"Curses... Curses... Curses," Owen whispered, gripping his blade so tight the crimson stream ran down the black blade. Corpses, both familiar and alien, littered the area around him. He spotted a shimmering object, picked it up, and a wave of agony shot through him, tears streaming down his face.

"Why? All those sacrifices, and for what?" Owen's frustration was palpable. How could it be? All his plans had been flawless, yet a single man had ruined everything.

***

The room was a testament to a chaotic existence: empty energy drink cans, a messy bed, clothes strewn about. It was a cramped studio apartment. A computer hummed, displaying Owen engrossed in his usual game. His blad head shinning in the poorly lit room.

Despite the recent cancer diagnosis, Owen, an otaku through and through, refused to let it dampen his lifestyle.

"Hey, you were supposed to cover me, man. What gives?" he said, adjusting his headphones.

"My bad, man," the voice replied.

"Whatever, just cover me till I respawn."

"Um, should you really be playing games?" the voice asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know you've got only a few days left, right? Why don't you..."

"I've played enough games for one night. Bye," Owen interrupted, hanging up abruptly. "Damn it."

His illness had been diagnosed just a couple of days prior, now a couple hours left, since it's been two days having already passed he got the news. Owen had never told his family. How could he? Not like they would care. He had a different reason. He was a dropout, with nothing but games to his name; not a particularly pleasant one. And then there was the other reason: he was the eldest, with two siblings who had excelled far beyond his aspirations.

"It wasn't my fault I was born this way," he said, opening a cold beer. He walked out to his balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy, food-scented apartment. It was calming and refreshing.

Looking at the stars, memories flooded his mind: the glory days of his athletic youth, now a distant, fading echo of a frail husk.

"Better get to bed. The limited edition Play Wars is launching tomorrow. I gotta snag one." With that, Owen retired for the night.

During sleep, a hand kept tapping his back. He knew he lived alone.

Who could it be? How did they get in?

Owen's eyes snapped open to a horrifying reality. He was being carried by a large figure, dressed as a maid. He tried to scream, but only a weak cry escaped him. He fought, but was powerless.

"Aww, he's so cute. I bet he's going to be a fighter," the maid said.

'What's happening? Why do I feel so weak?'

He briefly scanned the surroundings, recognizing his studio apartment—but not. It was a vastly different space, strange, elaborately decorated. The aesthetic felt...ancient.

'Oh, no,' it dawned on him. He'd been transported to a different medieval timeline.