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# REWRITE NOTICE #
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[This chapter is part of the rewrite batch released on March 3rd, 2025]
- For more information: See chapter titled "Update - Rewrite Status (1-6): Complete"
- All rewritten chapters contain this notice at the top
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You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
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Alexander was eleven, cornered in one of Siloé's narrow alleys.
The walls were a patchwork of graffiti and exposed brick, metal sheets from makeshift homes creaking overhead in the afternoon heat. Behind him, the hillside dropped off sharply—one of those precarious slopes where houses seemed to stack on top of each other all the way down to Cali's proper streets.
Four of them had him backed up against a rusted security gate. The oldest, some wannabe sicario with fresh Nike knockoffs, was touching his split lip where Alexander had managed to catch him with an elbow. The others were more his age, local kids who'd probably watched too many street fights from their windows. Blood dripped onto the cracked concrete, mixing with the murky puddle from someone's jury-rigged water pipe above.
"We don't want your kind here," the oldest spat, wiping crimson from his chin. "This ain't your hill foreigner." The boy sneered the word like it was poison. Alexander had gotten used to that—how they treated anyone from outside the comuna as if they were invading.
His ribs screamed where they'd caught him with that first rush. "Haven't—" He had to catch his breath. Might've cracked something. "Haven't done anything to you."
"Don't need to." The youngest one, barely bigger than him, bounced on his toes like he'd seen boxers do on TV. "Just breathing our air is enough."
They moved in. Alexander's thoughts raced—this was probably gonna hurt, Mom was gonna kill him for getting blood on another shirt—
The memory faded as the Reaver's blade caught starlight before him. Strange how the mind worked in moments like these. Facing down a cosmic horror, and his thoughts drifted to street fights in his youth.
Alexander noticed the Reaver's shoulders hunching, recognized the tell. Overhead swing coming. These things were top-heavy, all that corrupted mass in the upper body. The legs would be the weak point.
His body moved before his mind finished processing. He dropped and slid forward, ramming his shoulder into the Reaver's knee joint. Alexander tensed for an impact that should have shattered bone—but his body felt different, stronger. Where there should have been pain, there was only resistance. Something cracked in the Reaver's midnight-black armor instead. The construct stumbled, trying to compensate for its broken balance.
"Shield him, March!" Dan's voice cut through the chaos, but Alexander was already tracking the second Reaver.
The flanking attack came right on schedule. They hunted in pairs, these things, or so it seemed. Like wolves, but wrong. Alexander let it think its trap was working, waited for the perfect moment—then ducked as the blade whistled overhead. The air split where he'd been standing. His dodge brought him inside the Reaver's guard, close enough to see the corrupted metal of its chest plate, the way darkness pooled in its joints like liquid void.
"Oh no you don't!" March's hand traced light, and a barrier materialized between Alexander and the incoming strike. The Reaver's blade hit it with a sound like breaking glass, but the shield held.
The first Reaver had recovered, but favored its broken knee. Its core pulsed with swirling antimatter where a human would have vital organs. One clean hit there—
Alexander spun away from the second Reaver's grasp, driving his elbow into what passed for its jaw. Cracks spread through its armor plating, dark energy seeping out like smoke. Three heartbeats. That's how long he had before its partner brought those blades back into play.
The first Reaver attacked like a nightmare given form, all wrong angles and impossible movements. But Alexander could see them now—every shift in its corrupted mass, every tell before it struck. His body responded with impossible speed, pure instinct mixed with some overhauled combat sense that seemed to predict every move.
Fighting cosmic horrors, it turned out, wasn't so different from every other fight in his life—from his father's lessons, to the streets of Cali and Rosario, to his bouts in MMA rings. Find the weak points. Use their strength against them.
Break what breaks.
March's shield flickered as Alexander drove his fist into the thing's core. Reality tore with a sound like screaming metal, and the Reaver sailed back into the shadows, trailing wisps of dark energy like blood. The second one tried to compensate, but too late. Alexander's uppercut caught it right in its mass of swirling darkness. The construct shattered under his knuckles.
Afterward, Alexander stood watching remnants of antimatter dissipate where the Reavers had fallen. His hands should have been broken. His whole body should have been broken. Instead, everything felt sharp, heightened. Like someone had turned all his dials past their normal stops.
The change was profound. Speed, strength, even combat awareness—everything operated at a level that shouldn't have been possible. Somehow, every move revealed itself before it happened, until the flow of battle felt like a dance he'd known all his life.
Correction: he had known. The life he led wouldn't budge on alternatives. Just never like this.
March's voice cut through the aftermath, bright with awe. "That was incredible! The way you moved—" She caught herself as Alexander backed away, her aquamarine eyes widening. "Wait, please! We're friendly!"
Alexander's gaze darted between them—the girl with lilac-tinted eyes and the young man whose calm demeanor belied the intensity of his stare. Holographic displays flickered along the corridor walls, streams of data cascading in ethereal blue light. Everything felt wrong—too sharp, too vivid for a dream, but it couldn't be real. The strength thrumming through his muscles, the impossible creatures he'd just fought...
Alexander turned and ran, sprinting past terminals that projected star charts and research data into the air. Their footsteps echoed behind him, accompanied by the girl's voice: "Come back! It's dangerous to—"
He burst through an archway and stumbled to a stop. The chamber before him defied physics—a void-black expanse that swallowed light, crossed by pristine white platforms that hung in impossible geometries. Scattered throughout were research stations, their screens casting pale illumination across the space. Strange artifacts hung suspended in containment fields, collected specimens that pulsed with otherworldly energy. Far below, massive machinery groaned like dying stars, their sound vibrating up through the walkways.
An elevator waited at the center of it all, connected by a bridge barely wide enough for two people. Its doors shrieked open. Four Reavers emerged, their armor drinking in the light from the surrounding displays.
Alexander dropped to a lower platform without thinking, letting instinct guide him. The impact rattled through his bones, but his body absorbed it like he'd been doing this all his life. Behind him, the young man's voice carried over the mechanical chorus: "Stop! They're tracking you!"
"Let us help!" the girl called out, her words punctuated by the clash of metal on metal.
Two Reavers engaged his would-be rescuers while the others descended, their movements liquid-smooth despite their bulk. Alexander ran, weaving between holographic workstations and leaping over research consoles, using the station's advanced technology as cover. But they anticipated his path, cutting him off with impossible leaps that brought them down on either side.
His mind flashed to those alley fights in the slums of his youth—how the older kids would try to box him in, thinking they had him trapped. Alexander charged the Reaver ahead, watching its blade rise for a killing stroke. At the last second, he dropped into a combat slide, the movement feeling as natural as breathing. The blade whistled overhead as he shot between its legs.
Alexander rolled to his feet in one fluid motion, already moving. The second Reaver's attack caught nothing but air. He grabbed the edge of a floating research platform, using his momentum to swing himself onto a higher level. The structure hummed under his landing, its containment fields flickering.
The Reavers followed, but he was ready. As the first one cleared the edge, he drove his heel into its faceplate, using its own upward momentum to multiply the force. It staggered back into its partner mid-jump. Their armored forms tangled, and gravity did the rest. They plummeted into the mechanical abyss, their shapes swallowed by shadow.
Alexander's breath came in sharp bursts as he scanned for an exit. Movement caught his eye—the girl and her companion climbing towards him, having somehow dispatched their own opponents. He turned to run, but a sound stopped him cold.
It started as a vibration in his chest, building to a roar that shook the very foundations of the station. The chamber trembled, causing research equipment to spark and containment fields to fluctuate. Warning klaxons began to wail from somewhere deep in the station's core.
The girl reached him first, her hand surprisingly gentle as it closed around his wrist. "We need to go, now!" Her voice trembled with genuine fear. "Something worse than those those Reavers is coming!"
Alexander started to pull away, but another tremor nearly took his feet out from under him. The mechanical groaning grew louder, harmonizing with sounds that shouldn't exist in normal space. Through a massive viewport, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the void—crystalline armor gleaming with internal light, massive wings of pure energy unfurling like a dragon of legend.
Her companion appeared on his other side, expression grim. "You can run from us later if you want, but right now, we're your best chance of survival. That thing out there makes those Voidrangers look like toys."
Alexander hesitated, caught between paranoid distrust and raw survival instinct. The chamber shook again as the creature drew closer, its presence causing the station's systems to go haywire. Holographic displays flickered and died, while containment fields protecting precious artifacts began to fail one by one.
"Fine," he growled, falling into step with them as they ran. "But the moment we're clear—"
"You can ditch us and brood somewhere else," the girl finished, a hint of humor in her voice despite the situation. "Deal. Now less talking, more running!"
They sprinted across a wider platform as emergency systems engaged, bathing everything in pulsing red light. Behind them, that terrible sound grew closer, accompanied by the thunder of massive wings and the crackle of failing technology. Alexander refused to look back, focusing instead on following his unlikely guides through the maze of advanced technology that his world had become.
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Alexander followed his unlikely guides through the labyrinthine corridors of the station, each step feeling heavier than the last. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, leaving something else in its wake—not exactly exhaustion, but a weightiness he couldn't name. His chest felt tight, as if something vital had been scooped out, leaving only the echo of its absence.
The station's pristine corridors stretched endlessly before them, each turn revealing another identical passage. Holographic displays cast shifting patterns of blue light across the white walls, creating the illusion of being underwater. Through the vast viewing windows, the infinite dark pressed close, broken only by the cold glitter of distant stars.
March glanced back occasionally, her expression wavering between concern and curiosity. Alexander barely noticed. His attention kept drifting to odd details—the way the station's ambient hum seemed to resonate at exactly the wrong frequency, how the recycled air tasted foreign on his tongue. Everything felt simultaneously too real and not real enough.
They passed through another set of pneumatic doors into a cathedral-like chamber. Suspended walkways created a web of intersecting paths hundreds of feet above the distant floor. Research platforms hung in precise geometries, their containment fields humming with captured phenomena. The deep thrum of the station's machinery vibrated through the metal beneath their feet, a rhythm that felt like it should have meant something.
"This way," Dan said, leading them across a bridge that seemed to float on nothing but light and mathematics. "We're getting close to the research sector."
Alexander followed without argument, surprising himself with his own compliance. The fight that had driven him earlier had drained away, replaced by something that felt almost like homesickness—except he couldn't quite remember what he was homesick for. The sensation was maddeningly familiar yet entirely alien, like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue.
When they reached a well-lit intersection, March slowed her pace to walk beside him. "Those moves back there," she said carefully, "where did you learn to fight like that?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. The question should have been simple enough to answer—memories of his father's lessons, years of training, countless fights with wrong and the right kind—but something else lurked at the edges of those recollections, something that made his head hurt when he tried to focus on it.
"I've been fighting all my life," he said finally. The words felt true, yet somehow incomplete.
"And before we found you?" Dan's measured voice cut through his reverie. "Do you remember how you got here? You're clearly not part of the station's crew, judging by your words."
The question sent a spike of anxiety through Alexander's chest. "I..." He pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to sort through the fog in his mind. "This isn't—none of this should be real. I was..." But even that certainty wavered now, like trying to hold onto water.
Someone crashed into me on my way to work, and then…
"You said that before," March said softly. "That this couldn't be real. Why?"
Alexander's laugh came out hollow. "Because I'm standing in a space station talking to—" He cut himself off, the words sounding absurd even to his own ears. How could he explain that they were supposed to be characters in a game? That none of this should exist?
"To?" Dan prompted, his gaze intense.
"I don't know anymore," Alexander admitted, the confession leaving him feeling strangely vulnerable. "Everything's... wrong. Scattered." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "I can't remember how I got here, or..."
When Dan finally stopped in a brightly lit corridor, Alexander almost walked into him. The young man turned, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes intense.
"Our first priority is finding the researchers in this area," Dan said, his voice taut with urgency. "To do that, we need to locate Arlan, the station's head of security. If my suspicions are correct, that noise came from something I'd rather not have to deal with just on our own."
His piercing gaze locked onto Alexander. "I saw how you handled those Reavers—your combat instincts, your reaction speed. Whatever your situation is, you clearly know how to handle yourself in a fight. Right now, that's exactly what we need." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I understand you're confused, but there are lives at risk. Will you help us get them to safety?"
The words hit Alexander like a physical blow, jarring him from his fugue. Reality—or whatever this was—came rushing back. He was standing in a space station, talking to people who shouldn't exist, while something that sounded like their end drew steadily closer. His hands clenched involuntarily, searching for an anchor in the surreal moment.
March must have sensed his inner turmoil because she stepped forward, her voice gentle. "Hey, I know this is really scary for you. But we have some friends who might be able to help explain things better—Miss Himeko and Mr. Yang. They're part of our crew on the Astral Express." Her expression softened further. "If something's happened to your memories, if you're lost between places that should and, as you just put it, shouldn't exist... they might be able to help figure out why. And if there's anyone you need to find—family, friends—Dan and I will do everything we can to help locate them. We promise."
A sharp pain lanced through Alexander's temple at her words. The suggestion of finding people felt wrong in a way he couldn't articulate, like pressing on a bruise he didn't remember getting. His throat constricted around words he didn't know how to say.
"I... appreciate the offer," he managed, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "But for now, let's focus on finding your security chief first. I'll help."
The words surprised him even as he spoke them. But the alternative was standing still, and something in him rebelled against the very idea of stillness. Movement meant survival. Everything else—the impossible situation, the strange hollow feeling in his chest, the gaps in his thoughts that he was becoming increasingly aware of—could wait.
March and Dan exchanged a look loaded with unspoken meaning. Then Dan nodded once, sharply, and turned to lead them deeper into the station. The distant rumble grew louder, and Alexander fell into step behind them, trying to ignore how familiar their movements felt, how easily he matched their pace. He focused instead on the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls, the rhythm almost but not quite drowning out the persistent feeling that he was forgetting something important.
After what felt like an eternity of running, they arrived at a section of the station that diverged from the sterile uniformity of the previous corridors. A large command center lay behind heavy blast doors, its windows offering glimpses of movement inside. Banks of monitors and communication arrays filled the space, their screens flickering with damage reports and warning signals.
Dan rushed forward, pounding on the doors. "Arlan! We're here!"
The doors slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a young man with olive skin and stark white hair. One purple eye studied them intently, the other hidden behind an eye patch. Relief crossed his features at the sight of Dan and March, though he was clearly favoring his left leg. A makeshift bandage, dark with blood, wrapped around his right bicep.
"Dan, March. I'm glad you're fine—" Arlan started, then winced as he shifted his weight. "We need to move, but..." He gestured behind him where about a dozen researchers huddled near the back of the room. Some nursed injuries while others stared ahead with shellshocked expressions, their lab coats stained with evidence of their escape. One woman pressed a blood-soaked cloth against her colleague's side, her hands trembling. Another sat propped against the wall, face drawn with pain, clutching what looked like a broken arm. "Some can barely walk. The medical supplies here are limited, and none of us have more than basic first aid training."
His good eye narrowed as it settled on Alexander. "Who's this? I don't recognize him from the station's personnel."
Alexander's eyes had already tracked over the injured, his mind threatening to fragment at the sight. In the game, these people would have been background details at most—nameless NPCs that filled space in corridors. And yet here they were, bleeding, breathing, their faces twisted with pain that looked too real, too individual to be programmed. The cognitive dissonance made him dizzy.
"We found him unconscious in the lower levels," March explained quickly. "He helped us fight off some Reavers. He's... having trouble with his memories."
"I know first aid," Alexander added, the words coming out before he could think about them. He needed to do something, anything, to keep his thoughts from spiraling into the void of what was and wasn't real.
Dan nodded. "He's skilled in combat too. We can use all the help we can get, given the situation."
Arlan studied Alexander for another moment before nodding curtly. The urgency of their circumstances clearly outweighed his security concerns. "Make it quick. We need to move as soon as possible."
Alexander moved toward one of the bleeding researchers almost on autopilot, his hands already reaching for fresh bandages from a nearby med-kit that had been left open. The movements felt practiced, natural—another set of memories his body seemed to remember while his mind drew blanks. Though at least some of this he understood; years of watching his mother patch up both him and his father after fights, then learning to do it himself. Breathe in deep. Hold. Exhale. Just like he taught you. In. Hold. Out.
"Keep pressure here," he instructed quietly, guiding the trembling woman's hands. Her colleague's wound wasn't too deep, but it needed proper cleaning. When she opened her mouth to thank him, he cut her off with a sharp "Quiet. I need to concentrate." The gratitude in her eyes made his stomach turn. They're not real. None of this is real. Breathe. Focus. Move.
His hands kept busy, mind clinging to the familiar motions like a drowning man to driftwood. A young researcher tried to explain how he'd gotten his injuries. "I don't care," Alexander snapped, perhaps harder than necessary. "Hold still or I'll make it worse." The man's hurt expression only intensified the static buzzing in his head.
As he worked methodically through the injured, he could hear Arlan sharing a status of the situation.
"Following Miss Asta's orders, I deployed security units throughout the station to protect the research teams, but..." He gestured at the handful of survivors. "The Antimatter Legion overwhelmed us. Those Trampler-class Voidrangers—we weren't prepared for that level of force."
His expression darkened. "That's not even the worst part. Intelligence suggests they're after the station's sealed Stellaron." He rubbed his injured arm, frustration evident in his voice. "I had my best people checking the containment systems after we lost contact. No response from any of the sensors, no readings, nothing. The whole chamber's just... dead. The Stellaron's gone."
"Gone?" March's voice pitched higher as she helped a researcher to a more comfortable position. "But Miss Asta told me even she didn't know exactly where Herta had it sealed. How could anyone—?"
"We don't know." Arlan shook his head, wincing at the movement.
"That feels much better," the elderly researcher sighed as Alexander finished binding her arm. "We're lucky you—"
"Silence." The words came out like ice. He moved to the next patient without meeting her eyes, his movements growing more mechanical with each passing moment. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Don't think. Just move.
Dan caught the researcher's hurt expression and moved closer, his voice low and diplomatic. "Please forgive my... companion. The Legion's attack has been difficult for all of us." The lie came smoothly—anything to keep the situation from deteriorating further. He shot Alexander a pointed look that went unnoticed as the man continued his methodical work.
Arlan cleared his throat, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. "The security feeds were compromised. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing." He leaned against a console, his face grim. "So now there's a free Stellaron loose somewhere. We have no idea where it is, who has it, or what state it's in. One wrong move and it could tear reality apart." He ran a hand through his white hair. "And here's the thing that keeps me up—the Legion's still here, throwing everything they've got at us. Including a Doomsday Beast." His voice dropped lower. "Either they haven't figured out it's gone, or..." He let out a slow breath. "Or they believe with reason it's still somewhere in the station. I'm not sure which option is worse."
A sealed Stellaron. The words echoed in Alexander's mind with unsettling familiarity. Before he could examine why, Dan's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Have you contacted Madame Herta?" Dan asked, his tone carefully measured. "Surely she would—"
"Her dolls are already engaged with the bulk of the Legion's forces throughout the station," Arlan interrupted, rubbing his injured arm absently. "Last I heard, they were providing support to your other crew member in the eastern wing. As for The Herta, that's... complicated."
"What d'you mean?" March frowned, fidgeting with her camera.
"You have to understand," Arlan said, shifting his weight off his injured leg with a barely suppressed wince. "Madame Herta isn't just—stars, I don't even know how to explain it properly. She's an Emanator of the Erudition, and a member of the Genius Society." He ran a hand through his white hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "Their minds work on a completely different level—what makes sense to them rarely makes sense to the rest of us."
"I still don't get it," March pressed, her brow furrowed.
Arlan rubbed his temple with a tired sigh. "Members of the organization have done incredible things for humanity. But watching them work, seeing how most view regular humans... we're nothing but variables in their experiments. And the worst of them make even that look kind."
As the head of security spoke of the strange faction, Alexander found himself cleaning a nasty cut on a young researcher's forehead. The man couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and his hands shook as he held still for treatment. In the game, this person wouldn't even have had a name. Wouldn't have had that small scar on his chin or that nervous habit of touching his wedding ring. The reality of him—of all of them—felt like a weight pressing against his chest.
"Take Dr. Primitive," Arlan continued, absently adjusting his eyepatch. "Member sixty-four. Started as a regular scientist, then decided humanity was an evolutionary dead end. Now he goes around transforming entire civilizations back into apes. Says he's 'giving them another chance at proper evolution.'" His good eye darkened. "The experiments he's conducted has had whole worlds reduced to primitive states. The suffering he's caused is beyond measurement. And he's still out there, probably planning his next atrocity."
Arlan's voice dropped lower, almost talking to himself. "Strange that Polka Kakamond hasn't dealt with him yet. If there's anyone in the Society who deserves her attention, it's that monster."
Alexander's shoulders tensed at the name, a movement so slight he didn't even notice it himself.
"Herta's actually one of the better ones," Arlan continued. "The IPC knew exactly what they were doing when they funded this station for her research." He glanced out at the endless field of stars beyond the viewport. "But her reasons for helping or not helping... well, I've seen her work make perfect sense to her while leaving the rest of us completely lost. Their genius lets them see patterns beyond our imagination. But it costs them something essential." He fell quiet for a moment. "Something human."
March hugged her camera closer, her brightness dimmed. "That's... that's kind of terrifying, actually. To think there are people out there who can just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
"I've never even met the real her myself," Arlan admitted, his voice tinged with something between awe and frustration. "None of us have except for Miss Asta. Her dolls are here fighting the Legion, so she knows we're under attack, but the real Herta? She stays in that tower of hers—" He gestured vaguely upward. "Whether what's happening here is enough to pull her attention from whatever experiment she's conducting up there at the far edge of the cosmos..." He shook his head. "Might as well be another universe, for all we know."
"But the Space Anchors!" March's eyes lit up suddenly, that familiar spark returning. "Couldn't she use those to reach us quickly?"
The mention of Space Anchors triggered something in Alexander's mind—a flood of information that felt like memories from someone else's life. Space Anchors, manifestations of Akivili's power. His temples throbbed as more details surfaced: security protocols, authorization hierarchies, the complex web of permissions needed for each jump. The knowledge was precise, technical, absolutely correct—and completely foreign to him. What the hell? I shouldn't know any of this. At least not to this degree.
"It's not that simple," Dan cut in, pulling Alexander from his spiral of thoughts. The young man had been watching the sealed door, lance ready, but now turned slightly toward March. His voice carried the weariness of someone who'd explained this countless times before. "We don't even know if Herta can use Space Anchors. Unless a Nameless granted her that ability at some point in the past, it wouldn't matter how much authority she has here."
"I know you're hoping Herta might help, but..." His voice carried a gentle understanding of her optimism. "Even if she has access—and given her connections to people like Himeko, she might—we can't be certain until—"
The blast doors behind them suddenly shuddered—a deep, resonating boom that made Alexander's teeth ache. The sound of heavy footsteps and grinding metal grew louder, each impact leaving deeper dents in the reinforced barriers.
"Oh no, no, no," March stumbled backward, her usual cheerfulness evaporating. Another thunderous crash bent the doors inward, the metal screaming in protest.
"Eliminator-class," Dan hissed through clenched teeth, his knuckles white around his weapon. "They've tracked us."
Arlan jerked his head toward a smaller door on the far side of the room. "We'll take the maintenance route to the command room. Everyone who can walk, help those who can't. Move!"
The group hurried through the exit as the blast doors finally gave way with an ear-splitting crash. Alexander found himself at the rear of the group, heart pounding as inhuman roars echoed through the corridor. Up ahead, Arlan, Dan, and March guided the researchers through the warren of maintenance passages.
They emerged into a wider hallway—and froze. Massive armored figures blocked both ends of the corridor, their violet-lined armor pulsing with otherworldly energy. Between them stood a monstrosity that made Alexander's breath catch. The Trampler-class towered over its escorts, its hybrid form a nightmarish fusion of mechanical and organic components. Gray muscle bulged between armor plates, its four legs ending in metal hooves that scarred the floor with each step. As it spotted them, it reared up with a bone-chilling screech that made the walls vibrate.
The Eliminators raised their thermal cannons, dark energy gathering in their barrels. March manifested her crystalline bow, but even Alexander could see the tremor in her hands. "This is so not fair! Dan, what's the plan?"
Dan raised his lance defensively, positioning himself between the threats and the civilians. "They have us outnumbered, and we have wounded. A direct confrontation here would be suicide, unless… March, take a few steps back alongside everyone. I'll—"
Just as the Eliminators' weapons reached full charge, a circular drone shot out from behind them. Crescent blades whirling, it tore through their ranks with surgical precision. The Trampler leaped to intercept it, but the drone's movements were too quick, too precise. It severed one of the creature's enhanced limbs, drawing an otherworldly shriek of pain.
"Himeko's drone!" March's voice lifted with hope. "She must be close!"
They sprinted past the thrashing Voidrangers while the drone kept them occupied. Another set of blast doors blocked their path, but Arlan's quick commands had them sliding open to reveal the Master Control zone beyond.
The control room hit Alexander like a punch to the gut—all that pristine white and silver stretching endlessly under lights that made his eyes water. Christ, why did every futuristic tech have to be so damn clean? At the center, a massive holographic orb pulsed and shifted, throwing fractals of light across walls that seemed to melt into the cosmos beyond. The effect made his head spin. Or maybe that was just the mental exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Researchers darted between curved console banks like worker bees in a hive, their movements precise despite the chaos unfolding around them. None of them spared him a second glance. Alexander hung back near the rescued civilians, watching Dan and March approach a solitary figure seated before the orb.
The woman turned—young, pink-haired, dressed in what looked like some designer's fever dream of military formal wear. A white collared shirt with... were those detached sleeves? Alexander rubbed his eyes. The ruffle details and gold-accented black skirt under that purple coat shouldn't have worked, but somehow they did. The unzipped pink and white jacket with its maze of buckled belts completed the impossible ensemble.
"Miss Asta," Arlan's relief was palpable as he stepped forward. Alexander tuned out their tactical discussion, focusing instead on controlling his breathing. The adrenaline crash was hitting hard now, leaving him light-headed and—
Movement caught his eye. A flash of red, striking enough to snap him out of his fugue.
Himeko.
The name surfaced without context, along with a flood of disconnected facts that made his temples throb. Character data, popularity metrics, fan theories—all of it useless, none of it explaining why she was standing there, impossibly real. The elegant white toga dress with its dramatic slit, the black and gold coat, that stunning cascade of red hair... Alexander subconsciously tried to appreciate her beauty and recoiled simultaneously, creating a cognitive dissonance that made him feel sick.
What is there to appreciate if she isn't even real?
But the warmth in her voice as she embraced March felt real enough. "I'm so relieved to see you both safe," she said, and Alexander could hear the genuine maternal concern underneath the composure.
"Where's Mr. Yang?" Dan's question carried an edge of worry that seemed to thicken the air.
The answer never came. Instead, that bone-deep rumble returned—the one that made Alexander's teeth ache and his spine try to crawl out of his skin. Around him, the researchers crumpled like marionettes with cut strings, some hitting the floor hard enough to make him wince. A few whimpered. He couldn't blame them.
Then it appeared beyond the walls, and Alexander's mind stumbled over itself trying to process what he was seeing. The Doomsday Beast. The name floated up from that same broken well of knowledge, but it didn't do the thing justice. White and blue crystalline armor that shouldn't have been able to move, let alone with that terrible grace. Wings of pure energy that hurt to look at directly. It was beautiful in the way that watching a star die might be beautiful—remote and catastrophic and utterly indifferent to human scale.
"You need to take the researchers and get aboard the Astral Express in the Supply Zone immediately." Asta's voice cut through the paralysis. She paused, then added with quiet finality: "I'll stay behind."
March's protest died under Himeko's gentle but firm intervention. "We have to go, now." She turned to address them all, her command presence filling the space. "Follow me, quickly! We'll take point and protect you while we make our way to the Supply Zone."
Alexander fell into step with the evacuating researchers, his thoughts spinning like loose coins in a dryer. How was any of this possible? The terror felt real enough—his racing heart, the cold sweat on his neck, the tremor in his hands that wouldn't quite steady. If this wasn't a dream (and dreams didn't usually come with such vivid physical discomfort), then what the hell had happened to him? And why here, of all places?
The questions evaporated as they reached the docking platform. The Astral Express waited like something out of a fever dream, all gleaming ebony and gold trim. For one desperate moment, Alexander allowed himself to hope.
The wall exploded.
Metal shrieked as it peeled back, and through the smoke and debris emerged their nightmare made manifest. The Doomsday Beast towered over them, its armor reflecting the emergency lights in ways that bothered their sight. Those glowing blue circuit-veins pulsed with something that looked like power but felt like hunger. He wanted to run. He wanted to fight. He couldn't do either, frozen by the sheer wrongness of the thing.
"Miss Himeko!" Dan's shout cracked through the paralysis. "How long before Mr. Yang arrives? We need his help!"
"He's guarding the rest of the ship!" The words barely carried over the Beast's presence. "We're alone for now!"
Dan's expression hardened into something between determination and resignation. "Get to safety!" he commanded Arlan and the researchers. "We've got this!"
Arlan looked ready to argue, but March's desperate plea to follow Asta's orders seemed to reach him. With visible reluctance, he began herding the civilians away from the impending battle, leaving Alexander to wonder which group he was supposed to follow.
The Beast's sudden cry stopped him dead in his tracks, triggering something in his mind—a flash of memory that wasn't quite his own. Steel and crystal, wings of ethereal light, that same otherworldly screech. It's as if he'd seen this before, fought this before, killed this before—
March slammed into him with surprising force, tackling him sideways as a beam of concentrated energy carved through the space he'd occupied. They hit the ground hard, rolling. The Beast's follow-up attack came instantly—a blast of searing light that March barely managed to counter by throwing up a crystalline shield. The barrier shattered on impact, but it bought them a precious second.
Not enough. The residual energy caught March full in the chest, sending her sprawling. "March!" Himeko's scream cut through the chaos.
Alexander scrambled to his feet as March struggled to rise, her skin darkening where the blast had connected. Frost crystals immediately began forming over the burns—some innate defense mechanism activating. He reached for her. "That was stupid. I'm not your responsibility."
"Next time I'll just let you become wall art then," March managed through gritted teeth, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Though scrubbing pancaked stranger off the—"
Alexander yanked her down as another salvo of energy beams sliced through the air where they'd been standing. "We're exposed," he growled, pulling her toward a fallen support beam. They slid behind it just as the Beast's attack reduced their previous position to molten metal.
The relative safety lasted exactly two seconds. Space itself seemed to tear open above them as dark figures materialized—Voidranger: Distorters, their armor pulsing with violet light. March's bow materialized in her hands with practiced ease. The speed of her shots startled Alexander—thoom-thoom-thoom in rapid succession, more like a rifle than a bow. Three Distorters fell before the others could orient on their position.
"These guys are the worst," March muttered, her finger-gun gesture summoning shields around Himeko and Dan just as the Beast unleashed another barrage. The casual display of power made Alexander's head spin—but there was no time to process it. Void beams from the remaining Distorters forced them both flat against the ground.
One passed close enough to March's hip to slice her camera free. "No!" The genuine panic in her voice caught Alexander off guard. Without thinking—because thinking would have meant recognizing how monumentally stupid this was—he lunged from cover. Void strikes crackled past his face, close enough to smell ozone. He hit the ground in a slide, snatched the camera, and rolled behind a support column in one fluid motion that felt far too practiced for comfort.
"Thanks!" March called out, not missing a beat as she provided covering fire for her teammates. Her arrows found their marks with terrifying precision, buying Himeko and Dan precious seconds to reposition.
Alexander stared at the camera in his hands, his heart hammering. Why the hell did I just do that? The muscle memory that had carried him through that maneuver felt too smooth, too refined. Like his body remembered skills his mind couldn't account for.
But there was no time to dwell on it. The Beast's roar shook the entire chamber, and Alexander could feel the temperature dropping as March gathered power for another volley. They weren't done surviving yet.
"March!" Himeko's voice cracked with strain as their shields wavered, prompting the girl to reinforce them again. Her drone whirred to life, spinning faster and faster until it glowed cherry-red. The air itself seemed to ignite as it unleashed a devastating beam, carving into the Beast's crystalline armor. The monster's shriek of pain shattered nearby displays.
Dan Heng seized the opening, his lance a blur of motion. Each strike found the weakened points in the Beast's armor with surgical precision, drawing otherworldly howls. March's ice arrows peppered the creature relentlessly between volleys at the persistent Distorters, the temperature dropping with each shot.
Then Alexander heard it—screams from behind, where the researchers and station's personnel had retreated. Through the chaos of combat, he glimpsed Arlan desperately holding the line against a wave of Reavers and Eliminators that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The security chief's massive sword—nearly as tall as he was—carved through Reaver armor like paper, but Alexander could see him favoring his injured leg, his movements growing sluggish.
An Eliminator's shot caught Arlan in the shoulder, spinning him around. He dropped to one knee, sword wavering.
"No!" March's cry of alarm cut short as more Distorters phased into existence above her, forcing her attention back to the immediate threat.
Alexander's world narrowed to a point. The screams, the panic, Arlan struggling to rise—it all felt too familiar. His mind flashed to the car accident, to the woman trapped in the wreckage, to the choice he'd made then.
Still haven't made up for your sins? His own voice mocked him from somewhere deep inside. Only one way to go then.
He was moving before he could think it through. The distance vanished under his feet as he crossed the space between them, his body operating on pure instinct. An Eliminator raised its cannon toward Arlan's head—and Alexander's fist connected with its spine in an swing that shouldn't have been possible. Metal crumpled under his knuckles as he ripped through armor and whatever this thing had for its insides.
Not missing a beat, he grabbed the falling Eliminator's frame, using it as a makeshift shield against the barrage from its companions. The impacts rattled his bones, but he pushed forward, slamming both his improvised shield and another Eliminator into the wall with bone-crushing force. In one fluid motion, he stripped the heavy cannon from its lifeless grip and opened fire on the others.
Movement flickered in his peripheral vision—a Reaver, blade raised for a killing stroke. But before it could connect, crystalline energy blazed between them. Alexander caught a glimpse of March, one arm extended in her signature finger-gun pose his way even as she continued her own battle.
The shield bought him precious seconds. He pivoted, smashing his ruined Eliminator-shield into the Reaver's chest. As it staggered back, something dark and violent rose in his chest chest. His elbow shot forward with devastating force, catching the pinned Eliminator's head. The impact sent shockwaves up his arm as metal and whatever passed for skull disintegrated, leaving a crater in both the wall and the creature's face.
Arlan roared back into the fight, his massive sword crackling with electricity as he drove it through another Eliminator's core. The discharge fried its systems in a spectacular display of sparks and smoke.
Alexander's kick caught the stumbling Reaver square in the chest. The force of the blow sent it flying across the chamber, its armored form crumpling like a tin can where it hit the wall.
Pain exploded across his back as an Eliminator's shot pierced March's fading shield. The impact should have liquefied his organs—but all he felt was rage. He turned, each step deliberate as he advanced on the final Eliminator. Its next shot went wide as he closed the distance, ready to end this—
The explosion caught them all off guard. The shockwave swept through the chamber like a physical wall, sending everyone—human and alien alike—sprawling. Alexander hit the ground hard, his ears ringing, tasting copper in his mouth.
What the hell was that? He pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting through the settling debris—and felt his blood turn to ice.
March lay crumpled on the floor, frost crystals blooming across her skin in a desperate bid to protect her. The Beast's core was still spinning down, steam rising from it like a massive smoking gun. A path of absolute destruction carved through the chamber where its beam had passed—the attack she'd shielded Dan and Himeko from.
"March!" Himeko's voice cracked with panic. "Are you—" The Beast's crystalline arms lashed out, forcing her and Dan to dive in opposite directions. They scrambled for position, unable to reach their fallen companion.
Space warped above March's prone form as Distorters began materializing, their weapons charging with violet light. Something in Alexander's mind screamed—an imperative so powerful it felt like it would split his skull.
Protect her. She's Fuli's— The thought surfaced like a drowning victim reaching for air, only to be dragged under by waves of searing pain. The rest disappeared into a void that felt wrong, manufactured, forced. But the compulsion remained, a drive so fundamental it bypassed thought entirely.
Alexander moved without conscious decision. He sprinted to where Arlan struggled to rise, grabbed the security chief's massive sword without breaking stride, and bisected the Eliminator he'd been hunting earlier. The blade should have felt unwieldy, impractical. Too bulky, not nimble enough, not his style—and yet his body knew exactly how to move with it, as if he'd spent lifetimes wielding such weapons.
He launched himself at the Distorters surrounding March, using the sword's momentum to spin through their ranks. Each swing connected with devastating precision, the blade becoming both weapon and shield. Void beams splashed harmlessly off the broad side as he deflected and countered, letting the impact of blocked shots feed into his next attack. Electricity crackled along the blade's edge as he carved through their ranks, each fallen enemy exploding in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.
"I'VE GOT HER!" His roar echoed off the walls as he leaped, sword raised high. "FOCUS ON KILLING THAT DAMN THING!"
The Distorter trying to retreat never stood a chance. Alexander's downward slash split it from crown to core, his battle cry drowning out the sound of its death throes.
The adrenaline still buzzed through his system like cheap coffee, making his fingers dance restlessly around Arlan's sword. Something about this felt... wrong. Not just the impossible situation—though that was definitely up there on his list of concerns—but the way his body seemed to know exactly what to do. Like muscle memory for experiences he'd never had.
What the hell is happening to me?
Dan's shout yanked him back to reality—or whatever passed for it here. "SHIELD BREAK!"
Alexander could barely track Dan's movements; the guy moved like mercury, his lance cutting silver arcs through the air. Each strike found its mark with devastating precision, and the Beast's crystalline armor splintered under the assault. Its shriek set Alexander's teeth on edge, the sound crawling up his spine like ice water.
He caught a glimpse of Himeko's face and nearly took a step back. Gone was the warm, almost maternal presence from earlier. Her eyes had gone cold—the kind of cold that could freeze hell over. Her drone spun faster and faster beside her, the whir building to a fever pitch until the thing glowed cherry-red. The air crackled, and Alexander's nose filled with the sharp tang of ozone as the drone unleashed... well, apocalyptic seemed like the right word. The beam caught the Beast dead center, the impact actually shoving the massive creature backward.
He dropped to his knees beside March, his heart hammering against his ribs as he checked her vitals. The frost crystals coating her skin were finally starting to fade—thank God for small mercies—and her breathing had steadied. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Then movement caught his eye, and his stomach dropped.
The Beast, looking like it had gone ten rounds with a meat grinder but somehow still moving, launched itself through the hangar's energy field to the void of space outside. Alexander opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—but the words died in his throat when he saw Himeko's expression.
Her eyes... Christ, he'd seen warmer looks from corpses. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the finality of an executioner's axe:
"Astral Express: Deploy Heavenly Flare."
The universe held its breath for one heartbeat, then answered with apocalyptic fury. Light erupted from somewhere behind the station—so bright it felt like staring into the heart of the sun. Alexander threw up an arm, squinting through watering eyes. Through the spots dancing in his vision, he caught a glimpse of something massive and mechanical, its cannon trained on the fleeing Beast like the wrath of an angry god.
The beam struck. If the Beast survived... well, there wasn't enough left of it to tell either way. Vaporized or hurled into the depths of space—dead was dead.
Alexander blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. When he could finally see again, the change in Himeko was jarring. The ice-cold fury had melted away, replaced by genuine warmth as she turned to Dan. "Are you alright?"
Dan just nodded—man of few words, that one—and rushed to March's side. Himeko followed, gathering the semi-conscious girl into her arms with surprising gentleness. Alexander took a step back, feeling weirdly like he was intruding on something private. Something real.
"Did... did we get it?" March's voice was weak, but there was still that hint of... what was it? Optimism? Determination? Whatever it was, it made his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain.
Himeko's smile could have lit up a room. "We did, thanks to you. You were wonderful, shielding us all like that. I couldn't ask for a better protector."
Dan knelt beside them—silent support, but support nonetheless. The ice on March's skin kept receding, color returning to her face. Alexander watched them, this little makeshift family, and felt something twist in his gut. That damn hollow feeling again, the one that had been gnawing at him since he woke up in this impossible place. But now it came with an edge of... what? Longing? Nostalgia for… something? What that was, exactly, escaped him entirely.
Get it together, Salvatore.
His right hand was still wrapped around Arlan's sword, and that... that was a whole other problem. The weight should have felt wrong, awkward. He'd never touched a sword outside of maybe a museum, and yet... His spine crawled as he realized how naturally he'd wielded it during the fight. His entire combat style had been built around the snap of his hips during throws, the crushing pressure of his core as he pinned opponents, the explosive power in his shoulders when striking, and—
The thought hit a wall. Hard.
None of this followed the script. In the game—Jesus Christ, am I really using that word?—the Trailblazer was supposed to face the Beast head-on. The Stellaron would activate, then Welt would swoop in to save the day. Clean, simple, predictable.
But there was no Trailblazer. No Stelle, no Caelus. Just him, standing in a space station that shouldn't exist, with people who couldn't be real, feeling pain that felt too damn authentic to dismiss. His muscles ached. He could taste copper in his mouth. His hands had that fine tremor that always came after the adrenaline started wearing off.
His breathing hitched. Focus. Think. The intersection. The crash. Then... nothing. Just darkness, then... this. Were they looking for him? Sebastian, Summer, his parents—did they even know he was missing? Was he even still...?
Something else nagged at him, a splinter in his mind he couldn't quite grasp. Like he'd lost something vital, something beyond just his normal life and sanity.
His fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons—when the hell did I change into a suit?—searching for the familiar weight of his crucifix. Nothing. The absence hit harder than he expected, like losing a limb. That small piece of gold had been his constant companion, his reminder of faith and guilt and—
"Hey." Dan's voice cut through his spiraling panic. "Your breathing's turned erratic. You need to—"
Movement. Through the station's field wall, impossibly pristine after Himeko's attack. What looked to be another Doomsday Beast curved through the star-field, and Alexander's stomach dropped as it changed course. Straight toward them.
"No," he breathed. This wasn't right. The game never... this wasn't how it was supposed to...
Dan was shouting warnings, but the words felt distant, underwater. Alexander's mind raced through possibilities with mechanical precision: Dan could maybe hold it off if he accessed his full power, but those mental barriers wouldn't break easily. March was momentarily down, their shields compromised. And Himeko's satellite had to be on cooldown—nothing that powerful came without a price. Welt wasn't anywhere near—
Three seconds to impact. Survival probability decreasing. Options limited.
His fight-or-flight response went haywire, screaming at him to run. Find the Trailblazer. But something else whispered that he couldn't—patient, urgent, absolute. He had to stay. The Astral Express crew had to survive. Especially March. She was Fuli's—
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The pain hit like a sledgehammer to the skull. Alexander's scream tore through the air as his knees buckled, white-hot needles driving into his brain. Fuli's... Fuli's what?! The thought slipped away like dust, each attempt to grasp it sending fresh waves of agony through his head. Blood filled his mouth—he'd bitten through his lip without realizing it.
Need to get away. Need to— He tried to push himself up, to escape whatever was happening to his mind.
Coward. His own voice, but wrong—harder, colder, dripping with contempt. Still trying to run? Your hands are still bloody. That stain won't wash away by abandoning them.
But they're not real! His mind rebelled against the voice, against this whole impossible situation. None of this is real!
The sudden, inner command hit him like a physical force:
S̷̨̛̟̟̩̣͚̣̰̦̩͎̣̯̈́͋̊̓̈́̐̌͝Ư̵̡̨̦͚͎͇̘̱̖̼̦̞̓̌̃̈́̆̊̈́̈́͜R̶͍͉̲̫̭͚̲̰̯̫̆̓͜V̷̨̡̛͍͎̩̰̱̱̦̙̥̲̥̓̈́̆̈́̅̈́̈́̆̚͝͝Į̷̨̱͔͔̜̘̱̗̼̝̳̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝V̵̢̡̛͔͎͚̤̥̱̤̙̦̙̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝Ę̷̨̱͔͔̜̘̱̗̼̝̳̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝
Each repetition drove deeper into his consciousness, an imperative he couldn't fight. Something was there, just beneath the surface—a reason, a face, a purpose that made this direction or set of orders absolute.
S̷̨̛̟̟̩̣͚̣̰̦̩͎̣̯̈́͋̊̓̈́̐̌͝Ư̵̡̨̦͚͎͇̘̱̖̼̦̞̓̌̃̈́̆̊̈́̈́͜R̶͍͉̲̫̭͚̲̰̯̫̆̓͜V̷̨̡̛͍͎̩̰̱̱̦̙̥̲̥̓̈́̆̈́̅̈́̈́̆̚͝͝Į̷̨̱͔͔̜̘̱̗̼̝̳̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝V̵̢̡̛͔͎͚̤̥̱̤̙̦̙̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝Ę̷̨̱͔͔̜̘̱̗̼̝̳̈́̽̈́̈́̈́͊̆̕͝
SURVIVE FOR—
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[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]]]—
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]—
Arlan's sword clattered to the ground as Alexander's knees gave out completely. His fingers clawed at his skull—tear it open, rip it apart, anything to make it STOP! The pain transcended agony, became something else entirely. His consciousness splintered under the assault, each shard a new flavor of torment. He would have begged for death if he could remember how to form words. March was calling out to him—or was that Summer's voice? Everything blurred together, reality and memory and whatever the hell this was, until he couldn't tell where the pain ended and he began. Just let me die, please, anything but this—
Shall I ease your suffering? A voice like silk across steel.
The pain receded like a tide drawing back, leaving him gasping in its wake.
There. Isn't that better?
Alexander drew a shuddering breath, his first in what felt like centuries. The relief was so intense it brought tears to his eyes.
Such unnecessary agony. And for what? The voice flowed like dark honey. Each morning, donning that perfect suit like armor. Each calculated smile, each careful word. Building empires of silicon and success to fill that void inside.
"Who—?" Alexander's voice cracked, his thoughts still scattered. "What are you?"
Someone who sees through the performance, it whispered, dark and seductive as spilled ink. Bound by invisible chains of your own making. Such an elegant prison of guilt and desperate faith.
The words coiled around his thoughts like smoke. Alexander tried to focus, but everything was fog and static and—something else. Something wrong. Like fingers rifling through his memories, a presence crawling through the corridors of his mind.
All these years of self-imposed penance, it continued, almost gentle. These perpetual acts of sacrifice. The endless strain of maintaining appearances—the successful immigrant's son, the devoted partner, the reliable friend. And what has all this... devotion brought you except suffering?
"Get out," Alexander snarled, but the words came out weak, desperate. His hands clutched at his skull as he felt it moving inside, like a parasite burrowing deeper. "Get the fuck out of my head!"
Such resistance, the voice purred, amusement coloring its tone. That gnawing emptiness beneath your achievements, the relentless drive to prove your worth—when was the last time any of it felt real?
The fog in his mind thickened as that thing kept digging through his memories, pulling out moments he'd tried to forget, examining each with the detached curiosity of a child dissecting an insect.
You want this to end, it stated, and the certainty in its tone made his stomach turn. This isn't real to you, isn't it?
Alexander tried to speak, but his throat closed around the words. The pain hit without warning—a white-hot lance through his temples that drove him to his knees. His vision fractured, reality splintering at the edges. Each heartbeat brought a fresh wave of agony until he could taste copper on his tongue.
I can wake you up, the voice promised, its words cutting through his skull like shards of ice. You'd only need to allow me. That's all it would take.
Through blurring vision, he watched Dan and Himeko struggle against the Beast, saw March's cover fire growing weaker. Something deep inside him rebelled against their defeat, even as his mind screamed that none of them should exist.
Why fight for them? it whispered, almost gentle now. These phantoms, these echoes. They don't matter to you. Let me help you break through this dream. Let me send you back to that intersection.
His fingers moved of their own accord, trembling as they reached toward his core where something golden pulsed in sync with his ragged breathing. The closer he got, the more the pain receded, replaced by a warmth that promised relief. Promised an end.
Just let go, it urged, and he could feel the power building, a pressure behind his ribs that begged for release. One burst. One moment. Then you'll wake up.
Light flooded his vision, and in its golden reflection he saw something vast and wrong, a presence that shouldn't exist in any reality. Golden scars flowed across its mangled form like rivers of molten metal, its crown of destruction scraping against the edges of his comprehension. It reached for him.
One more movement. That's all it would take. The pain was almost gone now, replaced by a lightness that felt like floating. All he had to do was stop fighting, just give in and—
The golden light pulsed inside him, and something else stirred—foreign yet familiar, like muscle memory that wasn't his own, in a way that made his temples throb when he tried to understand why. It rose through his consciousness like a shadow taking form, pushing aside his panic with mechanical efficiency.
His body straightened without his input. The movement wasn't his—Christ, why wasn't it his? He tried to scream, but his throat wouldn't obey. Something else wore his skin now, something that remembered power and purpose with absolute clarity.
"No." The word came from his mouth, but the voice... the voice belonged to someone else. Someone who had walked these halls before, who knew exactly what dwelled inside him.
The golden light responded not to Alexander's panic but to this phantom's will—an echo of authority that bypassed his consciousness entirely. Power flooded his system, controlled not by him but by this... presence, this ghost of someone he couldn't remember.
What—? For the first time, uncertainty crept into the entity's voice. This isn't possible. You were—
"Erased?" That cold voice used his mouth again, and Alexander felt himself drowning in the undertow of foreign memories. "Perhaps. But I left more than echoes."
His hand rose—steady now, no trace of his earlier tremors—and gripped the light like a weapon it had wielded a thousand times before. The pain didn't lessen, but it was... redirected, channeled by muscle memory that belonged to someone else entirely.
The presence in his mind thrashed against this intruder, this fragment of something it recognized. You dare—
"I dared before," the phantom whispered through him. "I'll dare again."
Then everything dissolved into golden light, and Alexander felt himself falling into the abyss—no longer fighting for control, but surrendering to whatever force had claimed his body. His last coherent thought was a desperate prayer, lost in the surge of power that something else knew how to use.
If this was madness, at least something inside him knew the way through.
———————————————
March's heart thunders in her chest as she watches Dan Heng and Himeko dance with death. The Doomsday Beast looms, a grotesque fusion of metallic horror and raw destruction. She wants to scream, to fight, to do anything but lie here uselessly while her friends risk their lives.
Get up! Move! She wills her battered body to cooperate, but pain lances through her at the slightest movement. Ice crystals cling stubbornly to her skin, a reminder of the devastating attack she barely survived. Her left shoulder throbs, possibly broken from the sheer force she redirected.
March grits her teeth, summoning her bow. The familiar weight should be comforting, but now it's an agonizing reminder of her weakness. She struggles to lift it, arms trembling with the effort. You promised, she chides herself. You promised you wouldn't lose anyone else.
The thought sends a pang through her chest, sharper than any physical pain. Fragments of a life she can't remember taunt her, just out of reach. Did she have a family once? Friends? Loved ones torn away, leaving only this aching void where memories should be?
She watches Himeko dodge energy beams, the scientist's face a mask of determination. Dan Heng moves with inhuman grace, his lance a blur as he strikes at the Beast's weak points. They're her family now, the only one she knows. She can't lose them.
Desperation fuels her, and March manages to raise her bow a fraction higher. The pain is blinding, but she forces herself to focus. Then, to her horror, she sees them. Voidrangers, at least ten of the dreaded Distorter class, materializing around the chamber. Himeko and Dan Heng are too preoccupied with the Beast to notice.
"No," she whimpers, panic clawing at her throat. She has to warn them, has to fight, has to—
"Let me help you."
The voice startles her. It's the man they rescued earlier suddenly beside her. But something's... off. His face is the same, yet different, as if years of experience have etched themselves into his features in mere moments. And his eyes... they glow an eerie purple, unlike anything she's ever seen.
He holds out his hand, clearly asking for her bow. March hesitates, her instincts warring. Can she trust him? But then she remembers – he protected her camera earlier, kept it safe when everything else was chaos. In that moment of kindness, she saw a glimpse of his true nature.
With a silent prayer, she relinquishes her weapon.
What happens next leaves her breathless. The man moves with a fluid grace that speaks of countless hours of training. Energy arrows, crackling with barely contained power, materialize at his command. His shots ring out in a deadly rhythm, each one finding its mark with terrifying precision.
March watches, awestruck, as Voidranger after Voidranger falls. In mere seconds, the immediate threat is neutralized. Then, he turns back to her, his expression unreadable. He hands her the camera, and relief washes over her as she clutches it close. It's more than just a device; it's her lifeline to a past she desperately wants to reclaim.
She tries to convey her gratitude, but notices his face contort in pain. He mutters something about memory and not remembering, then his gaze snaps back to the ongoing battle. "God save me, Salvatore," he says, his tone a mix of resignation and determination, "what did you get yourself into this time? Dad would kill you for this."
With a curt nod in her direction, he's gone, racing to join Himeko and Dan Heng against the Doomsday Beast. March watches him go, her mind reeling. Who is he? How can he wield her weapon with such skill? And most pressingly – can he turn the tide of this seemingly impossible battle?
She pushes herself up, ignoring the protests of her battered body. Rest. That's what Himeko told her to do. But how can she rest when her friends – her family – are fighting for their lives? March takes a deep breath, steeling herself. She may not be able to fight at full strength, but she refuses to be a helpless bystander.
Slowly, painfully, she begins to move. Each step is agony, but she forces herself forward. Her fingers curl into her signature "finger-gun" pose, ready to summon shields at a moment's notice. She may not remember her past, but she knows who she is now. She's March 7th of the Astral Express, and she will not abandon her crew.
———————————————
Himeko's drone whirred past her ear, targeting systems locking onto the Doomsday Beast's hulking form. Metal creaked beneath her feet as she shifted position, fragments of the damaged station crunching under her boots. The Beast's crystalline armor pulsed with an otherworldly blue glow, each impact from their attacks barely leaving a scratch on its massive frame.
This one's different, she thought, watching Dan Heng's spear glance off its reinforced plating. It's not just stronger—it's learning our moves and patterns.
The Beast's head swiveled with deliberate precision, its wingspan alone taking up most of the chamber. Energy gathered in its core, and Himeko barely had time to dive behind a twisted support beam before a searing beam of light cut through where she'd been standing. The metal behind her grew hot enough to burn through her coat.
"Dan, try pattern three!" she called out. Dan Heng darted forward, his spear aimed at a joint in the Beast's armor—a weak point they'd exploited before. The creature remained eerily still, its massive form looming over them like a malevolent mountain.
Himeko caught a glimpse of Dan Heng's face—frustration barely contained behind his usual stoic expression. They'd tried this combination twice already, and each time the Beast had adapted. But in this instance, when Dan Heng's spear struck true, the Beast barely seemed to react.
There! The opening appeared exactly where she expected. Himeko directed her drone with a thought, the AI anticipating her intent and plotting the optimal attack vector. But as she emerged from cover, realization struck like ice in her veins.
The Beast had sacrificed the hit from Dan Heng. All of its energy nodes were glowing now, not focused on him at all, but trained directly on her position. It had predicted their entire sequence.
"It was waiting for me," she breathed, a second too late.
Beams of deadly energy seemed to converge on Himeko's position. She knew March's shield wouldn't regenerate in time—the girl had already strained herself protecting them from the Beast's last barrage. Time seemed to slow as Himeko watched death approach in rays of blinding light.
A sound like thunder tore through the chaos. A black and white blur slammed into the Doomsday Beast's head, exploding in a shower of sparks that lit up the chamber like a dying star. The creature reeled backward, its massive form shuddering as an unearthly wail pierced through Himeko's ears, the sound reverberating off the station's walls. The coordinated beams scattered harmlessly into the ceiling, raining molten metal around them.
What in the... Her eyes landed on the source – the man March 7th and Dan Heng had found earlier. He stood with March's bow raised, his amber eyes glowing an eerie purple. Golden energy oozed off the bow like steam, fading into nothing. "That's... probably enough of that," he muttered, a note of wariness in his voice.
Himeko's heart skipped a beat. March's bow? Then— She whirled around, scanning where they'd left March in cover. Relief flooded through her as she spotted the girl emerging from behind a fallen column. March was clearly struggling to stand, but her finger-gun was raised, aimed steadily at them. That familiar confident smile played across her face as a shield shimmered to life around them.
"That thing you did," the man asked, gesturing to Himeko's drone as it circled their position. "How long until you can fire it again?"
"Three more minutes," she replied, her mind already racing through tactical possibilities as the Beast began to right itself, its crystalline armor cracking in places where the mysterious projectile had struck.
The man nodded, his face betraying a hint of uncertainty despite his composed demeanor. "Right... any of you Pathstriders of the Harmony? We could really use the extra punch right about now."
Himeko shook her head, noticing Dan Heng do the same from his position behind a fallen column. Who is this guy? she wondered, watching as he gripped Arlan's sword, electricity dancing along its edge. Every movement spoke of experience, yet there was something odd about his confidence—as if he knew exactly what needed to be done, but was struggling to remember why.
"Sucks," he muttered. "Oh well. Could be worse. How should I fit into your attack plan?"
Dan Heng's voice cut in, sharp with urgency. "Why not just launch that projectile again? It was effective."
The man's expression tightened. "Dan Heng, was it? Let's just say this power is... new. Unpredictable. Like handling a weapon that might backfire if you push it too hard. Better I stick to more reliable methods."
Himeko made a split-second decision. "No more time. I'll keep up the ranged assault with my drone. You two, keep it busy and try to break its shields. My drone can target the vulnerable spots."
"Roger."
As they sprang into action, Himeko found her attention split between directing her drone and observing their mysterious ally. The Doomsday Beast's attacks came in waves of searing energy, but the man moved through them with an unnatural flow. Each dodge wasn't just reactive—he was already moving before the beams fired, as if...
He's not just reacting, Himeko realized, watching him weave between two concentrated beams that should have caught him in a crossfire. He's predicting its patterns.
Dan Heng seemed to notice it too. His spear strikes synchronized perfectly with the man's sword thrusts, creating openings neither could have managed alone. The Beast's massive form twisted, trying to track both opponents, but they stayed just ahead of its targeting systems.
Then she saw it—an opening in their enemy's defense. "Dan Heng!" Himeko called out. He understood immediately, darting forward in a blur of motion. His spear struck the Beast's right hand like lightning, each hit precise and devastating. The crystalline armor cracked under the assault, fragments of otherworldly material scattering across the floor.
Her drone was already moving, targeting systems locked on the spreading fractures. The blast hit true, and the Beast's entire hand exploded in a shower of crystalline shards. It roared, energy nodes flaring as it turned its attention toward her, exactly as she'd expected—
But she hadn't expected what came next.
The man was moving before the Beast even began to turn, using its damaged hand as a springboard. He ran up its massive arm as if he'd done it a thousand times before, each step landing precisely between the pulsing energy nodes. The Beast, focused on Himeko, never saw him coming.
Arlan's sword, crackling with electricity, carved a devastating arc across the Beast's face. The man rode the momentum of his strike, twisting in mid-air to avoid a retaliatory blast. He descended along the Beast's body with impossible grace, each point of contact seeming to find the exact spot needed to maintain his controlled fall.
It's like he's done this before, Himeko thought, watching him land smoothly beside Dan Heng.
The coordination between the three of them only improved from there. Each time her drone found an opening, Dan Heng or the man—sometimes both—were there to exploit it. The Beast's armor cracked and shattered under their relentless assault, her drone's blasts hitting exposed joints and damaged plating with surgical precision.
But as they pressed their advantage, something changed. The Beast's movements, once calculated and precise, became increasingly erratic. Its massive form shuddered and twisted in ways that defied its previous patterns. Energy pooled and surged through its damaged frame in unstable pulses, like a reactor about to go critical.
Two minutes felt like an eternity. The Beast, now a mangled mess of armor and pulsing energy, let out a bone-shaking roar that made the station's metal walls vibrate. Himeko's blood ran cold as she recognized the telltale glow building in its core—the same devastating attack that had nearly killed them before.
"Himeko?!" Dan Heng's shout held a desperate question.
She shook her head, dread settling in her stomach. "Heavenly Flare is not ready yet!"
The man's head snapped towards March, who was visibly trembling now, her finger-gun wavering as she struggled to maintain her protective stance. His expression shifted—something between recognition and resignation. "She won't be able to shield it," he said, his voice unnaturally calm. "Get behind me."
"What are you talking about?" Himeko demanded, even as her instincts screamed at her to move. The air itself seemed to grow heavy, charged with an energy that made her skin crawl. Above them, the Beast's form began to glow with an intensity that cast harsh shadows across the chamber, its damaged armor creaking under the building pressure.
His eyes, still that unsettling purple, locked onto hers. For a moment, she saw something beneath the confident exterior—fear, yes, but also a deep, unwavering resolve.
Golden sparks danced between his trembling fingers as he flexed his hands. "Barely have a handle on this," he muttered, more to himself than to them. A strange smile crossed his face as he glanced upward at the Beast. "But sometimes you have to roll the dice, don't you?"
His expression hardened, and when he looked back at Himeko, there was something almost apologetic in his eyes. "Trust me. Please."
Something in his tone, a mix of determination and barely contained dread, made Himeko's decision for her. She grabbed Dan Heng's arm, pulling him back as the Beast's core reached critical mass.
What happened next defied explanation. Golden light erupted from the man's chest, clashing with the Beast's devastating beam. The resulting explosion nearly knocked Himeko off her feet. The very air seemed to ignite, crackling with competing energies that sent arcs of power dancing across the station's walls.
The man's attack overwhelmed the Beast's beam, golden light consuming its massive form. Himeko realized he had positioned himself perfectly—the Beast's back was to the station's force field, and as its upper half disintegrated under the golden onslaught, the excess energy harmlessly dispersed into space. Only its lower half remained, smoking and lifeless.
But the victory came at a price. The golden light didn't stop—it kept pouring from him, wild and uncontrolled. She stared in horror as their ally's scream tore through the air—a sound of primal agony that chilled her to her core. The energy wasn't just power anymore; it seemed alive, writhing and pulsing with a will of its own.
Then they all felt it—a presence, vast and ancient, its attention falling upon them like a physical weight. It was as if something impossibly large had turned its gaze toward their insignificant corner of space, watching with cold interest.
An Aeon's gaze?!
"What's happening to him?" March's terrified voice barely registered over the maelstrom.
Himeko's mind raced, searching for an explanation, a solution, anything. "I don't know!" she called back, her usual confidence shaken.
Through the storm of conflicting energies, she caught a glimpse of movement. A tall figure in a familiar coat... Welt? Relief flooded through her as she saw him raise his cane with practiced precision.
And then, silence.
The man collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, Welt catching him before he hit the ground. Smoke rose from his clothes, the fabric charred and still smoldering in places. The acrid smell of burnt material filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of superheated metal. Waves of heat rolled off the surrounding walls, the metal panels glowing a dull red where the golden energy had lashed against them.
March's voice, thick with relief, broke through the crackling of cooling metal. "Mr. Yang!"
Himeko's boots crunched over crystalline shards as she approached, the remains of the Beast's armor scattered across the scorched floor. Sweat trickled down her face from the lingering heat. She knelt beside Welt, who cradled their unconscious ally. The man's face was ashen, streaked with soot, his breathing shallow and labored.
"Welt..." she started, her voice hoarse from the superheated air. "Thank the stars you made it in time."
She reached out to check his pulse, but stopped short as residual golden energy sparked weakly across his skin. The words caught in her throat as realization dawned. "That just now was—"
"Yes," Welt confirmed grimly, adjusting his grip on the unconscious man as another piece of the Beast's remains crashed to the floor behind them. "It seems we've found the station's missing Stellaron."