Graveyard of the forgotten.

Hex wakes up inside a coffin.

The air is stale, the space too tight for him to move properly.

His mind is sluggish, still trying to process the last loop.

He hears scratching sounds.

Something is digging him up.

The noise is slow, methodical, like claws raking through the dirt. The sound is close. Too close.

His breath quickens. His lungs shouldn't even need air; he's dead, after all but panic overrides logic.

He presses his hands against the wood, and that's when he notices his hands are raw and bleeding.

No, not just bleeding. The nails are torn off.

His stomach lurches.

It's as if he's been trying to claw his way out for hours.

But he doesn't remember doing it. The pain is distant, dulled, like his body is moving on instinct.

CRACK.

The lid splinters slightly. A sliver of cold air rushes in. The scratching stops. A heartbeat of silence.

Then, a hand bursts through the gap—white, bony fingers curling around the edge.

Hex freezes. Then the hand grips the coffin lid and yanks it open.

A hand Yanks Hex out of the coffin.

Dirt spills into the coffin as Hex's eyes adjust to the dim light. And standing over him, grinning down at him

Is himself.

A perfect copy. But there's something wrong.

The other Hex's grin is too wide. Lips stretching unnaturally.

His eyes are sunken, black veins creeping from the edges.

His nails are sharp, jagged, as if they've been sharpened on bone.

Other Hex tilts his head. "Figured it out yet?"

Hex barely gets a breath in before his double plunges a knife straight into his chest.

---

Hex woke up choking on dirt.

The scratching came again, but this time, something was different. He could remember something.

Blood. A knife. The weight of it in his hand. The sensation of steel sinking into flesh.

His stomach twisted. Had he killed someone?

Before he could process it, the coffin lid was wrenched open. Other Hex was grinning again, but this time, he didn't attack immediately.

"You buried yourself, you know." His voice was amused, like this was some inside joke Hex wasn't in on. "But you don't remember why."

Hex opened his mouth to speak—

The knife flashed. Pain. Darkness.

Reset.

---

Hex woke up choking on dirt. Again.

This time, he didn't wait. He rammed his shoulder against the coffin lid, forcing it open. Other Hex wasn't there yet.

Hex scrambled out of the grave, boots sinking into soft earth. Then he saw them.

Tombstones. Dozens. Hundreds.

Every single one had his name.

Except for one.

His gaze locked onto it:

"Here Lies ██████"

His breath hitched. He didn't recognize the name, but something inside him did.

Before he could move, Other Hex's voice came from behind him.

"You really don't remember, huh?"

Steel sliced into his throat. Reset.

---

Hex woke up choking on dirt. But this time, he wasn't alone.

Whispers slithered through the soil, curling around his ears.

"Why did you make the deal?"

"You know what you lost."

"You can't dig yourself out of this."

Hex's breath came in short, sharp gasps. The voices knew him.

They knew what he'd forgotten.

This time, Other Hex never appeared.

Hex clawed at the coffin lid himself, his nails snapping as he pushed through the dirt. He climbed out—

And found himself staring at an endless graveyard.

The horizon was gone. The world was just tombstones, stretching into infinity.

And in the distance, something was crawling out of one of the graves.

A corpse.

Another Hex.

This one was rotten—skin peeling, eyes hollow sockets. And when it saw him, it grabbed his wrist with freezing fingers and rasped:

"Don't let him out."

Hex tried to ask who, but the world shattered around him.

Reset.

---

Hex woke up standing.

No coffin this time. Just tombstones shifting and cracking open around him.

From the graves, things began to crawl out. Versions of himself. Some looked like him, but wrong—faces blurred, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Others were monstrous, skeletal things with hollow grins.

Hex backed away.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Other Hex.

Grinning. Watching.

"Getting the picture yet?"

Before Hex could react, the world blinked.

Reset.

---

Hex woke up standing in the graveyard.

Other Hex sat on a tombstone, hands resting on his knees, watching. But he didn't attack.

Instead, he asked, "What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

Hex opened his mouth—but pain exploded in his skull.

A noise like shattering glass filled the air. The graveyard twisted, tombstones bending like melting wax. The sky turned black and red.

Then everything collapsed.

Reset.

---

This time, Hex didn't wake up in the coffin.

He was just standing in the graveyard. Alone. No scratching. No whispers.

And in front of him, sitting on a fresh grave, was himself.

Not Other Hex. Not a monster. Just… him.

He held a contract in one hand, ink dripping from his fingers.

"We've been here before," he said, sounding tired. He held the contract out. "We can end this. Just sign."

Hex hesitated.

The grave behind the other him wasn't marked. It was open. Waiting.

A pit in his stomach told him if he signed, something terrible would happen.

The contract glowed faintly in the dim light. The ink looked like blood.

The choice was his.