My Final Enemy is Me

5. Timeline Three: The Siege

The sensation of reality being shredded like wet tissue paper faded, replaced by the deafening, rhythmic thud of war drums and the high-pitched whistle of falling debris.

Frathan hit the ground hard, his lungs seizing as he tasted ash and pulverized stone. He scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively going to his side, but the void was empty. Seraphina was gone.

"System? Report," Frathan barked, his voice raw.

"Location: Kingdom of Oakhaven. Status: Siege underway. Difficulty: B-Rank. Estimated survival: 1.2%," the monotone voice echoed in his skull.

"B-Rank? Are you kidding me? Where is she?"

"Subject Seraphina: Disconnected. Signal: Null."

A heavy iron mace slammed into the stone wall inches from Frathan’s head, sending a spray of shrapnel across his face. A massive, iron-clad soldier—a husk of a man with rusted armor—screeched, swinging for his neck again. Frathan ducked, the momentum carrying him into a pile of crates.

"Watch the face, pal!" Frathan shouted, parrying the heavy swing with his own blade. The force rattled his teeth, vibrating through his arm.

"Soft meat! The wall is falling! Kill the stragglers!" the soldier bellowed, his voice sounding like gravel grinding in a barrel.

"Not today, you rusty bucket of bolts!" Frathan retorted, side-stepping a downward strike and driving his blade into the gap in the soldier's neck plating. The monster crumpled into a heap of clattering steel and black ichor.

"Target eliminated. XP gained: 500," the system chirped.

Frathan stood in the center of a chaotic courtyard. The sky above was a bruise-colored mess, burning with fire. He spotted a group of ragged soldiers huddled behind a burning barricade, their banners torn. He sprinted toward them, sliding into the cover just as a massive boulder smashed into the gatehouse.

"Who are you? Another recruit, or did the scouts miss a spot?" a voice growled.

Frathan looked up to see a man with a scarred, slab-like face—Commander Voss. He was wiping blood from a deep gash on his forearm with a piece of dirty tunic.

"I’m Frathan. And I’m just trying to keep my lungs inside my chest. What’s the situation?" Frathan asked, gesturing toward the swarming black-clad monsters breaching the perimeter.

Voss spat, his gaze hard as flint. "The situation is we’re dead in ten minutes, kid. The gate’s breached, the Commander’s a corpse, and we’re holding a pile of sticks against a siege engine."

"Ten minutes is a lifetime if you stop whining," Frathan said, eyeing the enemy’s formation. "Why are they stalling? They have the numbers to roll right over you."

"They aren't stalling," Voss snapped, narrowing his eyes. "They’re herding us. They want us to funnel into the plaza so they can finish the harvest."

"The harvest," Frathan muttered. "So this is standard procedure?"

"It’s a slaughter. And you look like you’ve been eating well, which means you’re either a god or a lucky idiot. Which is it?"

"I’m the guy who’s going to get us out of here," Frathan replied, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Do you have any explosives left? Alchemical fire, anything?"

Voss laughed, a dry, joyless sound. "We’ve got a crate of unstable sulfur in the cellar. Why? You want to blow us all to hell?"

"I want to close the door. If we can collapse the support beams of the bridge, we funnel them into the ravine instead. They’ll trip over each other for hours."

Voss leaned in, his face inches from Frathan’s. "That’s a death sentence. To reach the cellar, you have to cross the main courtyard. You’ll be a pincushion before you reach the stairs."

"Then stop standing around and give me cover fire," Frathan countered, checking the weight of his blade. "Are you a mercenary or a babysitter?"

Voss gripped his warhammer, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "I’m a man who likes a suicide charge. Men! With me! Keep the kid alive!"

The roar of the soldiers as they surged from the barricade was intoxicating. Frathan didn't wait; he sprinted, his Agility buff pushing his perception into that familiar, terrifying crawl. He wove through the melee, ducking under spears and leaping over fallen comrades.

"Left flank, kid!" Voss bellowed, his hammer crushing a monster’s skull.

"Got it! Keep them busy!" Frathan shouted back. He reached the cellar door, his hand slamming into the heavy iron lock. He didn't pick it; he blasted it with the raw, chaotic energy surging from his palm—the same hum of the mercury token.

The lock exploded. He dove into the darkness, grabbing the sulfur crate.

"System, calculate the blast radius," Frathan breathed, rushing back out.

"Calculated. Structure instability: 88%. Recommend immediate exit."

He emerged into the courtyard. The battle was a meat grinder. Voss was surrounded, his armor hanging in tatters.

"Hey! Catch!" Frathan yelled, hurling the crate at the base of the central bridge support.

Voss looked back, his eyes widening. "You crazy bastard!"

Frathan drew his pistol—a makeshift piece of tech he’d scavenged from a fallen scout—and fired a single, glowing shot. It hit the sulfur crate mid-air.

The explosion wasn't a roar; it was a white, blinding silence. The ground bucked. The stone bridge groaned, then surrendered, crumbling into the ravine in a massive, earth-shaking display of physics. The enemy horde, caught in the tremor, tumbled into the abyss.

Silence blanketed the courtyard, thick and suffocating.

Voss trudged over, his boots crunching on the scorched stone. He looked at Frathan, then at the smoking crater. "I’ve seen a lot of ways to die, kid. But that? That was a hell of a show."

"Don't get sentimental. We aren't out yet," Frathan panted, his body sagging as the adrenaline evaporated.

"No," Voss agreed, his expression turning grave. "The higher-ups don't like losing their toys. The boss is coming for the bill."

"Let him come. I’m tired of running."

"You’ve got grit, Frathan. I’ll give you that. Come on, we head for the northern gate."

As they moved toward the exit, Frathan felt a sharp, persistent prickle in his coat pocket. He reached in, his fingers brushing against something crisp—a piece of parchment.

He froze, pulling it out. The paper was weathered, smelling of ozone and dead flowers. He unfolded it. It wasn't written in a language he knew, yet he understood every word.

Frathan,

If you’re reading this, you’ve already forgotten the first three times we died. Don't trust the Commander. Don't trust the exit. The harvest isn't about dying—it’s about waking up. Find the clock tower. I’ll be waiting in the echo.

—S.

Frathan’s blood ran cold. The ink was still fresh, glowing with a soft, pulsing violet light.

"Kid? You coming?" Voss called out, turning back.

Frathan looked at the note, then up at the darkening, crimson sky. The system’s voice suddenly glitched, sounding distorted, human, and terrifyingly familiar.

"Warning," the system hissed, but it wasn't the cold drone anymore. It was Seraphina’s voice. "Don't look back, Frathan. He’s already behind you."

Frathan turned slowly. Standing in the shadows of the gate, draped in armor made of flickering code, was a figure that looked exactly like him—but with eyes that burned with the cold, dead light of the system itself.

"Hello, subject," the reflection whispered. "Let’s see if you’re worth the reset."