“Team 1, what’s your status?! What’s his condition?!”
“Shit, we have eyes on—”
“Hobbs?! Hobbs—?!”
I shot the radio before the incapacitated Lynx could snatch it. Sparks flew from his comms. His arm hopelessly fell flat against the floor. Fatigues soaked in blood belonging to multiple men including his own. Through his shattered goggles, bloodshot eyes and pinpoint pupils glared at me. “You… You won’t fucking win, Conqueror! We’ll find you, we’ll fucking find you—!”
His helmet was blown off his head, bouncing across polished hardwood alongside pieces of his skull and brain-matter.
I entered her courtyard. The lamps were deactivated after I had cut the power, allowing the winter night to infect every barren branch and dead grass with darkness. Out here, it was quiet. Still. My visors picked up no heat signatures nor any abnormalities in the environment. Very well. After stowing away my Godkiller, I walked down the marked path, leaving behind thick and bloody footprints on the white and gray stones.
I listened to the wind. I listened to chirping insects, and distantly, the desperate whine of electricity. Amongst the sounds, there was the subtle note of fallen concealment and a forced breath—to my three o’clock, behind the forwardmost tree.
A condensed bar of strange energy flushed over my chest.
Stasis inflicted, said my HUD. My body slowed down to a near-halt as Lynxes popped from the bushes.
Spell-bullets shattered the night and thumped uselessly against BASTION. Hundreds of spells spent, the impacts completely absorbed, resulting in only minor scratches. I’d anticipated an ambush. I could’ve gone through the effort to break their concealment, but I had technological superiority with my cybernetics and BASTION. It’d be easier to bait them into the open like this.
Stasis purified, BASTION informed, taking approximately two seconds to purge the effect. Too slow this time around, but alright.
The nearest Lynx hid behind the closest tree at three o’clock.
I leapt toward him.
“Shit!” he cursed, and the servos of his exoskeleton spurred. Too late, I’m afraid.
Before he could retreat, my fingers latched onto the steel powering his arm. A mana-knife zipped across my eyes, banged against my metal cheek, and bounced off. The knife rebounded to sink between the plates but it was swatted aside. I grabbed the back of his neck and drilled his face into the tree.
It was flattened, skull crushed, blood smeared against the bark and teeth flying free, and limply he fell—
Behind me, another Lynx charged at me with a similar mana-machete. He held the blade high and screamed like a maniac. Simply, I drove my fist into an exposed part of his stomach. It broke skin and muscles, burying itself in his intestines and other viscera.
Something caught my attention: his pained chuckle and a strange hissing coming from his vest.
I see.
I threw him toward the rest of the squad on the other side of the courtyard.
In mid-air, above the pavement, he exploded in a confusing effect of fragmentation, combustion, and mana. I didn’t anticipate that level of desperation from the Lynxes. You only found manic tactics like that in lesser-developed nations, not with Western-trained mercenaries. I suppose such tactics were called for in hopeless situations.
The final members saw the futility and made for the exit. Two left. They hopped onto the pavement, their panicked feet clacking against the stone, as they alarmed the others through comms.
In their next condensed breath, I grabbed the metal spine of the Lynx last in the stack. He gasped. “He got me—!”
He was lifted in the air and was brought back down to the earth. Ribs shattered. His exoskeleton was bent inwards and cut into his body, but he was alive. Groaning, bleeding more internally than out.
I stepped on his back, causing his groan to rise in pitch and volume, and crushed the remaining life out of him.
The last Lynx looked back for a moment, and although only his eyes were visible, they told the whole story. He threw his comms aside and drew his mana-knife. He failed to make even a full slash before I had his arm and snapped it at the elbow. He screamed, but not for long. I backhanded him, the power enough to twist and snap his neck beyond ninety-degrees.
I continued, clearing room after room, fighting Lynx after Lynx. One-by-one, they all died.
None of them were noteworthy enough to comment on.
After shedding enough blood for several operations, I faced the final double-door. Her study. On the other side, there was a single heartbeat. Hers. I could recognize her heart-beats out of a crowd of a thousand. After tonight, everything will be over.
Finally.
I entered, holding a short-iron at my side.
Dr. Nightingale sat behind her desk, sipping on a glass of her favorite whiskey while staring at a portrait of her younger self. Both women lacked light in their eyes. You could hardly call them “human”—no, they were husks. Demons. Things like them were better off eradicated and erased from public consciousness.
“...Alexander, you’ve taken longer than I thought.” Dr. Nightingale drank the rest of her whiskey and gulped. She set the glass aside and addressed me, seeing the man underneath the helmet.
I aimed center on her forehead.
Nightingale was undeterred. “Where’s my daughter? I thought she would want to see her mother for the last time.”
“Calling yourself a ‘mother’ is a fucking disgrace,” I growled. “You took her husband’s life, my uncle! For all these years, you lied to us. You lied to me—”
“And look what happened.” Despite facing death, she grinned. “I molded you into the greatest weapon against Slayers, better than Alistair! Yet you’re just as ungrateful as him. I gave him Melissa, and look at what he did. But you, Alexander? I’d given you so much more, allowed you to rise to your fullest potential, and this is how you’re willing to end things.”
Underneath my helmet, I clenched my teeth so hard that they may fall out. “From the beginning, you should’ve known this would happen.”
“Yes, but not by your hands.” Nightingale chuckled. “I had such high hopes for you, Alexander.”
“And I believed in you. We were both wrong.”
I pulled the trigger.
She’s dead. Evelyn Nightingale is dead. I… I avenged my uncle.
I killed and destroyed everything.
What’s left after this?
I have no home to go to. I couldn’t risk putting Althea and her family in danger, more than I already had. Aunt Melissa said she would protect me; we’d need to spend the rest of our lives in hiding, but if it’s her…
She may have a chance for a normal life again.
Not me.
I’m far too gone.
Heh, what a bitch, right? I could’ve done fucking anything else, yet I ended up as a stooge for Dr. Nightingale. She ruined my life and made this world uninhabitable for “weapons” like me. I couldn’t go back home to Ordo—
Ordo?
I don’t live there.
Why did I think Ordo was my home? Am I going insane—?
A splitting headache tore my head in half.
[SIMULATION INVALID]
The wind created the perfect music amongst the field of reeds. I reached out to the azure heavens and pretended that this hand could touch that celestial throne. Soon, though, it will be done. For now, gently, I lowered my arrogance and allowed the reeds to graze my palm like a father caressing his son’s hair.
Jin Tianyou hesitated before speaking; I could hear him swallow a dry gulp. His heart was a trembling, weak thing.
My fingers gingerly curled around the stem of a bunch of reeds.
I tore the reeds out and faced my most cherished friend. He was in a terrible state. His midnight-blue hair was rough and frayed and his skin was sickly to the eyes; it was as though I was looking upon an ill beauty who had mustered the strength for a rare day of freedom. His eyes were the most pitiful I had seen yet; somewhere inside those galaxies of his were deep, deep sorrow.
He couldn’t respond to me. He no longer had the strength to. He lost that a long time ago. Pathetic.
I let go of the torn reeds and allowed them to drift amongst the wind. Then, like an omen, the direction abruptly changed.
I blinked once and saw a small woman standing beside Jin Tianyou, a young beauty often proclaimed to be the fairest in the entirety of the Jianghu. Her hair was the darkest ink and her fierce eyes were striking silver like the most extravagant jewelry, and there was no love left in her heart.
So even my dearest friend betrayed me. This was an inevitability. He would need to perish at some point anyhow.
Elder Shang bit down on her lip as a failing way to hold her wrath.
The Elder remained wrathful despite my listing of crimes—well, accomplishments.
All xia knew, of course. Jin Tianyou couldn’t bear to look at his brother whom he betrayed; perhaps it was out of shame, or perhaps knowing what would happen next. Death was the only answer for this taboo.
The reeds were going to be my resting place. Or so they assumed.
I declared.
Elder Shang’s teeth rattled, yet her tone was so quiet:
I smiled.
If, though, there was one thing I could smile about, truly, then it’d be her. She became the youngest Elder in the oblivious hope to change the land. In the end, she had to be the first one to raise a hand against her brother.
Xingli snapped her fingers.
Instantly, I was surrounded by a thousand cultivators and xias; I could feel formations in the air, ready to activate. The conversations were over. A shame. I would’ve liked to speak with my sister for a few moments longer.
I relaxed, however. This was the way of the world. Farewells were a gift.
If I were to die today, then maybe Xingli would actually pave a way to the new world.
I wonder, Althea, what would you do—?
What?
Why did that name pop into my head? She didn’t have a western name; we were raised in the Jianghu. She was Shang Xingli, and I was Shang Yuhang—
No, that wasn’t correct.
That wasn’t my name.
I wasn’t Shang Yuhang. Not entirely. Something was wrong with this information. Something dearly wrong.
I’m not Shang Yuhang.
Who the fuck am I?
Why is Althea looking at me with so much hate in her eyes? What the hell did I do to her?
I’m not a cultivator, I’m… I’m…!
[SIMULATION INVALID]
“Shen, don’t—!”
“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” I pushed against Hernandez, and despite being half a foot shorter than me, he managed to hold me from breaking through the door. “We have his DNA in the scene; we have eye-fucking-witnesses that match his description perfectly—!” (“Shen!”) “—he lied about his alibi—!”
“Shen!” Hernandez shoved me hard enough that I fell back against my desk.
I gritted my teeth, my fingers instinctively reaching for my tie and straightening it out.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“This… This is why the Chief didn’t tell you,” he said, whispering while half of the precinct was staring through the window. “Councilman Scott’s going home. There’s nothing we can do—”
“Who told him to drop the case?” I ran through names in my head. “The mayor, Guild Master Mirage—?”
“I don’t know—” (“You have to know—”) “—I said I don’t fuckin’ know, and Chief’s not gonna tell you! Not now!”
“I—fuck!” I wanted to do many things to my office: kick my desk, throw everything off the surface, break the window, but all I did was stand there, helplessly, with my fists and teeth locked together.
Hernandez gulped and looked everywhere other than me. “Shen, look, I know. It’s a shitty situation—”
I raised my finger at him, but the words didn’t come out at first. Then, I found them, “Scott… He raped and choked that girl. We found her dead with her own bra wrapped around her fucking neck, and we’re supposed to leave him be?”
He didn’t give me an answer. No one here would give me an answer. Times like these, I thought back to those TV shows and movies where they dramatize the life of an honorable detective. “Actual detective work wasn’t like that,” I’d say to myself, but clearly, the show-writers were onto something. I wonder, though… Before the System, was my job any different back then? Because today, we have superhumans and super-problems yet we can’t figure out any super-solutions to the diseases plaguing society.
Whatever the answer was, I knew mine. That’s all that matters.
After cooling down enough, I convinced Hernandez to let me leave my office. He had me basically cornered against my door, making it clear that if I act out, he’d kick me inside. I ignored my watching colleagues—all of whom were waiting to see another outburst—and focused on Chief’s office.
The blinds were shut and the isolation bubble was active, making it impossible to see the conversation inside. It didn't last long, however, and the door opened after a few minutes.
Chief exited first, the talk having taken years off his face. Everyone in the precinct was familiar with that ashamed, defeated countenance. It was a look that made you question why he was still working as a badge. He stepped aside for the immune king, the round and ugly fucker, Councilman Scott.
Scott walked out like a theater star seeing his adoring audience. He smiled, licked his lips, and barely had the self-restraint to not laugh. He’d won. The people pulling his strings were protecting him, and by the letters of the so-called “law,” us badges were powerless. If we dared to act out, it’d not only mean our lives but the lives of our families.
Disgusting, wasn’t it? I was staring at the icon of corruption: a thing so heinous yet impulsive, whose recklessness forced his superiors’ hands. He was the typical scum we’d catch, but the true demons knew better than to expose themselves like this.
“I’ll see you folks later, hehe,” said Scott, his belly bouncing, and he turned toward the exit.
As he left, his tiny, proud eyes flickered toward me. No matter how frumious my glaring was, he was unshaken during his departure. More exactly, my wrath gave him pleasure. Satisfaction, just like when he’d bloodied that girl.
He betrayed the smallest smirk, as if confessing his criminality.
***
A few nights had passed since then. Nights like these were common in the city. Assaulters, rapists, burglars—criminals of all kinds—roaming the darkened sidewalks in wait for their next mark. Yet what about the criminals with iron gates and armed guards? With money? For them, nights were a sanctuary from the action-packed day. Nights were paradise, to indulge in their fetishes and let loose their welled-up emotions built up by their professional lives.
That’s what Councilman Scott did. His case was swept under the rush of more exciting news: the mayor’s new and hollow promises, scandals from across the country, the latest polls for the upcoming presidential election, and whatever else the media deemed as important.
By tomorrow morning, they would hear about their next headline.
Scott, despite being ordered to lay low, decided to join the streets.
“Guh—?!” Councilman Scott spewed blood over his white button-up which had already been soiled from vomit. He heaved, his fat hands pulling himself to the cold brick wall. “W-Wait wait wait, don’t do this! Y-You don’t know who you’re messing with, you—!”
From the shadows, I emerged. Slowly, I freed my magisteel blade and listened to the steel sing in the cold, cold night.
Scott found his reflection in the clean metal, and his once-lustful gaze sunk deeply into despair and panic. The whale madly blubbered, shaking his thick neck, as he fully pressed his back against the bricks. “HELP—!”
Magisteel tickled his jugular.
He swallowed his screams. The confidence he had shown at the station was returned and so much more. “You… You’re Silvereyes.”
I said nothing.
“Y-You’re real, but—but what did I do?! I didn’t do anything—!”
Swiftly, I dragged the edge across his neck. Scott tried screaming but choked on his own blood instead. Everything he did afterwards was a dead man’s dance, and soon enough, he collapsed. The only “life” left in him were his twitching limbs and the depleting warmth of his body.
I cleaned the rather small amount of blood on my blade, then tapped my earpiece. “Journalist, it’s done. I’m coming back—”
“...Silvereyes.”
I sighed. “Negative, actually.”
Of all nights, of course I would encounter him. As soon as he confirmed my existence, we couldn’t stop running into each other. What a pain in the ass.
With Scott dead behind me, I faced the only witness to my crime: the most popular Slayer in the city, Superhero. He levitated a few inches off the ground, his gaudy cape swaying in a constant motion. He looked almost disappointed to see me tonight.
“You dropped another one,” Hero said, woefully gesturing at the corpse.
“You dropping me next?” I primed my exoskeleton; however the conversation would end, I’d need to scale the buildings immediately.
Hero shook his head. “Capes don’t kill people—”
“And this isn’t your homeworld.” I pointed my sword at the airships stationed above the city. “Capes don’t exist here.”
“But villains and vigilantes do. To me, you’re no different than Councilman Scott—”
“Really? That’s how everything squares up in your eyes? He can violate as many women as he wants, but if I drag a blade across his neck, I’m no better than him—?” (“That’s right.”) “—you’re unbelievable, Hero.”
“I’m right. The way I see you, Silvereyes…” Hero drifted closer, enough to make me nervous. “You’re a psychopath who somehow got his hands on military-grade technology—a wannabe cape.”
“That’s rich. Hero, you’re…”
A headache came over me. I was seeing two Heroes now, but it wasn’t double-vision. It was two different Heroes in two different settings. On my left, we spoke in the middle of the day in plain-clothes; and on my right, was right now, fighting as our alter-egos in the dead of night. Simultaneously, the scenes played and the conversations merged together.
What…
What was this—?!
[SIMULATION INVALID]
After the photography and handshaking, I took my rightful place before the podium. In front of me was an audience of the world’s most influential figures: presidents and prime ministers, generals and captains, bureaucrats and agency heads. I’d personally met with at least half of them. From every angle, there was at least a single camera capturing this pivotal moment in history.
The medal around my neck was heavy, but the weight on my conscience had never been lighter.
My hands spread across the solid wood, fingers picking at the small imperfections, as I leaned toward the small microphone. I was cognizant of the projector-screen behind me. “This… Heh, this has been a long time coming. Decades ago, I never would’ve imagined myself in this position: receiving the International Medal of Peace and discussing policy with world leaders. Then again, I didn’t imagine that I’d get married.”
I let my audience laugh, seeing their guards gradually lower. When the laughter died down, I continued, “It seems many of you know what I’m talking about.” Another round of laughter, and this time I joined them. “Alright alright, I need to return to my script because otherwise I’ll turn this into a stand-up routine, heh…”
I cleared my throat and pointed at the projector-screen. An image flashed: my logo. “Forgive me for advertising my start-up—” (More laughter.) “—but indulge me for a moment. When I founded Bastion Industries, I pursued one goal: to prevent tragedies—outbreaks—like the one that had taken my parents and many, many others. This medal is firm proof of that.”
For the cameras, I held the medal closer to my face. After letting go, I faced the screen as the slideshow featured pictures of the very event that had earned me this honor. “As we speak, some of my best people are rebuilding Abuja, giving them the infrastructure that these unfortunate souls deserve. My people were the heroes who contained the breakthroughs, who led expeditions to liberate monster-run districts, who manned turrets and mechas, who wielded swords and magic—while you thank me for being the face of Bastion, I thank them for their service to this world.
“This medal—!” I raised it high again, “—is for all of us!”
My praise earned applause from the audience; it was easy to get them to laugh, to clap, to get their approval—but I’ve seen what makes them jeer.
The clapping retired, but I wasn’t done. “Now, I must apologize because this is the part where things will get uncomfortable. Next time another mistake occurs, like in Abuja, human history may end there.”
Now, the leaders were glancing at one another, murmuring.
“After communicating with the Nigerian government, they…enlightened me to the problems ailing not only their spatial redirection systems but their entire domestic security. You may point to the issues from within, but I will take us outside its borders. Why? Because many, many, many other ‘lesser-developed nations’ suffer from the same unmistakable disease—the same one that had regarded me as an international criminal just a year ago. The same one who had killed my mother and father.”
The murmurs grew louder, enough that they may be caught on my microphone.
I still had the stage. I found the centermost camera and stared directly into the lens. “You, the ‘good’ people of the Order of Nations. Beijing, Abuja, Phnom Penh, Caracas—over and over, we see the same pattern but can’t name the parasite out of fear. I will, because I’m not afraid. Your ‘governance’ is not just inadequate, it’s intentional. Your policies are not hypocrisy, it’s hierarchy—!”
Several in the audience stood from their seats and began shouting. I couldn’t hear what they were saying; I didn’t speak the language of snakes.
Louder, my voice grew, “When the first portals opened, we believed our greatest threat were direwolves and goblins; today, the true threat are the ones screaming in this very room—!”
Just about everyone was yelling now. Well, I did say this part would make them uncomfortable, but that wasn’t all. I ripped off the medal from my neck and slammed it against the pedestal several times.
Bang, bang, bang—and with that small gesture, I regained control.
Gripping the medal’s ribbons, I thrusted my finger at the screen, now flipped to a dozen pictures of documents, maps, and designs. “Project Decorah! An internationally-funded project to manipulate the weather—an explicitly forbidden area of research—yet the Order went ahead. You’ll think this is merely plans, right? No, Decorah has been successful. They caused the Great Hokkaido Earthquake—”
“Liar!” screamed someone in the back—
I cracked the medal against the pedestal again, then snapped my fingers. New images showed. “Project Oleander! In top-secret labs across the world, they declared themselves god in the microscopic world. They’re creating viruses that will wipe out swaths of the population, and most of all—!” The screen showed photos of the most concerning one. “—a virus that only targets Slayers.”
I, once again, silenced the audience. As quickly as indignation puppeted their bodies, quickly as dread and confusion entered. Many were likely ignorant to these plans, but many weren’t. This… This was the truth about the world we lived in.
“We have already sent our findings to news outlets and presses around the world,” I declared, breathing more heavily now. “This scratches the surface, but it’s no longer my job to explain your crimes against humanity. No, I will make you answer them. I will be your judge, jury, and executioner. I will destroy you."
I may die tomorrow, I may die several years from now, but the truth is now revealed. This might end the world, but if I don’t do anything, they will cause the end themselves. All I can do is pray for a hopeful outcome.
The Global Union will—
Pardon? Global Union…? That’s…
That’s the name of the international government in my Worldline. How many otherselves did I go through…? I can feel my memories mixing into theirs. Which ones belong to me? Which ones belong to the other Alexander Shen?
Where…
Where can I get off this shitty train-ride—?
[SIMULATION INVALID]
Wind bristled through the holes in the once-sturdy walls. Trophies laid around me, fallen in a carpet of broken plaster and glass. The lights flickered inconsistently, the brief bursts of illumination revealing the cruel reality in little, medicinal amounts. I smelled blood in the air, tears, and ash.
I looked up and saw the proud banner of Bastion Guild, now torn and ruined. The wind, growing stronger now, snatched my legacy off its last legs. Slowly, ungraciously, it crumpled against the far wall and drifted to the tarnished floor.
I inhaled and looked down at my dirty, peeling hands.
“What… What exactly do you want me to see, Astraria?” I asked the Worldline itself, or rather, its simulation. “I’ve gone through so many otherselves that I forgot where my life starts and their lives end.”
With nothing else to do, I began walking through the halls of Bastion Guild—my guild—and seeing the solemn destruction as me, Conqueror of Angels Guild. “Funnily enough, this Worldline is the calmest one I’d experienced yet, despite…”
Just…vaguely gesturing to everything around me. I laughed and kept going. “I don’t know. Guess this confirms what I always expected: every Alexander Shen is destined to suffer. Trying to find a Worldline where nothing goes wrong was like… Shit, I can’t even compute the odds.”
I found a stairwell. This was a bad idea, but I began to climb until I found an excuse to get off. “What I’m trying to say: a life like that is a longshot. Tragedies seem to be a common denominator in our lives. Despite everything, we kept pushing in our own ways. We fought and we killed and we schemed. We turned our backs on morality; we embraced the devil inside us. Yet there’s naive assholes like me, doing my best to stay on this path even if a happy ending isn’t guaranteed.”
Underneath my foot, a step cracked and crumbled slightly, sending concrete dust down the stairwell.
I kept climbing.
“What do you think about that, Astraria? You’ve seen my otherselves. You’ve met ‘me’ before. Thousands upon thousands of times. What kind of future can you divine?” I gulped and saw the remaining flights to the roof. Guess I was going up there. “What kind of future can I give you—?”
As if in response, a flying card flickered by—like the cards Astraria had summoned before. It had a double-sided depiction of a jester-like man with a sack over his shoulders. I couldn’t determine anything else before it flew upstairs.
I chased after the card.
I’d never climbed stairs faster in my “life.” Because I was technically a ghost possessing my otherself’s body, my previous injuries didn’t shackle me. In fact, my otherself had a better body than I did. I learned that the hard way. My quick feet caught the stairs too early or stomped a little too hard on a sketchy spot, but I pushed through the mistakes. Had to. Needed to.
I ascended Bastion Guild, catching teasing glimpses of Astraria’s card.
In no time at all, I reached the top. No more stairs, only a door leading to the roof.
The card slipped through a crack in the door, and I rammed my shoulder into the hard steel. The obstruction was knocked out of the way, and once again I underestimated myself. I stumbled and embraced the open air and soon the grimey ground. Up here, the wind was fierce. Standing was a chore in itself because an inconvenient gust always seemed to hit me at the right moment. Slowly, though, I got on two feet and searched.
In the foreground of a destroyed and smoking city—looking no different to Ordo—was a levitating, rotating card like a collectible in a game, positioned on the ledge.
Of course I had to grab it there. No use complaining now, though.
I sighed and dusted my legs off. “Alright, not making it easy for me, huh?”
Minding the wind, I shuffled closer and took the long journey one step at a time. Just one step. At some point, a strange sensation rose within “my” stomach. Trying to describe it was like trying to describe everything else I’d seen: the Alternates, the strange cosmic sights, and Astraria. It was not a sensation we, humans, were meant to feel—but to give a close example, I guess… I guess it felt like my soul was getting pulled out.
Rather, more accurately, my existence itself.
It was getting dragged toward the card.
It couldn’t be anything good, I know, but this might be my only chance out of here.
Closer and closer, the feeling intensified. My existence was getting stretched from all ends like taffy on hooks. Reaching out, my fingers became fuzzy and blurry to the eyes. I breathed twice, one for myself and one for the other “me.” Everything told me to stop. The sensations grew. The thought of turning into an Alternate—turning into her—was at the forefront of my head.
But I kept pushing.
The card was so close.
Just—!
The card flew away again, this time behind me, and stopped halfway to the broken door.
Like when Astraria had opened a portal to the imaginary space of simulated possibilities, this card did the same. It was different this time, however. As soon as the portal opened, a massive shockwave pushed me backwards, causing the back of my legs to hit the ledge. I nearly tipped over.
I screamed and cursed, my head turning to see the pants-pissing drop. Somehow, by luck or instinct, I stayed on the roof.
“ALEX!” a man called out to me. I looked and saw an ironclad hand poking through the portal. “TAKE MY HAND! ALEX!”
I… I know who that is.
A new wind was strongly pushing against me. Not from being this high, but it came from the portal—it was an unnatural wind, nothing like the one you’d find on Earth. This wind was… This wind was exposing.
Every gust was stripping away and eroding my existence little-by-little.
“Ah—” I forced myself into the galeforce.
It was hard walking.
I couldn’t think.
Soon, I could barely see anything.
My memories—were—getting overwritten—
New—lives—entered—
I—blinked.
His hand was—so close—
In the distance—between our—fingertips—
I—breathed a—million times.
I walked—a million—more.
I sobbed—killed—bled—
I smiled—hugged—loved—
I saw—tragedies.
I—saw—happiness.
Waiting—waiting—for me.
So—
I took your hand and didn’t let go.
“I got you!” Kosmos said, “I got you, Alex!”