...

He sat down on the windowsill, brushing away the glass shards, and gazed out over the ruined city. From this vantage point in the tower, he could see everything: the smoldering buildings, the crumbled wall, the barren fields beyond, and the blood-red sky above. His hand went to his stomach, where the wound from that last attack was still bleeding profusely.

"I have barely enough mana for a healing spell... but what would be the point? No matter what I do, I'll die from mana depletion within a couple days anyway."

The world was dead. Every living organism on this planet, aside from himself, was gone. Likewise, the great mana network that had sustained that life had also been extinguished. The small bit of mana still left in his body was the very last of its kind.

"Yeah, rather than wasting it to extend my life for a day or so, it'd be better if the last magic to ever be performed was something a bit flashier, wouldn't it? As the last one alive, it's my responsibility to give this world a proper sendoff... and I think I know the perfect spell."

He began attuning his mana to Fire— every last bit of it. It went a lot easier than it once did. He smiled wryly as he remembered how Fire had once been the worst of his affinities. It felt like a lifetime— no, multiple lifetimes ago that his life had turned upside down. Had it really only been seven years?

A few moments later, and he was ready. He recalled the spell weave from deep within his mind, where it had lain unused ever since he learned it. He gathered up the Fire-attuned mana, directing all of it to form the pattern. His every instinct was screaming at him to stop, in much the same way as they would if he were submerging himself and refusing to come up for air. He ignored it. The pattern was formed, and he hesitated for a moment. His mind wandered back to the creator of this spell, who now lay lifeless behind him, her bloody spear still gripped in her hand.

"No, that's wrong. The person I once knew had already been gone for a long time now."

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then invoked the spell.

"Summer's Gleam."

Those ended up being the last words ever spoken on this world. He leaned back, turning his eyes up to the sky. Already, he could feel his own heart slowing down, now that there was no mana to support it. But for the moment, his sight still worked, and he saw the bleeding sky part to reveal a small patch of brilliant blue. His sense of touch still worked, and he felt the gentle caress of the sun as it used to be, warm and nurturing. Right then, before those senses faded away, time seemed to stand still.

The End.

"—aaaaand publish. And that's the end of that," Levin said with a melancholy sigh. He leaned back in his chair and brought the mostly-empty bottle to his lips. He wondered how many angry comments he would get this time. At first, there had been a veritable flood of them, as all his longtime readers demanded explanation for the terrible turn his novel had taken. As he continued to approach the disastrous ending, however, the flood slowed down to a trickle. After all, no one wanted to keep reading a story when the author was determined to ruin it himself.

He dropped the empty bottle and closed his eyes. Five years ago, when Levin was just a highschooler, he started this web novel as a passion project under the encouragement of his best friend. It was simply something he wrote for his own satisfaction, but to his surprise it actually gained a decent following when he posted it online.

"Five years of my life versus seven in the novel... my characters started younger than me, and then died older than me. I guess that's kinda ironic or something? I dunno..."

Levin really did love writing back then. That thrill of having a eureka moment when the pieces floating around in his mind all suddenly click into place. The anticipation of seeing each new comment, both the praising ones and the critical ones. And, most of all, the joy of watching his best friend's face light up when proofreading each new chapter...

Now, the novel was just a painful memento, something he felt genuinely relieved to finally be done with. There was still that small nagging voice in the back of his head, though, insisting that it would've been better to just drop the novel. That having no ending would've been preferable to having a bad ending. And maybe that voice was right. It would've been kinder to the readers, at least.

But Levin hadn't been particularly concerned about what was right and what wasn't. He had just wanted closure, in any form.

He groped around for another bottle. He frowned when his hand couldn't find the bottle he knew should've been sitting on his desk. The frown deepened when he couldn't feel the desk either.

He opened his eyes. Or, at least, he thought he did, but the absolute darkness he saw was no different than when he eyes were closed. But when he lifted his arm in front of his face, he could see it clearly, with an odd lighting that left no shadows.

He jumped up in shock, then stumbled, unable to balance properly in his current state. He tried to catch himself on the chair he had just been sitting on, but was unable to find that either, and collapsed to the floor. It wasn't the carpet of his room, but a smooth, hard surface, neither cool nor warm.

"What the hell is this..." he muttered, dragging himself up to a sitting position.

This one? Are you sure?

The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, yet it wasn't overly loud.

"Who said that!?"

Levin looked around in a panic, but there was nothing. A vast, black void of nothingness in all directions.

Look, I know he's not exactly the ideal catalyst, but the world he created has 97% compatibility! No other candidate we've seen even comes close!

A second voice spoke, this one more enthusiastic than the first.

I get that, but this will be an incredibly difficult quest. I don't believe a man who just drank himself to death is up to the task.

That was the first voice again.

"Huh? Hey, hold up, did you just say I'm dead!?" Levin shouted.

I'm siding with ■■■■■■■■ on this one, said a third voice, completely ignoring Levin's cries. We can't pass up such good compatibility, especially since we don't have any time left to keep searching. The fact that the man himself is deficient is irrelevant.

"Hey, I don't know who you guys are, but you've got a lot of nerve shittalking me when it sounds like you need my help," Levin said angrily. There was a pause in the voices' conversation.

So they can hear me after all, he thought.

After what seemed like both an eternity and an instant, the second voice broke the silence.

I suppose you're right, that was rude of us. You have our apologies.

"Oh, um, thank you, I guess..."

Anyway, I'll try to sum this up quickly, since we're all short on time, including you. To put it bluntly, you're about dead.

"About dead?"

Your body has died from alcohol poisoning, and your mind will soon follow, but we have... 'paused' time for you, so to speak, because we have an offer.

"Damn... okay, go on," Levin said after processing what he was hearing. It was hard to believe that this was real, but he couldn't think of any alternative explanation. He could tell he wasn't dreaming, and he wasn't one to hallucinate either. And this was way too realistic to be some kind of prank.

We can give you a new life, with one condition: you will be incarnated into the world of your novel, 'Eternal Duet.' Naturally, you will also have to fix that bad ending.

"I'm sorry, what? Are you serious!?" Levin blurted out. He was no longer 100% certain that this wasn't some elaborate prank by a crazy fan.

I understand that this seems outlandish, but we're completely serious. You will be given a bit of aid, of course. All you need to do is say the word and it will happen.

Levin could actually feel the sincerity echoing out from the voice. It was a strangely comforting sensation, but that only aggravated his wariness.

I still don't know who these people are—

By the way, you have only 37 seconds remaining before our magic expires and you die, so decide fast, a fourth voice suddenly butted in.

"Hey, come on, now you're just pressuring me! That isn't fair!" he complained.

What's there to think about? the fourth voice replied. It's simple: do you want to live, or die?

Levin did actually have to think about that for a bit. His life had felt so hollow, so pointless lately.

And yet... did he really want it to end? The idea of death still scared him, just as it always had. He thought about the things he still had on his bucket list, and found that he was still interested in some of them. Didn't that mean he wanted to live?

*If there's an afterlife, could I really face that person if I gave up like this?

That last thought was what cemented his choice.

"... I want to live. Do it."

He felt a ripple of emotions flowing out from all corners of the void. Relief. Anxiety. Anticipation.

Very well, said the first voice, sounding reluctant. The vote has passed 42—31, and the catalyst has consented. Applying worldline transformation function.

The black void suddenly melted away into a sea of light...