The cards landed with a sound that was not the soft slap of paper, but the tolling of a bell. Each impact echoed into the abyss, sending ripples across the floating shards of marble beneath Gideon's feet.
The Dealer's claws spread the cards in a fan of obsidian and light. The symbols etched on their surfaces shifted like liquid fire, never the same when Gideon blinked. A hand of eternity. A deck of lives.
"Your wager is bold," the Dealer murmured, though his fractured faces trembled with something darker than amusement. "But the House accepts all bets."
The table's surface shimmered, and suddenly Gideon was no longer looking at cards—he was looking into a mirror.
Not a mirror of glass, but a living, breathing reflection. Within its surface, Gideon saw himself. But not this Gideon, not the man who clutched a cursed chip with bloodied hands. This Gideon wore a cheap uniform, face hollow with fatigue but softened by the warmth of a woman waiting at home. Children's laughter echoed faintly behind the image, fragile and real.
A life he could have lived, if he had never stepped into this casino.
The Dealer's many mouths twisted into a grin. "Your first card. The life of mediocrity. No power, no glory, but safety. Family. Love. Do you fold it away, or do you take it?"
Gideon's chest tightened. The longing struck deeper than any blade. For a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to fall into that reflection, to let go of this endless nightmare. To be just a man.
But then the mirror shimmered, and the warmth flickered into ash. He saw the cracks in that world—the unpaid bills, the illnesses, the slow grinding despair of a life that promised safety but delivered only slow decay.
He tore his gaze away, jaw tightening. "Deal the next."
The mirror rippled. The second vision emerged.
This Gideon was powerful, ruthless. He stood in a smoky backroom of the city, stacks of bloodstained chips before him, men kneeling at his feet. He had clawed his way into the underworld, made every betrayal and every gamble count. His eyes burned with vengeance, his hands held knives, and every word from his mouth was law.
The Dealer's faces leaned closer, hissing like serpents. "Your second card. The path of the predator. You take everything, you bend the world to your hunger. No chains, no weakness."
The vision smiled, a cruel mirror of himself. Gideon felt a shiver crawl down his spine. That man could kill without remorse. That man could rule.
And yet, as the vision grew sharper, Gideon saw the truth behind the throne of cards: corpses stacked high, hollow victories, a kingdom built on bones. Power that devoured its wielder until nothing remained but hunger.
He clenched the chip tighter, its glow searing into his palm like an anchor. "Not this either."
The Dealer chuckled, the sound grinding like broken glass. "You refuse everything you are. Very well. Then look deeper."
The third vision rose.
Here, Gideon was seated at the table of the casino, but he was no longer human. His body was a husk, face blank, eyes empty. The Dealer's hand rested on his shoulder like a master with a puppet. He dealt cards endlessly, his movements mechanical. Every soul lost was added to the chorus inside his hollow chest.
The Dealer's voice slithered through the air. "Your third card. The inevitable. The fate of every player who thinks himself clever. You will become me, Gideon. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow—but the House consumes all."
Gideon's heart thundered. He could almost feel the strings tugging at his limbs, pulling him toward that hollow reflection. His breath quickened, panic scraping the edges of his mind. Was this what he had been walking toward all along? Was every hand of cards, every desperate choice, just a step closer to becoming another mask in the Dealer's monstrous body?
The abyss whispered louder now. Give in. Accept. You were never strong enough. You cannot fight eternity.
Gideon's knees wavered. For the first time, he felt the weight of inevitability pressing down like an ocean. His vision swam.
Then, from within the chip, the voices rose again. Not whispers of despair this time, but cries of defiance.
We fought. We lived. We were more than his prey.
Don't fold, Gideon. Bet for us. Bet for yourself.
Show him the House can lose.
The glow surged, steadying his grip. Gideon took a long, trembling breath. He looked into the third mirror—at the hollow version of himself—and for the first time, he didn't flinch.
"No," he said softly. Then louder, stronger: "No. I am not yours."
The Dealer recoiled, his many faces writhing in anger. The mirrors cracked, shards of false lives splintering into nothingness.
The table shuddered violently, the abyss roaring as if enraged by Gideon's refusal to surrender. The Dealer's body grew, towering, his eyes burning with fury.
"You defy inevitability?" the voices shrieked. "Then you will face it in its purest form!"
The cards burst into flames, scattering into the void. The table twisted, elongating into an endless stretch of shadowed wood, a road of wagers leading into infinity.
Gideon tightened his fist around the chip, its light steady now, unwavering. His chest no longer trembled with fear, but with resolve.
"Deal the final game," he said, his voice iron. "And let's see if eternity can bleed."
The Dealer roared, and the Mirror Game shattered into the beginning of the last and greatest wager.