Max's mind spun wildly. Past and future collapsed together, merging into a blur of sensations. He was everywhere—at his birth, at his battles, at his death. He was both the child in the courtyard and the conqueror of worlds. He saw himself die a thousand times and be reborn a thousand more.
He could feel himself slipping. His sense of self was breaking apart, dissolving into the endless current. The flow of time was no longer around him—it was inside him, through him, tearing at every thread of his being.
And then out of nowhere, Max found himself standing in front of a ruined battlefield.
The ground was cracked and scorched, rivers of lava snaking between mountains of ash. The skies were torn open by lightning and fire, and the faint remnants of stars rained down like dying embers. The air was thick with the smell of iron and smoke.
Everywhere he looked, there was only death.
