The world didn't end with a bang; it faded away with a whisper of wind—like the eerie howl of a tornado or the sharp rush of a missile slicing through a still sky. One moment, life was just as it always was, with people caught up in their daily routines. The next, everything shattered under a pressure so intense it felt like the sun was pressing down on our heads.
It all kicked off just a week ago when individuals with bizarre abilities—known as Deliveries—started popping up. At first, everyone dismissed them. The media labeled them as frauds, as crazies. But then came Friday. Everything shifted when a man descended from the swirling, dark clouds over Manhattan. He called himself Issac. He didn't even try to hide his power. He summoned missiles as if it were second nature, launching one over the Atlantic and another over the Pacific. The blasts were blinding. Tidal waves surged like towering walls, engulfing coastlines in mere minutes. Panic spread like wildfire. Sirens blared, evacuation orders echoed across every channel, but the underground shelters were already packed to the brim. The Deliveries had been ready. They anticipated the ground to tremble, for more missiles to fall. Nuclear devastation followed like a twisted encore, just moments after the floods. The world as we knew it didn't end with a whimper; it unraveled in a series of escalating disasters. And amidst the chaos, a new breed of human emerged—someone who could stand up to a Delivery. That's where my story truly began.
"Theresa, report to the bunker," a voice crackled from the dim hallway behind me. Master Cony stood there, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like you're getting quite the attention from the boys lately, huh?" His tone was playful, but his eyes were restless.
I narrowed my gaze, trying to decipher his expression. "Master Cony, what's with that look? Did you uncover something?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. He didn't respond, just nodded toward the bunker door, his silence heavier than any words. I stopped trying to guess and slipped inside.
The bunker felt like a grave. The air was thick with the stench of stale urine and hopelessness, a suffocating reminder of too many people crammed into too small a space for far too long. After the floods and the bombs, it was the last refuge. Only Master Cony and I could come and go without losing our breath—our abilities allowed us to endure the toxic air, while the outside world had been twisted by flames and chemicals. It wasn't just perilous; it was unrecognizable. The forests stood as charred skeletons, cars melted into grotesque heaps, and streets had crumbled into gaping holes. Above us, the sky swirled with poison, green and orange gases seeping into every breath we took.
As I wandered through the bunker's cracked corridors, I could feel the walls tremble with each distant explosion. It seemed on the verge of collapse. Then, as I turned a corner, something caught my eye—a soft smile, ethereal and warm, breaking through the darkness. I froze. There, impossibly, stood Issac.
He was cloaked in black, his face mostly hidden in shadow, but his presence was unmistakable—a silent menace that sent chills down my spine. I tried to call for help, but he was too quick, his gloved finger pressing against my lips. I tensed, weighing my options. If I screamed, I'd be dead before the guards even had a chance to respond. So I stayed silent, my heart racing. After a few agonizing seconds, he lifted his finger, his eyes sparkling with a strange thrill.
He spoke softly, his voice smooth like silk. "You know, breaking through your defenses wasn't easy. I waited a long time for you to let your guard down. Tesil kept Cony busy—maybe you didn't realize, but if a Delivery wore a uniform, your barrier spells wouldn't recognize them. She orchestrated this. I dealt with the guards. Then it was just you left. I disguised myself as Cony—gold, not black. If you could see through it, I'd be a goner, but we both know our powers don't work here. So… you might as well give in. And marry me."
He blushed as he said it, which would've been amusing if it weren't so terrifying. I couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and disbelief. "Why are you blushing? Are you feeling okay? Or is there something off in your head, bro?" I couldn't help but smirk as I watched him wrestle with a mix of embarrassment and pride.
He let out a chuckle, the sound bouncing oddly off the bunker walls. "I've got a thing for women with a bit of fire. I know I'm a mess—I probably can't make you happy, but I'll give it my best shot. With all this power, I'll do whatever it takes."
For a brief moment, a strange scent hit me—a faint whiff of decay, like burnt hair and metal. My stomach churned. I glanced up, locking eyes with Issac.
"Is this some kind of joke? Because my heart's racing like I'm about to meet my end. I have a few questions, if you don't mind." I studied him closely. He nodded.
"Where's Cony? And what did you really do to the world? Why?"
The questions spilled out, raw and urgent.
Issac's expression softened. "Don't worry about Cony. He's safe. As for the world… I wish I could explain. I didn't intend for any of this. One moment I was lurking in the shadows, and the next, I woke up to find everything in ruins. It wasn't meant to go down like this." His voice dropped to a near whisper, almost pleading. For some reason, I found myself believing him.
As night descended, the bunker turned chilly. Issac guided me above ground, leading me toward a castle that sparkled gold under the moonlight. As we got closer, I realized it was made of plastic—cheap and flimsy, yet somehow standing tall like a monument to delusion. I hesitated at the entrance, nerves buzzing, but Issac urged me forward.
Inside, the lights flickered on, and thousands of voices erupted in cheers, echoing through the empty halls. I froze, bewildered. Didn't they know who I was? Weren't they scared? A little girl—no older than four—ran up to me, her eyes sparkling. She mouthed, "Mama's here," and my heart skipped a beat. Was this some kind of setup? A trick? I wouldn't fall for it.
Issac squeezed my hand, pulling me closer. Before I could process what was happening, he kissed me——soft, desperate, as if he could will my forgiveness with a touch. "I love you, bae," he whispered, almost shy.
I pulled away, shoving him back, and then dashed for the door. It wasn't out of embarrassment; it was like every fiber of my being was telling me to flee. I didn't notice Issac was right behind me until I saw his shadow loom over the steps.
The world had fallen apart. The few who remained were grasping at whatever hope and power they could find, caught in a web of love and betrayal. And as the wind howled through the desolation, I realized that nothing would ever be the same again.
Sweat dripped down my face, each drop a stark reminder of just how unprepared I was for this level of effort. I had never really been an athlete—not in high school, not at any point in my life. Exercise always seemed like something meant for other people. Now, with my lungs on fire and my muscles screaming, I finally sank down, letting the fatigue wash over me like a heavy blanket.
It still blew my mind that the plants sprouting from the toxin-laden soil weren't toxic at all. That single discovery had turned everything we thought we knew on its head. The world around me felt unrecognizable—broken, desolate, almost like something out of a sci-fi movie. There were no real places to hide anymore, just shadows pretending to offer safety.
But I had come up with a disguise—simple yet clever. Instead of hiding, I opted to mislead. I figured out a way to multiply my image, or at least create the illusion that several versions of me were moving across the landscape. It wasn't flawless, but it bought me some precious time.
Lying on the ground, I gazed up at the sky. It was overcast and dim, yet still held a quiet, unreachable promise. I found myself wondering when—if ever—things would return to how they used to be. And then it hit me: maybe, just maybe, with his help, we could bring the world back. But deep down, I knew that thought was teetering on the edge of fantasy.
"Why didn't you just ask?"
The voice caught me off guard. I turned quickly to see Isaac standing there, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp.
"How long have you been there?" I asked.
He smiled, a wistful look playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Long enough to admire you," he replied. "Your eyes—they're like gems. The night sky doesn't hold a candle to the light you carry, both inside and out. You're kind, even when the world isn't. Me? I'm just a thug who never had a childhood. I was tossed to the streets and left to fend for myself among rats, selling whatever I could scrounge up. Maybe that's why I want this world to go back to how it was—because I never really got to live in it."
He looked away for a moment, then back at me with an intensity that made it hard to hold his gaze.
"Even if I manage to help fix things, I know I'll still be the one they point fingers at. That's okay. But isn't there something you've been wanting to ask me?"
His words struck a chord deep within me. I paused, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over me. Could I really say what was on my mind? But I realized I had to—eventually. Whether it was considered off-limits or not didn't matter anymore. I just couldn't face this alone.
"Issac, something's… off," I said, my voice hollow, barely tethered to reality. My face had already betrayed me. Pale. Blank. Empty.
He looked at me—no, through me. "Define 'off,' mistress."
I hesitated. His gaze was too sharp. Like he was trying to extract something from behind my eyes.
"I need your help. If we're going to fix what's broken… I need the power of a Deli—"
Pain.
A spike drilled into my skull, slicing clean through thought. My sentence collapsed mid-word. Something was wrong—forbidden. My vision cracked like glass. And then—
Darkness.
When I came to, I was under the stars again. Everything was exactly where it had been… seconds ago. Or minutes? Or years?
Issac stood behind me.
"Long enough to admire you."
I blinked. No. That was wrong. He'd already said that. Hadn't he?
"What the hell is this?" I whispered.
He kept speaking. Same words. Same cadence. "Your eyes—they're like gems. The night sky doesn't hold a candle to the light you carry…"
He wasn't talking to me. He was reading lines.
"Issac," I said slowly, "do you really think a scripted monologue is going to mess with my head?"
No reaction. Just more dialogue, as if he couldn't hear me.
"…That's why I want the world back. I never really lived in it."
I stood up. This wasn't just déjà vu. It was a loop. A fracture. Something artificial.
Then his tone changed. "I don't want to live."
I froze.
He smiled—too wide, too still—and in his hand, a knife gleamed under starlight. Where had it come from?
"Issac…?"
No answer.
He slit his own throat.
A horrible wet noise. A spray of red. His body spasmed, knees giving out, hands clutching at his neck like he could rewind it all. He couldn't.
He fell.
And then the silence.
I dropped beside him. Breath gone. Mind blank.
Issac wasn't suicidal. Not even close. This wasn't desperation—it was choreography.
I couldn't breathe.
There was something in my throat. Heavy. Crawling. I retched, hands gripping the dirt. No air. No voice. My vision tunneled—
And then—
Darkness, again.
Even in unconsciousness, I saw myself. My body on the ground, mouth agape. Blood. So much blood.
A writhing shape forced its way out of my throat. A bug.
Then the world folded.
"Theresa, report to the bunker," a voice said. Calm. Familiar.
My body obeyed before I even registered the words.
I knew this script. I'd followed it dozens of times. Maybe hundreds.
"Looks like you're getting attention from the boys lately, huh?" Cony said.
I feigned surprise. That was the role.
"Master Cony, what's with that look? Did you uncover something?"
He gestured toward the bunker.
Inside, it was all repetition: the walls, the air, the scent of recycled tension.
Then—I saw him.
Issac. Or someone wearing him.
"Apologies," the stranger said. "I arrived earlier than expected."
He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't even human. I knew it without knowing how.
"Who are you?" I asked, heart pounding. "What do you want?"
He handed me a sheet of paper.
My hands trembled as I scanned it.
It was filled with scenes. From my life. Private moments. Word for word. Even the parts I hadn't spoken aloud.
"How—?"
"I'm a god, Theresa."
A laugh escaped me. Desperate. False.
"No. You're a lunatic with a printer."
"You're trapped. You just haven't accepted it."
To prove it, he pulled a fragment from the bunker wall without moving a muscle.
I looked down. On the paper—the wall was already gone.
"What do you want with me?"
He grinned. "I picked your world. It entertains me. That's all."
I grabbed him by the collar. Lifted him. His body was weightless.
"You should be terrified," I hissed.
"If I die, everything dies," he said simply. "But don't worry. I never stay dead."
I dropped him.
Gone. Just like that.
Then: Issac again.
"Breaking through your barriers had me hot on a Friday night," he said, smirking.
Not a line from the script. Something new.
"Don't try to flirt. I will end you," I muttered.
A blade flashed toward my head. I deflected instinctively.
When I turned—he was in the corner. Watching.
"What the hell? You just attacked me!"
"I've been here the whole time," he said, eyes wide with confusion.
I looked down.
The script now showed the clash—two blades locked in mid-air. Mine… and one floating by itself.
No wielder.
"Issac," I said, voice low, "do you know anything about a god of creation?"
He shook his head. Walked closer.
Then he asked: "Did you die, Theresa?"
The question was too pointed. Too precise.
"…Why do you ask?"
"I can see souls. Yours is decaying. And it's still inside you."
He looked angry now. Not afraid—furious.
"If you're working with that thing, then we're done."
"I'm not!" I snapped. "I don't even know what's going on!"
He grabbed the script from my hands. Looked at it. His mouth hung open.
"What the actual fuck is this…?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
He stared for a long time. Then—almost casually:
"How'd that kiss taste?"
I recoiled, unsure if I was angry or nauseous. I didn't answer.
He didn't press. He just… walked away.
And I was left alone with the script. With the impossible.
With the truth.
In the midst of a dream that had crumbled beyond repair, I found myself wandering—searching for something essential, something that had once been mine, now forever lost. No matter how hard I tried, the story wouldn't bend to my will; it splintered in places that seemed impossible to fix. That's when I heard footsteps, purposeful and unashamed. I turned to see Issac.
"Listen," he said, his voice tinged with a quiet urgency that felt worn. "You're not the only one who's faced death. This isn't my first time either. So… Come with me."
There was a crack in his gaze, a mix of youthful innocence and haunting sorrow—as if he, too, had once been part of a tale that had let him down. Maybe he was the lost boy after all.
"Okay," I replied, without a moment's hesitation.
It restarted two days later.
My body lay half-submerged in a crater lake, skin leached pale, hair tangled like seaweed. Issac was screaming, shaking me by the shoulders, but the gasses had done their job. My lungs were blackened like charcoal. My eyes, open but empty. Again.
I didn't remember the last loop. Only fragments—flashes of my smile, the taste of ash, the sound of that damn scream. But the pain rooted deep. Familiar. The kind that stains you.
They met again near the split in the valley, where the earth had cracked like an eggshell and steam hissed up like breath from a dying beast. I coughed, gasping, but alive again—alive for now.
"How long this time?" I rasped.
"Three days since the last restart," Issac muttered. "I found you in the lake again."
"Was it… them?"
He didn't answer.
Even in this barren wasteland—where life had long abandoned its hold—there were still survivors. Not just the last echoes of humanity, but individuals touched by something extraordinary, something beyond the ordinary. I met them: five in total. Star, Riguel, Celsius, Phoenix, and Felix. Each name carried a story, a legend of its own, and each possessed a gift that broke the stillness of the world around us.
Star appeared first—fragile, ethereal, eyes like dead stars. I moved like a whisper. I trusted her. Issac didn't. She never spoke unless asked, and when she did, it was always a question.
"Do you feel it when you die?" she asked me one night.
I didn't sleep for two days after that.
Riguel came next. Taller than anyone should be. Always in the distance, watching. He smelled like burnt plastic. No one ever saw him walk—he just was. When they confronted him, he smiled too wide.
"I'm just here to see if the outcome changes this time."
Outcome of what?
Celsius arrived during a storm that wasn't supposed to happen. The clouds shimmered blue. She walked barefoot across a crater lake like it was pavement. Steam hissed under her heels. She brought nothing but silence and the stench of ozone. When I touched her arm, it sizzled.
"You remember more than you're supposed to," Celsius whispered.
It wasn't a compliment.
Phoenix was different. Loud. Charismatic. He laughed too easily. But he never said where he slept. Never ate. When Issac asked how he avoided the poisoned air, Phoenix just grinned and said, "You think I breathe?"
Then there was Felix. Kind. Helpful. Too helpful. He knew when people would die, but never warned them. Always one step ahead.
"Why didn't you tell me she'd drown again?" Issac once screamed.
Felix just blinked slowly. "Because this version needed you to see her die."
Every one of them played a role.
Every death is a lesson. Every reset has a new configuration.
I began keeping track in a blackened notebook. It was half-burned, but I wrote in the margins. Patterns. Names. Predictions. The others—Star, Riguel, Celsius, Phoenix, Felix—they knew about the loops. Maybe they were causing them. Maybe they were trapped, too.
Or maybe they were gods playing with insects.
And then, finally, help arrived.
Somehow, we had managed to stray just enough from our path to avoid disaster. But we couldn't afford to waste any more time—this was a critical moment, and second-guessing ourselves wasn't an option. It was now or never.
From the bunker.
Charlie stepped out of the passageway, his body cloaked in black mist. Where his feet touched ground, shadows bloomed like ink in water. The gas didn't touch him. He held his hand out to Issac and said, "You don't have to do this alone anymore."
Issac was lost in a whirlwind of thoughts—maybe he always would be. His mind grappled with a mind-boggling contradiction: here he was, reaching out to the very man who had brought the world to its knees, the mastermind behind extinction, the specter who shattered civilization in mere moments. Just one breath had the power to end it all, and it had.
"Why are you extending your hand to me?" Issac's voice quivered, thick with something far more profound than mere confusion. Despair clung to him like a heavy fog. His eyes were glassy, teetering on the brink of breaking down.
Charlie didn't flinch. His voice bore the weight of past battles and deeper regrets. "Because no one helps a soldier like you unless they still have a heart. I know you're hurting too. You might not say it, but we're here. We won't leave you behind."
In that moment, something inside Issac cracked open. The words tugged at the last thread of resistance in his chest. He exhaled—then collapsed, as if the very essence of those words had knocked the wind out of him. His body fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Charlie knelt down without haste, offering the same hand that had once reached across war-torn fields. "Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day," he murmured, his voice a blend of lullaby and eulogy.
Issac groaned in his sleep, his fists clenching as if caught in an unseen battle. Charlie gently stroked his head, and the tension in Issac's body gradually melted away, his limbs loosening like ropes unwound. For now, he would find peace.
We decided to hunker down for the night in the bunker—a fleeting moment of tranquility in a world suffocating in its own chaos.
Then another figure emerged: Edward—scarred, silent, a fellow survivor shaped by the same brutal past. As we ventured deeper into the corridor's metallic veins, his voice began to fill in the haunting gaps.
Charlie, Edward revealed, had transformed into something beyond—or perhaps less—human. The experiments had seen to that. Twisted science, born from desperation, had morphed him into a being that was part angel, part wound. Edward had been forced to witness the trials firsthand, unable to look away, unable to forget. He described how the people in the bunker were unraveling, their civility decaying into brutality. Tempers flared like exposed wires, and with each passing day, the threat of an internal conflict grew louder. If answers didn't emerge soon, the pressure would explode into violence. Maybe even genocide.
Resources were running low. Food, clean water, medicine—either gone or dwindling. Without intervention, death wouldn't come quietly. It would arrive with the screams of hunger, disease, and dehydration. And perhaps the most horrifying of all—cannibalism. A species consuming itself to survive.
This was our reality. Not a worst-case scenario, but the only one we had left.
I found myself in the room I was assigned when I first got here—now a shadow of its former self. Mold was eating away at the walls. The bed creaked as I sat, lost in my own thoughts. What comes next? The question pulsed in my mind like an infected wound. Tomorrow held no promises, only uncertainties and the looming threat of total failure.
What if I couldn't save this world? What if I wasn't strong enough? Not smart enough? Not ruthless enough?
And then it would all come to an end. The final act. The decay of Earth would be complete, and every last soul would disappear—erased like chalk on a scorched blackboard.
I had bent the rules before. It felt like second nature to me. I'd always been the reckless type, the impulsive one—someone who rarely paused to think before diving in. But this time was different. I had to be careful. If I didn't, it wouldn't just be my own fate on the line. I'd be putting everyone at risk.
There was a foulness in the air, something beyond just decay. It was despair, thick and metallic, like the stench of old blood. I didn't want to end up like the others. I had to hold on to the belief that I could do better.
I was determined to save them. I wouldn't let the darkness take over.
But then—screaming.
A voice, raw with urgency, sliced through the silence. A name—my name. "T–Theresa! Hurry! Something's here!" And then the quake. A deafening crack. The ceiling above me splintered like paper. Then—impact.
I didn't even scream.
My body crumbled under the weight. Bones snapped, organs burst, blood sprayed like paint across the walls. My limbs were reduced to a mushy mess. My eyes popped from their sockets, rolling lifelessly across the floor. A man came in—stopped dead in his tracks—screamed.
Why? I wondered, now submerged in the void.
Nothingness.
Then—I came back.
Same room. Same breathless fear. But something felt off. No Issac rushing in. No urgency. No collapse. Just silence.
I decided to wait. To watch. To learn. Maybe the cycle would start over. Maybe it wouldn't. But even the tiniest detail could change everything. I just needed time. Time to get ready.
But nothing happened.
Two hours went by. I fell asleep.
And then—the dream.
A man with wings, solemn and silent, approached a gate. He held keys, ancient and ornate. As he turned them, he looked back and smiled—a grin too perfect to trust. Then he disappeared.
Another man showed up. The same keys. The same gate. But this time—everything felt off. His face was a wreck. Bruises, blood, and a gaping hole in his temple. One eye was completely gone. Yet, he still turned the keys. And when the gate creaked open—it stepped through.
It was massive. Eight, maybe nine feet tall. Its eyes were black and hollow, like a doll crafted by a twisted mind. The cloak it wore was tattered linen, stained and barely concealing the horrific shape underneath. From its hand dangled a weapon—golden, jagged, more like a symbol of hunger than a blade.
Its mouth—oh God, its mouth—was lined with teeth like rusted nails, oozing a dark, warm fluid. Its tongue was like a blade. A tail slithered out from its mouth, twitching like a parasite.
But the most horrifying part? Its second mouth. Gaping, grinning, stitched into its abdomen like a cruel joke of birth. Blood smeared its edges, but not a single drop touched its chest. It was precise. Ritualistic.
Its hair wasn't hair at all—just blood, hardened into red strands that pretended to be alive.
It paused, then grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him effortlessly like a doll. In one swift motion, it sliced him into thirds. Intestines spilled out. The mouth on its stomach eagerly devoured them. An eye was slurped down like a delicacy. A pop. A crunch.
I wanted to shut my eyes—but something kept them wide open.
Its eyes turned crimson. The air around it became suffocating. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. It began to change—sprouting wings, a crown of bone, a tail like a whip made of flesh and malice. It locked its gaze on me.
And then it soared—into the distance, into the future.
I jolted awake, my heart pounding against my ribs. And all I could think was:
It's coming.
Blood spilled from my nose. I heard footsteps approaching, it was something I learned to listen for. I picked up my weapon beside my bed and got into a striking position, my sword positioned a little above my hip. They were approaching quickly, I gripped my sword. The door flung open, it was Edward. I lowered my Katana and sighed in relief. "Hey, Theresa, hurry you don't won't to be late do you?" his casual grin worn well. I sat down my blade and got dressed. I didn't want to worry Edward. Dressed now, I gestured towards Edward.
Edward followed behind. Calm. Pale. A thin scar across his cheek. The sky trembled when he breathed. His eyes shimmered like lightning trapped in glass.
"I can take us anywhere," Edward said. "But there's nowhere left to run."
They weren't normal anymore. Not after the experiments. Not after years underground. They could bend the dead world around them. But even they couldn't stop the loop.
Only survive it. Guide it.
I died again. Crushed under collapsing ash. The seventh time. Issac held her hand until it stilled, and then it rewound—again.
He woke screaming. Charlie calmed him with a wall of darkness that muted the sound. Edward moved them across time, across space, to avoid a death he hadn't seen yet.
But something always brought them back.
Always me dying.
Always him watching.
As the world spiraled further into silence and decay, the others—Star, Riguel, Celsius, Phoenix, Felix—became less distant. More human. They started to care.
Or pretend to.
Riguel, once mute and monstrous, sat beside Issac and told him about the third loop. The seed that bloomed into this nightmare.
"It wasn't meant to be this long," Riguel whispered. "But she keeps choosing you."
Star drew symbols in the dust, muttering about breaking patterns.
Felix showed him a map of possible timelines. "There's a version where she lives. One. Just one."
"And the others?"
He didn't answer.
I returned again. Tired. Faded. My eyes weren't my own.
"They're wearing me down, Issac," I said. "But I remember. I remember everything now."
And suddenly, the loops didn't just reset. They evolved.
Charlie summoned storms that froze the gas clouds. Edward ripped time apart to find answers buried in dead moments. Together, with the secrets the five had slowly spilled, they began to shape a plan.
A real escape.
But escape from what?
From death?
From fate?
From truth?
And in the middle of the waste, where everything was ash and crater and memory, they stood.
Issac. Me. Charlie. Edward.
Star, Riguel, Celsius, Phoenix, and Felix watching like judges or saints or survivors.
"This is the last one," I said.
"How do you know?" Issac asked.
I looked up at the sick red sky, and for the first time, smiled.
"Because I chose this one."
And for a moment, for a flicker—
The world didn't end.
The wind burned.
It wasn't just air—it was scorched metal and microscopic glass and something worse, something chemical that tasted like dead dreams. It howled across the cratered valley, and Issac pulled my hood tighter over her head as I stumbled, eyes squinted against the ashstorm.
"Don't breathe too deep," he warned, even though he knew it wouldn't matter.
My breath already wheezed.
They had thirteen minutes.
He knew that now. Knew it like you know your own heartbeat.
Thirteen minutes from this exact moment, I would die again.
The ground was spongy beneath our boots. Melted asphalt? Or bone? It didn't matter. Nothing grew here. The trees were petrified—skeletal silhouettes crackling in the toxic wind. Some still had human shapes embedded in them, fused mid-run, screaming. A reminder of the first flash.
Felix had once called it the anchoring. Like the world itself was too full, and it had to cut pieces off to stay stable.
Phoenix waited by the obsidian ridge, spinning a rusted compass between his fingers. He didn't look up when they arrived.
"Too late to reroute," he said without inflection. "Riguel's already in position."
Issac clenched his jaw. "He knows what happens if she dies again."
"Riguel's not a person, Issac. You can't guilt something that doesn't bleed."
I coughed, a pink mist escaping her lips. That was blood. It was starting.
"No," Issac whispered. "No no no—"
We ran.
Up the edge of the cliff where the crater lake shimmered like oil, reflecting the wrong kind of sky. Stars pulsed in odd patterns. The air thinned until it tasted like plastic wrap.
Riguel stood on the ridge.
Tall. Still. Eyes glowing white like static. His fingers twitched.
"You have to move," Issac called out, voice hoarse. "She'll die again if you stand there."
Riguel blinked. "That is the purpose of my placement. I am the event."
"What event?!"
But he was already reaching into his own chest. Pulling out the object.
It looked like a sun fragment. Pulsing red, vibrating with heat and memory.
I dropped to her knees.
Edward ripped into the scene with a thunderclap, the space around him twisting like wet paper. One second he wasn't there, the next he was, arm around me, lifting me before the pulse could hit.
"GO!" he screamed at Issac.
Charlie unfolded beside them, a ripple of shadow, covering them in pure black. No sound. No pain. Just absence. Safe.
For a moment.
Issac saw it all through the cracks.
The crater boiling. Theresa twitching, eyes rolling back. The sun fragment ignited in Riguel's palm, rupturing into light and thunder.
He blinked—and they were gone.
Again.
He awoke face-down in mud that wasn't there yesterday.
Same sky. Same heat. Me beside him. Alive.
The loop had closed.
They spent that iteration in silence.
I no longer cried when she reset. But I watched him differently now—like I knew something he didn't. Like this time, it wasn't just pain. It was a warning.
"You're changing too," I told him.
Issac looked down at his hands. The fingertips had begun to darken. Not dirt. Not rot. Shadow.
Charlie's influence?
Or was the world trying to claim him, too?
They met Celsius again, this time near the sulfur geysers, where birds once screamed but now only the wind lived.
Celsius touched my chest.
"You've got six loops left," she said flatly. "Then you burn out."
"Six?"
Celsius tilted her head. "That's generous."
Issac lunged, but Celsius vanished in a hiss of steam.
They made it farther that time.
Edward kept jumping them from place to place, seeking a safe zone. But none existed. Even time was sick.
Charlie held back a sandstorm with a cloak of shadows that reached a mile wide, but he bled for it—black fluid from his ears, eyes dim.
"It's like carrying a god on your back," he gasped. "This power—it was never meant to be... used this long."
Issac helped him sit. "Rest. I'll take watch."
But watch for what?
There was no enemy. Only events. Only consequence.
That night, Star came to Theresa in a dream.
Or maybe it was a memory.
"You could stop all of this," Star said gently. "You just have to stop coming back."
"I didn't ask to come back."
"You wanted something enough to make the world break."
I woke up crying.
"I think I killed everyone," she whispered to Issac.
He held her, but didn't speak.
He wasn't sure it wasn't true.
Then came the variant loop.
Felix pulled them aside as a rain of red petals fell from the sky—ash shaped like flowers.
"I've seen every version," he told them. "One of them ends with you killing her."
Issac recoiled.
"What?"
"Maybe not by hand. Maybe by choice. But in that version, the world resets. Everything breathes again."
Issac looked at I, dirt smudged across her pale cheek, lips chapped, eyes barely holding on.
He couldn't imagine a world without her.
And that was the problem.
They tried again.
And again.
Each loop wore I thinner. Each death took something. My laugh. My memory. My warmth.
Eventually, I just... stared at nothing. Waiting.
Issac screamed at Star. Begged Celsius. Attacked Riguel with a broken rib.
Nothing worked.
Then one day—I stopped coming back.
The crater was silent.
The loop didn't restart.
And Issac was alone.
For the first time in forever, he felt cold.
Truly, deeply, deathly cold.
The kind that lives in marrow. That whispers: "You were never meant to win."
But then the ground shifted.
The world quaked.
Edward appeared, breathless. Bleeding.
"She's still here," he panted. "One more time. One more reset. But you have to go back farther. Before the world broke."
Charlie emerged from the void.
"I can shadow you through it. But it'll rip you apart. You won't remember her. You won't remember you."
Issac looked at the burned sky.
At the crater where she died last.
And made a choice.
The loop began again.
But this time...
He was someone else.
I was already dying.
And the world?
The world waited.