Ethan's breath caught in his throat, and a suffocating dread settled in his chest. His hands froze mid-motion as his gaze locked onto the words on the screen, each one hammering into his mind with relentless clarity.
Projected Lifespan: Two Minutes.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head as if denial could erase the grim reality before him. His hands trembled as he reached for the controls, his fingers fumbling over the interface. The monitors continued to scream their warnings, but all Ethan could hear was the deafening roar of his own heartbeat.
Two minutes. Claire's precious few days—gone in an instant. It wasn't just unfair; it was cruel, a deliberate theft of the time he had clung to so desperately.
A cold sweat broke out across his brow, his mind scrambling for solutions. There had to be something, anything he could do. His training, his knowledge, the cutting-edge technology in this room—surely one of them held the answer. But as the reality of the situation bore down on him, a deep, paralyzing fear began to take root.
The woman he had vowed to save, the one person who gave meaning to his relentless pursuit of hope, was slipping away faster than he could act. And for the first time in years, Ethan Cross—the brilliant, unshakable doctor—felt utterly helpless.
He slammed his hand against the console, his voice breaking as he muttered, "No… Not now. Not like this."
Ethan stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest. Two minutes. How could her condition deteriorate so quickly? He turned to Claire, her face serene yet so heartbreakingly fragile.
"No," he whispered, rushing back to her. His hands trembled as he adjusted the OxySerum Infuser, his voice rising in desperation. "No, no, no! Claire, hold on. Please, just hold on!"
Her vitals dipped lower. The glowing tendrils of energy tightened around her, their ominous light growing brighter. Ethan's breath caught in his throat as her body convulsed briefly, her fingers twitching against the bed.
"Damn it!" Ethan roared, slamming his fist against the console. He frantically keyed in override commands, but nothing worked. The energy was unrelenting, an unstoppable force tearing through every safeguard he had in place.
Claire's eyes fluttered open, her weak gaze meeting Ethan's. For a brief moment, her lips curved into a faint smile.
"Ethan…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the machines.
"I'm here," Ethan said, leaning closer, his voice cracking. "I'm here, Claire. Just hold on. I'll fix this. I'll save you."
Her hand moved slowly, trembling as it reached for his. Ethan clasped it tightly, his thumb brushing over her cool skin.
"You always try… so hard," she murmured, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But… it's okay. You've done enough."
"No," Ethan said, his voice shaking with emotion. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. I'm not giving up on you. I can't—"
Her fingers tightened around his, weak but resolute. "You have to let go," she whispered, her voice filled with an eerie calm. "I'm tired, Ethan… so tired."
Tears streamed down Ethan's face as the alarms blared louder, signaling the inevitable. The tendrils of energy pulsed violently now, their glow almost blinding. Claire's body convulsed again, her breathing shallow and labored.
"No!" Ethan cried, his voice breaking. "Stay with me! Don't give up now!"
Claire's eyes softened, her gaze filled with love and a quiet acceptance. "Thank you… for everything," she whispered, her lips barely moving. "I love you…"
Her words trailed off, her hand going limp in his grasp. The monitors flatlined with a sharp, piercing tone, the red light of the displays casting an eerie glow over the room.
Ethan sat frozen, his hand still clutching hers as if holding on could bring her back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his teeth grinding against themselves as he gritted hard.
The tendrils of energy dissipated, retreating back into the air as quickly as they had appeared, leaving only silence in their wake.
The world around him seemed to fade, the chaos of the hospital, the roaring of the beast outside—all of it distant and meaningless. All that remained was the unbearable weight of her absence, a void in his chest that no force could ever fill.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her still hand, his tears soaking into the bedsheet. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice broken. "I'm so sorry, Claire…"
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the machines that had failed to save the one person who mattered most.
Outside, the crimson void churned, and the beast roared again. The world continued to unravel, but for Ethan Cross, everything had already fallen apart.
Meanwhile inside the building Ethan fell to his knees beside the bed, his vision blurred by tears. His hands shook uncontrollably as he gripped the edge of the mattress, unable to accept what had just happened.
He had failed.
Despite all his knowledge, his technology, and his relentless efforts, he had failed to save the woman who meant everything to him. The chaotic energy had stolen her from him, and he could do nothing to stop it.
"Why?" he whispered brokenly, his voice trembling with anguish as he gazed up at the ceiling. "Why her? Why now?"
But the room offered no answers, only the sterile hum of the machines that had tried and failed to sustain her life.
The world around him seemed to collapse into silence as the reality of her death sank in. Ethan slumped forward, his hands covering his face, his tears falling unchecked.
And in that moment, a quiet, almost imperceptible shift rippled through the air—something ancient and powerful, watching from beyond the veil of reality, taking notice of his despair.
But Ethan, lost in his grief, was too shattered to sense it.
For now.
Ethan sat motionless beside Claire's lifeless body, his hands trembling, his chest tight with despair. The world outside rumbled with chaos, the roaring beast and crimson sky a distant backdrop to the overwhelming silence of his grief.
Then, without warning, a shimmering icon appeared before his face—a glowing, golden panel that pulsed faintly, as if mocking the solemn atmosphere around him.
[ Loki, The God of Mischief, Jest, and Woe, is amused. ]