It wasn't his worst idea.
But it was definitely Top Five Dumbest Things He'd Done Since Dying The First Time.
Zane sat on the splintered floor of an old ranger station — more rot than structure — tucked somewhere in the woods outside what used to be Cadmus. His shirt was half-torn, his ribs throbbed with every breath, and his right ankle had swollen to the size of a ripe apple.
He stared at the knife in his hand like it had personally wronged him.
"Okay. Not panic. Not despair. This is strategy."
He nodded once, as if convincing an invisible audience. There was no audience, of course — just the chirping of birds who didn't care that a metaphysical time parasite was permanently squatting in his soul.
"One clean run," he muttered. "That's all I'm asking."
The Chrono Seed always brought him back when he died. That rule had proven itself a dozen times over — in some horrific ways.
But now he was pretty Injured and beat up. His entire body was in constant pain and if he could fix that...he would certainly give it a try.
So now, knife in hand, he figured he'd game the system. Force a full reset. Back to the Cadmus cell. Back to zero injuries.
From there, it's as simple as trying to run his 'Win' route with zero injuries. Anyways, he can try as much as he wants.
He rolled up his sleeve and cleared his throat.
"Suffocation… no breathing…"
His voice was dry, hoarse, and very sarcastic.
"Don't give a—"
Slice.
---
REWIND
---
Zane gasped awake.
First thing he noticed: his ankle still hurt.
Second: he was in the clearing again. Just outside the Cadmus ruins. Trees swayed. Smoke hung in the air like a fog that didn't know it was supposed to leave.
He looked down at his hands.
Still scratched up. Still bruised.
"…Excuse me?"
He patted his ribs. Winced. Same cracked feeling. Same limp when he stood.
"Nope. Nope. I died to the lyrics of Papa Roach. What more could you want from me!?"
He threw up his hands. A bird somewhere nearby took flight, startled by the outburst.
Zane sat down hard on a mossy rock, staring into the trees.
"Okay. Let's try this again."
---
Attempt #2: Knife to the gut.
"Internal damage. Classic death trigger. Works every time, right?"
Nope.
Same bruises. Same spot. Same forest.
"Okay, not classic. Maybe cliché."
---
Attempt #3: Tree dive.
Found a particularly jagged-looking stump. Climbed halfway up a tree. Swandived.
"This better work. I swear to God if I wake up limping again—"
....
REWIND
...
Back again.
Same injuries. Same frustration. New trauma.
"Okay, I'm just making things worse.."
---
Attempt #4: The Papa Roach Encore.
He stood in the clearing, blood already dried on his arm from the earlier cuts.
Cleared his throat again.
"Suffocation—"
Stab.
"No breathing—"
.....
REWIND
....
Same. Damn. Forest.
"…I'm starting to think you just like this song," he muttered aloud, glaring at the sky like the Chrono Seed was hiding behind a cloud and laughing.
---
Eventually, he gave up and lay in the grass, arms spread, watching sunlight filter through the trees. The pain was still there. The bruises. The sore ribs. The scratch across his jaw that he barely remembered getting.
All of it. Still here.
"So you're not sending me back to the start," he muttered. "You're bringing me here. Every time."
He stared up at the sky.
"That's a checkpoint, isn't it?"
The word came to him instinctively. Like a memory he didn't know he had.
He sat up slowly, knees cracking.
"You're not rewinding to the beginning. You're anchoring me to… here."
He looked around at the clearing. Dirt. Trees. The faint scent of smoke on the air. This was the spot where he'd collapsed — for real — after escaping Cadmus. After the doors slammed shut. After Omega let him live.
And the first time he could breathe.
Zane blinked.
"Because this is where I thought I was safe."
He stood.
"You set the checkpoint when I believed I'd made it."
He scratched at the back of his neck.
"So it's not the time. It's not the place. It's the feeling."
"Hope. Relief. That first breath that said, 'I might actually make it.'"
He pointed to the ground.
"You saved here because I wanted to live here."
No lights. No divine voice confirming it.
But he felt it.
The Seed — that strange, silent presence rooted in his soul — pulsed faintly. Not in his chest. Not under his skin. Just... with him.
Like it agreed.
---
Later, Zane sat on a fallen tree, chewing on wild berries he was 60% sure weren't poisonous. The other 40% he left to faith.
"Just so we're clear," he said, mouth full, "the forest is not ideal. If you're gonna make this my spawn point, could you at least reset me with dry socks?"
Silence.
He ate another berry.
"This is all your fault, you know."
He tossed a rock at a tree. It bounced off uselessly.
"You could've given me a tutorial. Or a manual. Something. Instead, it's just trial and error and traumatic time loops."
"You're like the world's worst game dev."
No answer. Just birdsong and the faint whisper of wind in the trees.
He sighed.
"You know what? Fine. You want this to be the checkpoint?"
"Then let's make the next run count."
He lay back in the grass.
The bruises still throbbed. The ribs still ached.
But now he understood one thing:
He was never going back to the beginning.
Because the Seed didn't care about logic.
It cared about will.
About choice.
About where he'd refused to die.