Chapter 4: The Blueprint of Fate
[Temporal Sync: 100%...]
[Current time confirmed to be the New Dawn Era, Year 681. Success.]
[Time-stream flow is stable. Subject has successfully escaped the Life-Death Paradox.]
[Conclusion: Reincarnation protocol finalized.]
[Identity reset successful. Current Identity: Humanity's Vanait Camp, Evacuation Team Quinn.]
The blue text scrolled across Quinn's vision like a waterfall of sapphire light. It was a familiar sight, yet it felt alien sharper, colder, and stripped of the divine modifications he had earned at the end of the world.
The system had finally awakened, but Quinn didn't feel the surge of triumph he had expected. Instead, a hollow, cold dread settled in his gut. He stared at the date, his breath hitching in his lungs.
Year 681?
He repeated the number in his mind, testing its weight. "It was supposed to be 691. I fell when the sky turned black and the sun went out in 691. This... this is a past that only exists in the history books of the fallen. This is the world before the Great Collapse began."
His heart skipped a beat as he looked around at the mud, the rain, and the flickering lanterns of the soldiers ahead. The "Final Phase of Destruction" hadn't happened yet. The empires were still standing. The gods hadn't yet abandoned the mortal plane.
Did I truly return to the beginning?
Ahead of him, the two soldiers had already moved further toward the main gate of the camp, their shadows stretching long and thin against the rain-slicked earth. They were shouting to the sentries, their voices muffled by the storm.
On the heavy timber doors of the barracks, Quinn could see the faint, rhythmic pulse of a Concealment Formation. The blue-white light hummed intermittently, a low-level ward designed to mask the scent of living humans from the scavengers of the night. It was a primitive spell, one he hadn't seen in centuries, yet here it was, protecting a handful of terrified men.
Looking past the barracks into the oppressive, desolate wilderness, Quinn's eyes sharpened by the System's awakening caught a flicker of movement. A massive, hunched silhouette flashed through the sheets of rain, moving with a speed that defied its size.
Quinn stood frozen. He needed to know if this was real. Was this some dying hallucination? A trick of the Abyssal Lords to torture his soul in his final moments?
Slowly, he raised his left arm. He opened his mouth and bit down hard on the fleshy part of his forearm.
He didn't hold back. He felt his teeth sink through the skin, piercing the muscle. A row of clear, jagged marks appeared, and as he pulled away, hot, metallic-tasting blood began to seep from the wound, mixing with the cold rainwater.
"Ugh..." he hissed, the sharp tang of pain radiating up his shoulder.
*So painful.*
Pain was the one thing the mind couldn't perfectly simulate in a dream. This was physical. This was biological. This was real. He was truly alive, ten years before the end.
RUMBLE. RUMBLE.
The ground beneath Quinn's boots vibrated. It wasn't the rhythmic roll of thunder; it was the heavy, rhythmic thud of something massive approaching at high speed.
"What is going on now?" the veteran spearman barked, spinning around and leveling his weapon toward the dark treeline.
He never got his answer.
Out of the blue gloom, a blur of fur and obsidian scales erupted from the shadows. It was a Void-Stalker, a mid-tier demonic beast that shouldn't have been this close to a human outpost in the Year 681. With a sickening crunch, the monster slammed into the spearman. The veteran was sent flying like a ragdoll, his armor shattering under the sheer kinetic force of the impact. He didn't even have time to scream before he vanished into the darkness.
"What the hell... I can't fight that thing!" Quinn's mind raced. In his previous life, he could have snuffed out a hundred such creatures with a flick of his finger. But now? This body was weak. His muscles were stiff, his mana veins were clogged, and his stomach was empty.
"RUN!" Quinn screamed at the remaining soldier.
The young man didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled toward the gates, his lantern clattering to the mud as he fled in pure, unadulterated terror.
But as they ran, more eyes began to open in the dark. The scent of the spearman's blood and the fresh blood from Quinn's own arm was acting like a beacon. This camp was supposed to be the last line of defense for the evacuation, but the gore from the burial mounds had turned it into a feeding ground.
Suddenly, the darkness erupted. Three... six... a dozen creatures began to emerge from the rain, circling them. They were being surrounded.
"There's no way I can take even one of them," Quinn thought, his eyes darting between the snapping jaws of the beasts.
"The numbers are too high."
"Hey!" Quinn shouted over the roar of the wind, grabbing the soldier by his shoulder to keep him from spiraling into a panic. "Is there a defense shelter? Anywhere we can take cover?"
The soldier pointed a trembling hand toward a low, stone structure partially buried in the hillside near the barracks. "Yes! There's an auxiliary bunker up front! It's reinforced with Invisibility Magic! It's not far!"
"Then pick up the pace! Move!"
They ran with every ounce of strength their lungs could provide. Quinn felt the burn in his thighs, the desperate, frantic pumping of a mortal heart. If they slowed down for even a second, they would be pounced upon by the hungry shadows nipping at their heels.
A Void-Stalker lunged, its claws whistling inches from Quinn's back, tearing his tunic. He didn't look back.
Up ahead, a heavy iron grate set into the stone wall came into view. The soldier didn't wait; he dove headfirst toward the opening, sliding through the mud and into the dark maw of the shelter.
"Over here! Quickly!"
Quinn didn't hesitate. He threw himself into a low slide, his boots skidding across the wet stone as he crossed the threshold of the bunker.
The moment he passed the entrance, a faint shimmer passed over his vision the Invisibility veil.
Outside, the creatures skidded to a halt. They sniffed the air, confused. Their prey had vanished into thin air. The magic of the bunker was holding, masking their heat and scent. After a few moments of frustrated growling, the monsters turned their heads back toward the Great Mound. The piles of corpses were easier pickings than ghosts.
Quinn collapsed against the cold, damp wall of the bunker, his chest heaving. He looked at the trembling soldier beside him, then at the blue interface still glowing in the corner of his eye.
He had survived the first hour of his past. Now, he had to survive the next ten years.