The man didn't remember when the world stopped making sense.
Only that it did — all at once.
His name didn't matter anymore. Not after the sky burned and the ground split open. Not after monsters started falling from places that shouldn't exist. He survived because he ran when others froze. Because luck, cruel and random, chose him.
That was all survival ever was. And it Will forever Will be.
He stood behind the wreckage of a collapsed transit hub, peering through twisted steel and shattered glass. The city square ahead was gone — replaced by a crater glowing faintly with heat and waterlogged debris.
And they were there.
Five figures stood amid the destruction like gods who didn't bother cleaning up after themselves.
He watched as the one wreathed in fire — Core — slammed a creature into the ground, the impact vaporizing what little remained of a nearby building. Heat washed over the man's face even from this distance. He flinched.
Above them, wings of stormlight folded as Garuda descended, wind screaming in protest as he tore another beast apart midair. The sound alone made the man's stomach turn.
The ocean surged through broken streets as Tidal moved, water crushing everything in its path — cars, walls, lives that might've been hiding inside.
And then there was Omega.
He didn't shout. He didn't rage. He stepped forward, light erupting with every movement, cleaving enemies apart with terrifying precision. Calm. Controlled.
Efficient.
They spoke to each other — words carried by wind and water, plans made in the middle of devastation. They sounded… united.
The man felt bile rise in his throat.
This is what heroes look like now?
Every step they took erased something else. Every victory flattened another piece of what used to be his home. He didn't hear gratitude in their voices. He heard certainty.
And that terrified him.
Then the beast appeared.
It burst from beneath the rubble near a half-collapsed shelter — where survivors had been hiding. Screams followed. The creature moved fast, wrong, its body stitched from corruption and bone.
The man backed away, heart pounding. He watched the Awakened react too late.
Except one.
The quiet one.
The one who didn't glow.
Prime.
Prime moved before anyone shouted. He ran — not toward the enemy, but toward a child frozen in fear near the shelter's remains. A little girl, crying, unable to move.
The beast lunged.
Prime threw himself between them.
The man's breath caught. Prime didn't blast it. Didn't overpower it. He took the hit — claws ripping into his side as he shielded the girl.
Darkness pulsed around him — restrained, violent — and then the beast was simply… gone. Torn apart behind him, reduced to twitching remains by something the man couldn't see.
Prime staggered but stayed upright.
He picked the girl up, handed her to Omega without ceremony, and turned — locking eyes with the man hiding behind the wreckage.
For a second, the man couldn't breathe.
Prime walked toward him.
Every instinct screamed to run.
But Prime stopped a few steps away, blood darkening his armor, eyes tired but focused.
"Are you alright?" Prime asked.
The man nodded without realizing it.
Behind Prime, the remains of the beast collapsed into nothing.
For the first time since the world broke, the man felt something unfamiliar.
Shame.
They weren't careful.
They weren't gentle.
But they weren't monsters either.
When the Awakened left — chasing the next threat, the next catastrophe — the man stayed behind. He helped where he could. Pulled debris away. Guided the injured.
That night, he went home.
His house still stood. Barely.
He opened the door, exhaustion weighing heavier than fear.
Someone was sitting inside.
A man, neatly dressed, posture relaxed, hands folded as if he belonged there. His eyes reflected light strangely — bending it, twisting it.
"Long day," the stranger said pleasantly.
The man froze. "Who are you?"
The stranger smiled. "A question everyone asks too late."
He stood.
"I heard you survived," the man continued. "That's admirable."
Something about his voice made the air feel wrong.
"I saw them," the survivor said cautiously. "The Awakened. They saved people."
The stranger tilted his head. "Did they?"
The man hesitated. "…Yes."
The smile vanished.
In one step, the stranger crossed the room. His hand passed through the man's chest effortlessly, reality folding inward around it.
The pain didn't come immediately. Only cold.
As the man collapsed, the stranger leaned close.
"Beings like you," he whispered, voice now layered and infinite,
"are not worth saving in this world."
The life left the man's eyes.
The stranger straightened, adjusting his coat.
"Correction requires sacrifice," Paradox said calmly, as the house around him warped and vanished.
"And the universe has grown far too sentimental."
Elsewhere, five Awakened moved to save the world.
And unseen, five Opposites began deciding who deserved to remain in it.