Josh

Ten years ago, they made sure to crush my soul during basic training. They wanted to mold me into something else, something that fit their image, something they could control. That’s when I started losing parts of myself.

But somehow, a part of me was happy about it.

Because with every piece of me that crumbled away, I could numb the pain just a little more—the pain of solitude, of bad decisions I couldn’t take back. They told us to “embrace the suck,” to bear it, and that’s what I did.

Then came the Black Hand. They broke what was left of me. I succumbed to their doctrine, their mission. After my first kill, I knew there was no going back. The monster inside me was thriving. With every kill, it fed, and I… I felt something close to euphoria. High, even. On top of the world. That’s how I became the Alpha of Unit 9—because I didn’t need anything else.

I didn’t need anyone.

At some point, I convinced myself that it was true: if we got rid of all the Espers, there’d be no more need to worry. No more purges, no more chaos. I believed in that.

I needed to believe in that.

But then Harper died, and Isaac was grieving again. That pulled me down from whatever high I’d been riding and made me think about what I’d become. It made me question whether any of it was worth it, if all the deaths were worth it.

What kind of madness made this marvelous?

The panic, the anguish, people tearing each other apart, killing for scraps of hope. The corruption festering in their souls, the fear turning them into monsters. They don’t deserve to live, do they?

My thoughts spiraled darker, pulling me down with them. I wasn’t aware I’d dropped my gaze to the ground, staring at my hands. Black ink oozed from my skin. It was the same ink that had threatened to consume me earlier. I should’ve noticed it creeping out again. But, my mind was slipping into the void.

A finger pressed against my chest, right where my heart pounded beneath the surface. My breath caught. The ink retracted—fast. It seared through me, burning like fire in my veins. I screamed, a guttural, raw sound tearing from my throat as my body convulsed, still standing. Then, just as suddenly, the pain vanished.

Silence.

Nothing.

My neck was stiff and heavy. It took everything to lift my head like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Chronos was close. Too close. He was standing in front of me, watching me, studying me like I was some kind of experiment. His eyes—a swirling void of galaxies—moved over my face, down my body. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

I felt small under his gaze, insignificant. He was dissecting me.

“Oh, my dear. An instant more, and you would have destroyed this ripple in time.” Chronos sighed like he was speaking to a child who didn’t understand the gravity of what they’d done. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

He snapped his fingers. The sound cracked like thunder.

Then, without warning, I was walking.

Not because I chose to. Not because I wanted to. My legs moved on their own, my body pulled along like a puppet on invisible strings. Chronos strolled ahead of me weaving between still bodies, his hands folded casually behind his back like he was taking a stroll through a park.

Distant.

Detached.

It made me sick.

My mind screamed at me to fight back, to resist, but my body wouldn’t listen. I was trapped, a passenger in my own flesh, watching through my own eyes as I moved forward, step after step, aimless and slow. My feet strolled with no direction, like I had all the time in the world. Frustration boiled inside me. My strength clawed at the invisible walls holding me.

I don’t know where I found the strength, but I managed to grit out, “Why?”

Chronos let out a soft laugh, almost like he was amused by the question. He didn’t even turn around at first; he kept walking ahead of me, hands still folded behind his back.

“Why?” I repeated, louder this time, rage bubbling to the surface. “Why wipe out the humans? Why destroy us over and over again? What the fuck are you?”

“Time has no need for your anger, child.” Chronos paused. He tilted his head, as if considering me. Slowly, he glanced back, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You know who I am. A god. The father of all gods. The destroyer of all time. Right?”

He was echoing the very words I knew about him. But hearing him say it in that casual, mocking tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“I don’t know shit about you!” My voice cracked, straining against the helplessness that gripped me.

“The real question is… what are you?”

He snapped his fingers again, and now we were standing in front of my car. My body tensed, every muscle tight. My chest constricted as I stared at the frozen version of Isaac and me inside.

Looming death. That’s all I saw: the bullets, dozens of them, all pointed straight at us. It was right there, staring me down, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Chronos lifted a finger, pointing casually toward Isaac. “Ah, you see there.”

A red thread shimmered into existence, extending from Isaac’s right pinky. My eyes followed it. As it stretched, Chronos traced its path with a slow hand moving through the air like a conductor leading a symphony. The thread reached toward me and connected to my left pinky.

Chronos grinned. “Aphrodite’s craftwork—the thread of fate. And, it chose perfectly.” He paused, his eyes seeming to expand and contract, as if pulling me in, then pushing me away, glinting with something close to satisfaction. “Binding two souls through love. At first, I thought Isaac was chosen because of his view of time, but perhaps I overlooked things.”

I staggered mentally, struggling to find solid ground in his words. He lifted his hand again, gesturing toward the thread connecting us, the red light flickering with an eerie glow. “The virtues of a god… they do not belong to just one soul. They are a pair, born in opposition, feeding off each other, balancing the scales.”

“So why does everything go to hell when the descendants of the gods awaken?” I muttered, my throat tight, like the words were being dragged out of me. “Aren’t they supposed to have a pair, too?”

“Ah, there’s the catch, isn’t it? I knew this conversation would be easy.” He smiled, sharp and approving. “They were never supposed to exist. The gods meddled with humans, crossing lines they shouldn’t have, and now the bloodlines exist in fragments—powerful, but incomplete. They awaken to their essence without their opposite. That’s why they lose control. It’s the imbalance—a defect, you could say.”

I glanced back toward the car, seeing the frozen image of myself, teeth gritted, eyes black with the full intent to kill Marshall. Darkness, thick and alive, poured from my body, trying to reach Isaac, but time was slipping through my fingers—running out faster than I could grasp it.

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, desperate for everything to vanish when I opened them.

I’d killed before. I’d seen death up close and felt nothing. But watching myself and Isaac about to die like this? It was different. It hit deeper, in a place I wasn’t ready for.

But when I opened my eyes, Chronos was inches from my face again. His expression hadn’t changed—calm, almost amused—but the proximity made my pulse spike. He looked different now, older, like a man in his fifties, streaks of gray cutting through his slicked-back hair.

“You look troubled, my child,” he purred, his voice slithering through the air like poison.

“I’m not your child,” I growled.

I pointed at the car. “I know I’m not a descendant. Then what are we? What the fuck am I?”

Chronos’ grin widened. “You’re not a descendant because you’re something more.” He stepped back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “The moment Aldragoth opened the gates of heaven and called the last cleansing, he set the stage for the birth of new gods—living gods.”

I felt a cold shiver crawl down my spine.

“You and Isaac are the new opposites—he is time, and you are decay. A human born with a natural pull toward darkness—grief, fear, solitude, death. Souls born for the uprising. To restore the balance, Aldragoth and I failed to keep.”

Chronos looked around, his gaze drifting over the battlefield. At first, I hadn’t noticed, but now—just beyond him—the stillness began to break. It was slow and almost imperceptible.

The bullets, frozen mid-flight, trembled slightly. A faint sound reached my ears, soft and irregular, like the rustle of leaves in a dying wind. People were starting to move, their fingers twitching, their faces slack, eyes vacant. Life was trickling back into them.

Chronos turned back to me. “But if Aldragoth lives, the new gods won’t rise. His very existence corrupts the balance he shattered. And if you die…” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Isaac will be unable to finish what must be done— kill Aldragoth. The cleansing won’t be completed in seven days. The world will fall into eternal suffering. No rebirth. Only endless destruction.”

My mind churned, refusing to accept any of it. This was a god’s gamble. And we were fucking pawns.

“Hypocrite.” I clenched my jaw. “You nearly killed Isaac. Find someone else. We’re not gods. We’re not playing your fucking game.”

Chronos’ grin vanished, replaced by a cold, steely look. “That’s impossible. My essence is already embedded in him, just as it is in all things now. There’s no one else.” His voice lowered, and for the first time, there was no amusement in his tone, only hard truth. “Like me, the mercy gods are gone—slaughtered in the last cleansing by Aldragoth’s hand. Without them, no one can stop what’s coming.”

Chronos lowered his head and began to move away from me. My eyes locked onto the car—Isaac’s left arm still touching my still body. The burns on his arm glowed gold through the bandages and fabric of his clothes. Chronos’ essence was overtaking Isaac, embedding itself into him like poison.

I stared with horror, my muscles tensing, a mix of dread and fury overtaking my body.

A snap echoed through the air, and in the blink of an eye, I was back, standing in the middle of the road. Chronos stood in front of me, now an old man. His once-stiff officer’s uniform hung loose on his withered frame, the fabric sagging as if his body had shrunk beneath it. Deep lines carved across his face, aging him decades in an instant, his once-powerful presence now frail but still commanding.

Around us, the scene had begun to move as if time itself was accelerating, unraveling, pulling everything back. The people, the bullets—they moved in reverse,

Chronos glanced over his shoulder briefly, then turned his gaze back to me, eyes narrowing. “It’s time now. The moment you return, you’ll have three seconds to act. Use them wisely.” His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of finality.

Everything around us began to crumble, the world collapsing and rewinding at once. Objects, people, and the ground beneath us disintegrated, turning to fine, glittering sand that swirled into the air, caught in some invisible current.

Chronos reached out, brushing his fingertips lightly through the dust. “The sand of time,” he said.“It slips through all of our hands, eventually.”

Then, with a snap of his fingers, the sand swirled back together. It solidified. Everything slammed back into place.

Marshall’s voice hit my ears again, his words a sinister refrain from before. “Maybe you could show me if you’ve still got what it takes. Killing Espers, like your bitch.”

My hand darted beneath the seat, fingers closing around the cold metal. The gun felt heavier than I remembered. Three seconds.

Marshall leaned back, still grinning. Two seconds.

I pulled the gun free, raised it, and aimed. The barrel aligned with his head. One second.

I squeezed the trigger—BANG.