The Forbidden Zone lived up to its name with enthusiasm that bordered on malicious glee. Reality here had given up on consistency and embraced chaos like a lifestyle choice. Trees grew downward into sky that might have been ground. Gravity worked on a voting system where majority rarely won. And the path to the bunker kept trying to eat them.
"Left!" Keiran shouted, pulling Seylas back as the ground she'd been about to step on revealed itself as a mouth full of crystalline teeth.
"This place gets worse every hour," Lysara muttered, helping her companion to stable ground—or at least ground that pretended stability convincingly.
Ren checked the device for the hundredth time. The coordinates flickered and shifted, but they were close. The countdown glared at him: 4:42:16.
Less than five hours to save existence. No pressure.
The path ahead shimmered, and suddenly Ren was looking at himself—or rather, multiple versions of himself. One wore convenience store uniform that he used to visit very often, perpetually frozen in the moment. Another was dressed in elaborate robes, bearing scars from battles he'd never fought. A third looked successful, confident, everything he'd never been.
"What the hell?" He reached out, and his hand passed through the nearest duplicate like smoke.
"Dimensional echoes," Mayfell explained, her voice strained from maintaining protective wards. "The barriers are so thin here that possibilities bleed through. Every choice you never made, every path untaken."
The successful-Ren smiled coldly. "Look at what you could have been. If you'd tried harder. Cared more. Been better."
"Ignore them," Elanil stepped between Ren and his echoes, sword half-drawn. "They're not real."
"Aren't we?" Battle-scarred Ren laughed. "We're all the lives he'll never live because he chose to throw himself into that machine. The futures he's sacrificing for strangers."
"They're not strangers," Ren said quietly, surprised by his own conviction. "They're friends."
The echoes flickered, their forms becoming unstable. Store-uniform Ren smiled sadly. "Then I hope they're worth dying for."
They dissolved, but the weight of unborn possibilities hung in the air like grief.
"I hate this place," Seylas muttered, helping Lysara navigate around a puddle that reflected different skies.
"It hates us back," Lysara replied. "Look at our shadows."
She was right. Their shadows moved independently, sometimes lagging, sometimes leading, sometimes shaped like things that definitely weren't humanoid. Ren's shadow was the worst—it kept fragmenting into multiple forms, as if it couldn't decide which version of him to follow.
They pressed deeper into the zone, reality becoming increasingly negotiable. At one point, they walked through a section where sound had color—their footsteps painting brief rainbows that dissolved into whispers. Another stretch had them aging and reversing with each step, experiencing decades in heartbeats.
"There's something ahead," Varos warned, hand on his sword.
A creature blocked their path, but calling it a creature was generous. It existed in too many dimensions at once, its form a constantly shifting mass of possibilities. Eyes opened along its surface—human eyes, elf eyes, eyes that belonged to nothing that should exist.
"Dimensional parasite," Mayfell whispered. "It feeds on potential. On choices unmade."
The thing focused on Ren, and he felt it pulling at something fundamental inside him. Not his life force—his possibilities. Every future he might have had, it wanted to devour.
"No." The word came out stronger than he felt. "Those are mine. Good or bad, they're mine to choose."
Purple mist suddenly erupted from his skin—not the Neither Mist, but something else. Something that had been dormant since the convenience store. The parasite recoiled, making sounds like reality gargling.
"What was that?" Elanil demanded as the creature fled into impossible angles.
"I don't know." Ren stared at his hands, which still sparked with purple energy. "But I think... I think I'm not as purely human as we thought."
"Questions later," Varos said. "The bunker's ahead."
"There," Mayfell pointed ahead where reality had given up entirely. A structure existed in the gap—part brutalist concrete, part organic growth, part geometric impossibility. It hurt to look at directly, as if someone had tried to build a bunker in four dimensions but gave up halfway through.
"That's our salvation?" Varos asked doubtfully. "It looks like architecture had a breakdown."
"Fitting," Ren said. "Everything else is breaking down too."
They approached carefully. The bunker's entrance was surprisingly mundane—a heavy door marked with warnings in multiple languages and one universal symbol: ☢.
"放射線危険区域," Ren read. "Radiation hazard zone. Though I'm guessing that's the least of our worries."
But there was more text, older, carved by hand: "For my grandson or granddaughter- Grandma loves you. Be brave."
His throat tightened. She'd known. Somehow, she'd known he'd stand here one day.
The door recognized something in his presence, scanning him with light that felt uncomfortably thorough. But it wasn't just checking his DNA—it was reading something deeper. The purple energy under his skin resonated with the scanner, and for a moment, he saw data flashing across the door's surface:
Subject Classification: Human (Modified) Tanaka Protocol: Active Dimensional Resistance: 94.7% Authorization: Confirmed
After a moment that lasted several years, it opened with a hiss of air that hadn't been disturbed in millennia.
Inside was worse than outside. The walls couldn't decide what they were made of—sometimes metal, sometimes organic tissue, sometimes pure mathematics given form. Lights flickered between spectrums, showing glimpses of other versions of the same space. In one, bodies littered the floor. In another, the walls were covered in desperate messages. In a third, something vast and tentacled pressed against reality's thin membrane.
"Stay close," Mayfell commanded, weaving protections that sparked and died in the unstable environment. "This place exists in multiple states simultaneously."
"Great. Schrödinger's bunker. We're both saved and doomed until we observe the outcome."
They descended deeper, following signs that hurt to read. The architecture became more alien with each level—human engineering corrupted by exposure to forces it was never meant to contain. Ren glimpsed laboratories where experiments had continued evolving without supervision, creating new forms of existence that pressed against containment.
In one room, they found them—the original Protocol Eight team. Five skeletons in hazmat suits, still seated at their stations. The badge on one read "Dr. M. Tanaka."
"Your grandmother's colleague," Mayfell said softly.
Ren approached slowly. A personal recorder lay near the skeleton's hand. He picked it up, and his grandmother's voice filled the air:
"Day 2,847 of Protocol Eight development. Michiko insists on staying, but I've made my choice. My daughter needs a world to grow up in, not a tomb. The modification is ready—it should pass to her children, maybe their children. Someone needs to survive what's coming. Someone needs to remember…if you're hearing this... I'm sorry. Sorry for the burden, sorry for the loneliness. But mostly, I'm proud. Proud that my grandson or granddaughter will be the one to finish what we started. The machine will test you. It will hurt. But you're stronger than you know. Love, Grandma."
The recording ended. Ren carefully pocketed the device, blinking away tears he wouldn't acknowledge.
"She planned all of this," Elanil said quietly.
"Three generations of planning," he replied. "No pressure or anything."
They continued deeper. The bunker's defenses activated as they passed—not to stop them, but to test them. Puzzles that required multiple minds to solve. Pressure plates that needed exact weight distributions. At one point, a corridor filled with gas that made them face their worst fears made manifest.
Ren saw himself alone, everyone he'd grown to care about dissolved by the mist because he'd failed. Elanil faced her sister's final moments again. Varos relived a battle where he'd chosen duty over saving civilians. Each of them pushed through, supporting each other when individual strength failed.
"We make a good team," Lysara observed after they'd cleared the hallway.
"Don't get sentimental on us now," Seylas teased, but her smile was fond.
Finally, they reached the core.
The chamber was vast, dominated by a machine that defied description. Part computer, part organic neural network, part dimensional anchor made physical. It pulsed with its own heartbeat, waiting with the patience of something that existed outside normal time. Cables like veins ran from it into the walls, floor, and ceiling, connecting to infrastructure that spanned dimensions.
"Protocol Eight," Mayfell breathed. "It's real."
Ren approached the primary interface, his grandmother's device growing warm in his hand. The machine recognized him, displays lighting up with information that made his head spin.
第八プロトコル 初期化準備完了 接続要件:純粋人類神経系 生存確率:35.7% 警告:プロセスは不可逆です
"Protocol Eight initialization ready," he translated, throat dry. "Connection requirements: Pure human nervous system. Survival probability: 35.7%. Warning: Process is irreversible."
"Thirty-five percent?" Elanil's voice cracked. "That's barely one in three."
"Better odds than the world has without it." But his hands shook as he began the startup sequence, following instructions that appeared in his grandmother's handwriting—notes she'd hidden in the code for this moment.
The machine responded, revealing more information:
Secondary Protocol Detected: Tanaka Modification Active Survival Probability Adjusted: 47.3% Warning: Consciousness merger will result in permanent changes
"Wait," Mayfell said. "It's detecting something. Your survival odds just increased."
"The purple energy," Ren realized. "Whatever grandma did to me, it's helping."
"Stop."
They turned to find Tyrael and his guards blocking the exit, weapons drawn. But something was different. The elder's eyes held a manic gleam, and shadows clung to him that hadn't been there before. No—not shadows. Something moved under his skin, reshaping him from within.
"I cannot allow this abomination," Tyrael declared, his voice carrying harmonics that shouldn't come from an elven throat. "The mixing of human consciousness with our reality? It's obscene. Better to let it all burn and be reborn pure."
"You're insane," Varos said, hand on his sword.
"Am I? Or am I the only one who sees clearly?" Tyrael laughed, and the sound had too many harmonics. His features shifted, revealing glimpses of something else beneath. "The demon lords understand. They've shown me the truth. The Neither Lord isn't our enemy—it's our salvation. It will cleanse reality of all impurity, create a new world where only the worthy survive."
"The worthy being you, I suppose?" Mayfell's child-like face held ancient disappointment.
"Those of us wise enough to accept the cleansing." He gestured, and his guards moved to surround them. But Ren noticed some of them hesitating, horror dawning as they saw what their leader had become. "Stand down, Princess. Let reality reset. Let us start over without the taint of human corruption."
"No."
The word came from Lysara. She stepped between Tyrael and the machine, bow drawn.
"Traitor," Tyrael snarled, and his face split wrong, revealing rows of teeth that belonged to nothing elvish.
"Yeah, probably." Seylas joined her companion. "But better a traitor than a fool who'd burn everything for an ideal that never existed."
"You're not even pure yourself anymore," Keiran said quietly, speaking up for the first time. "Look at yourself, Tyrael. You've let them change you. Corrupt you. You've become the very thing you claim to fight against."
Tyrael looked down at his hands, seeing the way reality bent around them, the way his fingers had too many joints. For a moment, horror flickered across his features.
"No... this is... this is necessary. To fight corruption, one must—"
"One must become corrupt?" Varos shook his head. "That's not wisdom. That's madness."
One by one, even Tyrael's own guards turned. Captain Kelran, who'd served the elder for fifty years, lowered his weapon. "I'm sorry, my lord. But this isn't the path. This isn't honor."
Faced with the choice between certain annihilation and uncertain salvation, they chose hope.
"You fools!" Tyrael's composure shattered completely. Something else spoke through him now, ancient and hungry. "You'd trust human technology? Human consciousness? They destroyed themselves!"
"And yet one survived," Keiran said quietly. "One who's done nothing but try to help since arriving. Judge the individual, not the species."
"Then witness what your mercy brings!" Tyrael reached for something at his belt—a crystal that pulsed with sick light. Demonic corruption made manifest. "The masters showed me truth! Showed me power! Let me share their gifts—"
Varos moved faster than thought, his blade striking the crystal from Tyrael's hand. It shattered on the floor, releasing whispers that sounded like promises of extinction. The corruption in Tyrael's body went wild, transforming him rapidly into something between elf and nightmare.
"Please," Tyrael gasped, his original personality surfacing briefly. "I didn't... the voices promised... they lied..."
Mayfell stepped forward, power gathering around her small form. "Sleep, cousin. Find peace." Light poured from her hands, and Tyrael collapsed, the corruption fleeing his body like smoke. What remained was an old elf, looking far more fragile than anyone had ever seen him.
"I... what did I..." He looked at his hands in horror. "The voices. They promised purity. Promised paradise."
"They lied," Mayfell said gently. "They always do."
The countdown hadn't paused for their drama: 3:58:42.
"We're running out of time," Ren said, turning back to the machine. "I need to—"
"Wait." Elanil grabbed his arm. "There's something I need to say."
She pulled him aside, away from the others. Her crimson eyes held storms of emotion.
"I've spent two hundred years being perfect. Perfect warrior. Perfect guardian. Never showing weakness, never admitting fear." Her voice cracked. "But you make me terrified. Terrified because I care what happens to you. Terrified because somewhere between your stupid jokes and suicidal heroics, you became important to me."
"Elanil—"
"Let me finish." She took a shaky breath. "I've watched you throw yourself at danger again and again. Always for others. Never for yourself. Like your life is worth less than everyone else's."
"Because it is—"
She slapped him. Hard. "Don't. Don't you dare finish that sentence."
"But—"
"You infuriating, self-deprecating, stupidly brave idiot." She grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. "Your life matters. You matter. To me. To all of us. But especially to me."
"I—"
She kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, fierce, full of words they hadn't said and might never get to say. She kissed him like the world was ending, which it was. Like she was trying to pour all her feelings into one moment, make him understand through action what he wouldn't accept in words. Her hands shook as they held his face, and he could taste tears—hers or his, he wasn't sure.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she pressed her forehead against his.
"Come back," she whispered. "I don't care how bad the odds are. Come back to me."
"Elanil..."
"Promise me. Promise you'll fight to survive, not just to save everyone else."
He looked into those crimson eyes and saw something worth fighting for. Worth living for. For the first time in his life, Ren Kisaragi wanted to survive not out of spite or momentum, but because someone wanted him to.
"I promise."
"Good." She stepped back, hand on her sword. "Because if you die in there, I'll find a way to bring you back just to kill you myself for making me feel things."
Despite everything, he laughed. "Rating: 10/10 for death threats, 11/10 for motivation to survive."
"Ren," Mayfell said gently. "It's time."
Before he moved to the machine, each of his companions stepped forward.
Varos clasped his shoulder. "You've proven yourself a hundred times over. It's been an honor."
Lysara and Seylas hugged him simultaneously. "Don't you dare make us explain to Elanil why you didn't come back," Lysara threatened.
"The world needs more humans like you," Seylas added. "So stick around to make that happen."
Keiran simply nodded, but his usual stoic expression had cracked. "Thank you. For showing us that redemption is possible."
Even Tyrael, supported by his former guards, managed to speak. "I'm sorry. For everything. Save us all, human. Even those who don't deserve it."
Ren nodded, turning to the machine. The interface waited, patient and hungry. His grandmother's notes walked him through the connection process—neural links that would merge his consciousness with the Protocol Eight system, allow it to use his pure human pattern to reset the dimensional anchors.
As he began connecting the interfaces, his hands steadier now, he pulled out a small recording device.
"If... if something goes wrong," he said, not looking at anyone. "Elanil..." He took a breath. "Tell her she made me try to be better. Even if I wasn't good enough."
"Tell her yourself," Varos said firmly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I will."
He began connecting the neural interfaces, each one sending sparks through his nervous system. The machine came alive around him, recognizing what it had waited ten thousand years to find. But it recognized more than just his humanity—it recognized the modifications, the purple energy, the potential for something new.
人類パターン確認 改良型検出 アセンション・プロトコル開始 警告:意識転送開始 新規可能性:解锁
"Human pattern confirmed," he translated automatically. "Enhanced type detected. Ascension protocol initiated. Warning: Consciousness transfer beginning. New possibilities: Unlocked."
The machine wrapped around him like a living thing, cables finding connection points he didn't know he had. The purple energy under his skin resonated with ancient technology, creating something neither fully human nor fully other.
"Whatever happens," he said, looking at his friends—when had they become friends?—"thank you. For believing in me. For—"
"Save the speeches for after," Varos interrupted, but his voice was rough. "We'll be here when you wake up."
"All of us," Lysara added firmly, gripping Seylas's hand.
The last thing Ren saw before the machine took him was Elanil's face—terrified, determined, beautiful. She mouthed three words he couldn't quite make out.
Then reality twisted, showing glimpses of other times, other places. He saw his grandmother, young and determined, building this last hope. Saw the first humans to breach dimensions, brilliant and damned. Saw the Neither Lord, vast and patient, waiting behind all barriers.
And something else. Something new. A possibility that hadn't existed until now—human will merged with cosmic power, creating a third option between destruction and stagnation.
"See you on the other side," he said, and pulled the switch.
Pain beyond description.
Then—
Nothing.
And in that nothing, everything waited to be born.