Ezra gasped as the icy water closed over his head, dragging him down into the depths. He thrashed wildly, panic surging through his veins as the cold tightened its grip on him, pulling him deeper into the dark abyss. His chest burned, the need for air clawing at his lungs, but there was nothing but the endless, suffocating blackness surrounding him.
The water was thick, almost oily, and it seemed to move with a will of its own, tugging him further into the void. No light, no sense of direction—just the overwhelming sensation of drowning in a bottomless sea.
His arms flailed as he struggled to swim, but it was futile. The more he fought, the deeper he sank. His muscles screamed in agony, his vision blurred, and the crushing pressure pressed down on his skull, threatening to break him apart. He opened his mouth to scream, but only bubbles rose from his throat, vanishing into the gloom above.
Then, something changed. The sensation of falling slowed. His limbs grew numb, the frantic beating of his heart quieting as the cold seeped into every part of him. He could no longer tell if he was sinking or floating, but the water remained constant—endless.
Time, like everything else, lost its meaning.
For what felt like years, Ezra drifted. There was no pain, no panic, only the persistent sense of being submerged in an ocean too vast to comprehend. His thoughts grew dim, the edges of his consciousness blurring as the void welcomed him.
Until, without warning, the water receded.
Ezra blinked, gasping for air, his vision slowly clearing as the world around him shifted. The oppressive weight of the water lifted, replaced by a strange and unsettling silence. He coughed, doubling over as he sucked in greedy gulps of air, his chest heaving.
When he finally raised his head, he froze.
The sky above was a thick, swirling mass of blood-red clouds, illuminated by the orange glow of flames licking at the horizon. The ground beneath him was scorched and cracked, the earth split open in jagged lines that oozed molten lava like open wounds. And in the distance—looming over the crumbling remains of buildings—were creatures.
Massive, hulking monsters, their skin covered in thick scales and spines, their mouths lined with rows of jagged teeth. They moved like living mountains, their footsteps shaking the ground with each thunderous step.
Ezra's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the scene unfold before him. Human soldiers, desperately trying to fend off the creatures, were cut down with brutal efficiency. The monsters tore through their ranks, claws and fangs ripping through flesh as if they were nothing but paper.
Screams echoed through the air—agonized, desperate screams—punctuated by the sound of bones snapping and buildings crumbling. The streets were awash with blood, bodies piled high as the monsters ravaged everything in sight. There was no mercy, no escape. It was the end.
Ezra's mind reeled as he took in the horror of it all. This wasn't just a battle—it was a massacre. And he knew these people. He recognized their faces—the soldiers, the civilians running for their lives. He saw his friends, his family, all of them being torn apart, consumed by the chaos. He screamed their names, but his voice was lost in the roar of destruction.
He ran, his legs burning with the effort, but it was pointless. The monsters were everywhere, tearing through the city like a plague. He watched as buildings crumbled, entire blocks of the city consumed by fire and death. He saw people dragged from their homes, ripped apart before his eyes.
Then, as quickly as it had started, the scene shifted. Ezra blinked, and the city was whole again, unscathed. The monsters were gone. The people—his friends, his family—were alive.
But only for a moment.
The sky darkened once more, the clouds swirling ominously as the ground split open beneath him. The monsters returned, larger, more grotesque, tearing through the city with renewed fury. Ezra screamed, but no sound escaped his lips. He watched, helpless, as the people he loved were slaughtered again, their screams filling the air as the cycle began anew.
It was a nightmare—a never-ending nightmare that replayed over and over.
He saw the beginning of the invasion—the moment the monsters first emerged from the earth, their hulking forms towering over the city as they began their rampage. He watched as the first buildings crumbled, the first lives were taken. Then he saw the end—the last human standing, bloodied and broken, before being consumed by the darkness.
Then it started again.
Ezra couldn't stop it. He couldn't change it. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he fought, it always ended the same way. The monsters destroyed everything. Humanity was wiped out.
And then it would begin again.
Over and over.
Years passed in the blink of an eye, but Ezra felt every moment. Every scream, every death—he lived it, over and over again. The weight of the horror pressed down on him, his mind fracturing under the strain. He lost track of time, of self. He could no longer remember where the nightmare ended and he began.
At first, he tried to fight. He grabbed weapons, rallied soldiers, tried to lead them against the monsters. But no matter what he did, the outcome was the same. The monsters tore through them like they were nothing.
Then, he tried running. Escaping. Hiding. But the monsters found him. Every time.
Each loop added another crack to his mind, another weight to the unbearable burden. His body was battered, broken, and healed only to be broken again. Each death felt real, each moment of terror more vivid than the last. His sense of time dissolved into a blur of endless pain and loss. The people he loved—people he didn't even know he remembered—died in front of him, their faces twisted in agony, begging him for help he couldn't give.
At some point, he stopped fighting. Stopped running. Stopped screaming. He simply watched as the world was destroyed over and over, a passive observer in his own endless nightmare.
The madness crept in slowly, like a shadow lurking at the edges of his mind, but soon it was all-consuming. He couldn't tell if the screams were his or someone else's. He couldn't remember who he was or what he had been trying to do. The horrors of the loop became his reality. Each time the monsters returned, it felt like the first time.
He was drowning again.
But something changed, after what felt like centuries. As he lay there, broken and bloodied, watching the monsters tear through the last remnants of humanity once more, he felt something stir inside him.
Acceptance.
The thought was faint at first, barely noticeable against the cacophony of his shattered mind. But it grew, blossoming like a small flame in the darkness. There was nothing left for him to fight. Nothing left for him to fear.
The monsters weren't real. None of this was real. It was all just a dream—a twisted, horrific dream meant to break him. But he wasn't broken. Not yet.
He watched as the monsters ravaged the city again, but this time, he didn't move. He didn't fight. He didn't scream. He simply watched, his heart steady, his mind clear for the first time in what felt like millennia.
He took a deep breath, the air cold and sharp in his lungs, and let go.
The screams faded into silence. The flames flickered and died. The monsters dissolved into nothingness. The world around him fell away, like sand slipping through his fingers, leaving only a vast emptiness behind.
Ezra closed his eyes, his body sinking into the warmth of acceptance. He had faced the worst this place could throw at him, had endured pain and suffering beyond comprehension. But he had survived. He had endured.
And now, he was free.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed. The soft light of dawn filtered through the window, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The air was still, calm.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Ezra felt at peace.
He had made it through the nightmare.
But at what cost?