Like magic Methnik’s sword passed through that of his foes….All too late, the blade was at his neck, it burnt, stinging like acid, it slivered through skin and muscle. Methnik crumpled to his knees, then to the floor, his eyes greyed over and he heard faint words, maybe those of his foe? "Your last lesson in this life. Your teacher? A Serivemn"
‘To the victor goes the spoils’ it is said but what if those spoils are not what they seem. What if those items of victory, are deadly.
A man has been committed to an asylum for schizophrenia. The doctors are convinced that he is suffering from delusions and hallucinations. The reality: His soul has been split among three bodies, each in a different dimension, and he occasionally feels and sees what his other "selves" do.