ASHEN VALE POV
"We have three hours and forty-two minutes," I announce, watching Kai code at inhuman speed. "What exactly are we building?"
"A god-killer." Kai doesn't look up from his screen. "Rex, I need your memories of Progenitor weaknesses. Every single one."
"Transferring now." Rex's digital voice sounds almost excited. "But understand—what you're planning has never been done. Weaponizing fear energy against beings literally made of fear? It's like fighting fire with nuclear fire."
"Then we make the biggest nuclear fire they've ever seen." Kai's fingers fly across the keyboard. "Ashen, I need you to test the prototype. Now."
"Test what? You've been coding for ten minutes—"
"Forty-seven minutes. You lost track of time." He gestures to a VR pod that's glowing an unsettling purple. "I built a new game specifically designed to generate Progenitor-killing fear energy. But I need an SS-rank warrior to verify it won't just kill the user instead."
My stomach drops. "You want me to be your guinea pig for an untested weapon?"
"I want you to help me save seven million people." Kai finally looks at me, and his eyes are desperate. "Please, Ashen. I trust you more than anyone. If something goes wrong, you're strong enough to survive it. Anyone else would just die."
The fact that he trusts me—that he needs me specifically—does something warm and terrifying to my heart.
"Fine. But if this kills me, I'm haunting you forever."
"Deal." He almost smiles. "The game is called The Void Between Stars. It targets the specific fear Progenitors have—the terror of being forgotten, of becoming meaningless after centuries of existence. I'm using cosmic horror mechanics mixed with Rex's memories of what scared him before he became a monster."
I climb into the purple-glowing pod. "How long will this take?"
"For you? About thirty minutes. For the Progenitors? It'll feel like eternity." Kai's hand hovers over the activation button. "Ready?"
No. I'm not ready. But we're out of time.
"Do it."
The Void Between Stars drops me into absolute nothing.
No hospital. No monsters. Just EMPTINESS stretching forever in every direction. I'm floating in space between galaxies, and I can feel the universe's indifference crushing down on me.
Nothing matters here. Nothing lasts. Everything I've ever done or loved will disappear into this void eventually.
My family's faces flash through my mind—Mom, Dad, my little brother. They're already gone. Forgotten by everyone except me. And when I die, even that memory will vanish.
"Seven years," I whisper to the void. "Seven years I've been fighting to avenge them. But it doesn't matter. They're still dead. And someday, no one will remember they ever existed."
The cosmic horror of meaninglessness wraps around me like freezing water.
Then I hear Kai's voice—not from the game, but from a memory. Something he said earlier: "You're still alive. That means something."
And I realize: he's right.
My family IS dead. Their existence IS temporary in the grand scheme of the universe. But the love I felt for them—the grief that shaped me—that's REAL. That matters because I'm here experiencing it.
Meaning isn't given by the universe. It's created by people who choose to care.
The void shatters like glass.
Fear energy floods through me—pure, concentrated, and absolutely devastating. Not the messy grief-energy I usually consume, but something refined and surgical. Progenitor-killing power.
I gasp and exit the pod.
Kai catches me as I stumble. "Did it work?"
"It worked." My hands are shaking. "Kai, that was... that thing would break a Progenitor's mind. Force them to confront their own meaninglessness."
"Good." He helps me to a chair, brings water. "I'm sorry it was hard."
"Don't apologize. It was..." I search for words. "Your game made me face something I've been avoiding. The universe doesn't care about my revenge. But I care. That's enough."
Kai sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "You're the strongest person I've ever met. Not because of your rank—because you keep choosing to live even when it hurts."
Something in my chest cracks open. "You make me want to live for more than revenge."
The words hang between us, vulnerable and honest.
Kai opens his mouth to respond—
Every alarm in the studio SCREAMS.
"WARNING: PROGENITORS HAVE ACCELERATED. NEW ARRIVAL TIME: FORTY-THREE MINUTES."
"What?!" Raze shouts. "They weren't supposed to be here for three hours!"
"They sensed what we're building," Rex says grimly. "They're scared. Six ancient beings who've never feared anything are TERRIFIED of a game designer with a new weapon. So they're attacking before we finish."
My combat instincts snap into focus. "Kai, how many god-killer weapons can you build in forty-three minutes?"
"One. Maybe two if I don't breathe."
"That's not enough for six Progenitors."
"I know." Kai's jaw sets with determination. "Which is why we're not going to fight them separately. We're going to trap all six in a synchronized nightmare and kill them at once."
"That's insane," I breathe.
"That's the only option we have." He starts typing again, faster than before. "Ashen, I need you to do something dangerous. Something that might kill you."
"Name it."
"Be the bait." He doesn't look away from his screen. "I'm building a network of six VR pods synchronized to The Void Between Stars. But Progenitors won't just walk into traps. They need a target they want badly enough to risk it."
"They want you."
"Exactly. So I'll be in the center pod as bait. But I need an SS-rank warrior guarding me while the trap activates. Someone who can hold off six Progenitors for exactly two minutes and seven seconds while the nightmare initializes."
Two minutes against six god-tier spirits. Alone. While protecting Kai.
It's suicide.
"I'll do it," I say without hesitation.
"Ashen—"
"I said I'll do it." I grab his hand, forcing him to look at me. "You gave me a reason to live beyond revenge. Now let me protect what I found."
His expression breaks—fear and gratitude and something deeper. "If you die, I'll never forgive myself."
"Then make sure your trap works fast." I squeeze his hand. "And Kai? When this is over..." I swallow hard. "When this is over, let's figure out what this is between us."
He stares at me. "You mean—"
"I mean I'm tired of being alone. And you're the first person in seven years who makes me feel like being alive is worth the pain." My voice cracks. "So don't you dare die in there."
Before I can lose my courage, I kiss him.
It's desperate and terrified and perfect. His lips are warm, his hand comes up to cup my face, and for five seconds the world narrows to just us.
When I pull back, his eyes are wide. "Okay. Now I'm DEFINITELY not dying."
"Good." I stand, manifesting my grief-weapons. "Let's kill some gods."
Twenty minutes later, we're ready.
Six VR pods arranged in a circle. Kai in the center pod, already uploaded into the trap-nightmare. Me standing guard in the middle of the circle, every muscle tensed for battle.
Raze and thirty volunteers are evacuating nearby civilians. Rex is integrated with the pod network, ready to spring the trap.
"They're here," Rex announces.
The sky TEARS open.
Six Progenitor-class spirits descend on Nightmare Studios like falling stars made of pure malice. They're ancient and vast—beings that make the Grief King look like a child.
One appears as a beautiful woman made of mirrors, reflecting every failure I've ever had. Another is a skeletal figure wrapped in funeral silk. The third is something I can't look at directly without my brain hurting.
They all speak at once, their voices overlapping into horrible harmony: "THE GAME DESIGNER DIES. THE REFORMER DIES. THE NEW WEAPON DIES."
"Not today," I spit, raising my weapons.
The Progenitors attack.
I've fought hundreds of spirits. I've killed SS-class entities solo. But this is different. These beings are OLDER than human civilization. Their power is suffocating.
The mirror-woman sends copies of my dead family to attack me. The skeletal figure tries to age me to dust. The incomprehensible thing attempts to delete me from reality.
I fight with everything I have. My mother's scream becomes a sonic barrier. My father's explosion sends two Progenitors reeling. My brother's spear pierces the mirror-woman's chest—
She catches it and BREAKS it.
My weapon—forged from my deepest grief—shatters like glass.
"Impossible," I gasp.
"Child warrior," the mirror-woman purrs. "Your trauma is seven years old. Ours is MILLENNIA. You cannot hurt us with borrowed grief."
She's right. I'm losing. My weapons are breaking. My energy is draining. They're going to kill me and then they'll kill Kai—
"NINETY SECONDS!" Rex screams. "Hold them ninety more seconds!"
I can't. I'm SS-rank, but they're PROGENITORS. Six of them.
The skeletal figure's hand closes around my throat. "You die now, Phantom General. Then your precious designer follows."
I'm choking. Dying. Failing.
Then I remember something Kai said: "Meaning isn't given. It's created by people who choose to care."
My family is dead. My grief-weapons are broken. But I still have one thing these ancient beings don't understand.
I have something worth protecting.
New power EXPLODES from my core—not grief, but something else. Something I haven't felt in seven years.
HOPE.
It manifests as pure white energy, burning the skeletal Progenitor's hand. It forces the mirror-woman back. It shields me from the incomprehensible thing's reality-deletion.
"What IS that?" the Progenitors shriek together.
"Something you forgot about," I rasp. "The power of choosing to live."
The hope-energy holds them back. Barely. Just barely.
"SIXTY SECONDS!"
I can do this. I can hold them—
Then a seventh presence appears behind me.
Impossible. Rex said there were only six Progenitors besides him.
This new entity is VAST. Ancient beyond ancient. It speaks with a voice like the heat death of the universe:
"HELLO, GAME DESIGNER. I'VE BEEN WAITING TO MEET YOU."
My blood freezes.
This isn't a Progenitor.
This is whatever CREATED the Progenitors.
And it's here for Kai.