from that crack seeped a viscous black substance that moved with purpose.
"Welcome home, little brother," a familiar voice said from the shadows between the pillars.
Saguna spun around, his fire already blazing in his hands, but froze when he saw who had spoken. It was himself, but not himself. The figure that stepped from the darkness bore his exact face, his exact build, even wore identical clothes. But where Saguna's corruption showed as thin black veins beneath his skin, this version was consumed by it. Dark lines spread across his flesh like living tattoos, pulsing with cold light that hurt to look at directly.
