The air was thick with the stench of blood and scorched earth, a battlefield scarred by the clash of titans. I crouched behind a shattered boulder, my heart hammering against my ribs, as I watched the scene unfold. Before me stood a warrior, towering at nearly six feet, his armor glinting dully under the ashen sky. His spear, long and wickedly sharp, gleamed with a menace that seemed to drink in the fading light. He loomed over an old man, frail and broken, kneeling in a pool of his own blood, a gaping wound in his stomach leaking life onto the cracked ground.
The warrior's voice was low, resonant, carrying the weight of a man who had already claimed victory. "So, this is how it ends, huh?" he said, his tone laced with mockery. "You fought well, old man. As expected from one who dared to stand against superhumans like me. But still… what a pity."
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. My knees buckled beneath me, not from exhaustion but from the sheer weight of the warrior's presence. His stance was a promise of death, his aura a suffocating force that pressed against my chest like a storm. I had no measure of the old man's strength, yet the audacity of challenging such a monster staggered me. How could a frail elder, clinging to life, face a being who radiated such raw, terrifying power?
The old man's head lifted, his bloodshot eyes glinting with defiance. His voice, though trembling from pain and blood loss, carried a chilling certainty. "This is not the end. We will meet again… even if you don't remember me. In my next regression, I will kill you."
The words struck like a thunderclap. My breath caught, and the warrior froze, his spear still poised. Regression? The implication sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't the old man's first life, nor his first battle with this foe. My mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the weight of such a revelation.
The warrior tilted his head, a cruel smile curling his lips. "So, I've killed you before, have I? That's hardly surprising. But this… regression of yours. You're saying that even if I strike you down, you'll return to some earlier time, is that it?"
"Yes…" The old man's voice was a rasp, barely audible over the distant howl of the wind. "That… is true."
The warrior's smile widened, predatory and intrigued. "Then how do you die, old man? You're not immortal, are you?"
The old man's lips twisted into a ghastly smile, blood staining his teeth. "I will die… I will surely die… but not today." His laughter, weak yet unyielding, echoed across the desolate plain. It was the laugh of a man who had faced death countless times and found it wanting.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I gripped the boulder. This was no dream, no illusion—it felt too real, too visceral. The old man's words, the warrior's aura, the blood-soaked ground—it was as if I'd stumbled into a world not my own, a world of gods and monsters.
The warrior's tone shifted, curiosity sharpening his words. "Why, then? Why do you fight? Is it power you seek? To rule this world like some petty villain?"
The question burned in my own chest, a mirror to my thoughts. I wanted to scream it, to demand answers, but fear rooted me to the spot. What if they saw me? What if they turned their wrath on me?
The old man's gaze hardened, his voice gaining strength despite his fading life. "No. My goal… is to lead this world… to its true ending."
The warrior's brow furrowed. "Its true ending? You mean to say this world isn't already hurtling toward its doom because of you?"
"No." The old man's words were a hiss, defiant to the last. "It's because of people like you. Variables… like you exist."
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the faint drip of blood and the distant wail of carrion birds. The warrior stood motionless, his spear gleaming in the twilight, his eyes narrowed as he processed the old man's words. For five long minutes, he said nothing, his armored form a statue against the dying light. Then, abruptly, he laughed—a cold, mirthless sound that sent a chill through me.
"It all makes sense now," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "To think I'm the reason you keep throwing yourself into this cycle. It's almost laughable. Do you really believe it ends here?"
The old man didn't answer, his breath shallow, his strength ebbing.
The warrior pressed on, relentless. "You think when you regress, there won't be others like me? You truly believe that?"
The old man's lips parted, and his trembling hand lifted, pointing directly at me. "Yes… I know there will be many… like you… and like him."
My blood turned to ice. The warrior's gaze snapped toward me, his eyes piercing through the shadows where I hid. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "To think I'd find a comrade here, in this forsaken place. Quite the surprise, isn't it?"
Before I could react, he moved—faster than any man should, his spear a blur as he sprinted toward me. A scream tore from my throat, raw and primal, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the end.
But the blow never came.
My eyes snapped open, and I was no longer on the battlefield. I lay on a single bed, drenched in sweat, my blanket tangled around me like a shroud. My chest heaved, my body trembling as if I'd run a marathon. "It was a nightmare," I whispered, the words a desperate mantra to calm my racing heart. Relief flooded me, shaky and uncertain.
Then came the banging.
A violent, insistent pounding at my door, each strike reverberating through the room like a war drum. My breath caught, and the fear returned, clawing at my chest. Was it truly a dream? Or had the nightmare followed me into the waking world?