The Last Catalyst : My 100th Regression

The Grim Reaper's Vision

Fourteen minutes and twenty seconds.

In the grand scheme of a hundred lifetimes, fourteen minutes was a rounding error. It was the time it took to brief a vanguard squad, to clean a standard issue aether rifle, or to watch a low-tier sector burn to the ground. But right now, as Harrison woven through the dense crowd of the Sector 4 Central Mall courtyard, those fourteen minutes felt like an executioner's blade slowly descending toward the back of his neck.

The world around him remained jarringly, frustratingly normal.

A group of teenagers laughed as they ran past him, their arms loaded with shopping bags from an upscale high tech apparel store. An older couple sat on a nearby bench, sharing a thermos of synthesized tea while reading a digital newspaper. Above them all, the floating crimson numbers of the **Casualty Counter** shifted and drifted like a heavy, invisible fog.

[Time Till Death: 42 Years | Cause: Natural Causes]

[Time Till Death: 18 Years | Cause: Sector 9 High-Rise Collapse]

Harrison kept his eyes forward, deliberately blocking out the secondary data streams. In his past lives, he had trained his mind to process vast rivers of information under intense battlefield pressure, but seeing the exact expiration date of every single civilian in a peaceful plaza was a unique kind of psychological torture. He couldn't save them all today. He couldn't fix the world in a single afternoon.

But he could save *her*.

Lydia Vance was still sitting at the outdoor café table, completely engrossed in her handheld data tablet. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a stray lock of dark hair falling across her face. Harrison adjusted his visor hat, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. He knew everything about the woman she would become the cold, unyielding commander who held the line at Sector 4 when the sky opened up in his 95th loop; the fiercely loyal vanguard leader who had shielded his tactical retreat in his 97th life at the cost of her own right eye.

Right now, she wasn't that mythic figure. She was just an eighteen year old girl with an exceptionally high aether affinity, trying to pass her upcoming military academy entrance exams.

And according to the bright, flashing scarlet warning hovering over her head, she had exactly twelve minutes left to live.

>***[ SYSTEM WARNING: ENTITY FATE DETECTED ]**

> * **Target:** Lydia Vance

> * **Time Till Death:** 00:12:04 *(Ticking...)*

> * **Cause of Mortality:** Ruptured vitals via Tier-1 Supernatural Beast (*Shadow Stalker*) during the Sector 4 Mall Incursion.

Harrison didn't hesitate. He pulled out a chair directly opposite her and sat down.

Lydia didn't look up immediately, her fingers tapping rapidly against the glass surface of her tablet. "The table is reserved," she said, her voice carrying a sharp, aristocratic edge that Harrison remembered all too well. "There are plenty of open benches in the courtyard."

"The benches don't have a direct line of sight to the security blind spot on the western perimeter wall," Harrison replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

Lydia’s fingers froze. She slowly lifted her head, her sharp, dark eyes locking onto Harrison with an immediate look of intense scrutiny. She didn't look threatened yet, but the disciplined rigidity of her posture shifted. "Excuse me?"

"You're studying the Sector 4 Academy tactical entrance blueprints from three years ago," Harrison said, nodding toward her screen. Thanks to his hundred lifetimes of tactical analysis, he could recognize military structural layouts from a mile away. "You're trying to figure out how to ace the mock-defense scenario. But you're using outdated mapping. They rerouted the primary aether conduits along the western wall last fiscal quarter. If you try to establish a defensive perimeter there during your exam, the feedback will short out your auxiliary barriers within forty seconds."

Lydia stared at him, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing into cold suspicion. She turned off her tablet and set it face down on the table. "Who are you? And why are you tracking my exam preparation?"

"The name is Harrison," he said, offering a calm, casual smile that belied the roaring adrenaline in his veins. He glanced up at the red countdown above her head.

00:10:15

Ten minutes. The spatial fabric in the center of the courtyard was already beginning to thinning out, even if the city's automated aether sensors hadn't picked it up yet.

"I'm not tracking you, Vance," Harrison continued, using her surname with an easy familiarity that made her jaw tighten. "I'm just an analyst who happens to know that you are wasting your time sitting in this exact spot."

"An analyst?" Lydia let out a short, incredulous breath, her gaze sweeping over his plain brown jacket and slightly worn jeans. "You look like you just walked out of a high school remedial class. How do you know my name? How do you know my academy parameters?"

"I know a lot of things," Harrison said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He lowered his voice, his tone shifting from casual to deadly serious. "I know your father is General Vance of the Sector 9 central command. I know you've been practicing your spatial manipulation triggers in secret because your family expects you to inherit an S-Rank vanguard legacy, but your current baseline output is stuck at a high B-Rank. And I know that if you don't stand up and walk away from this café with me right now, you won't live long enough to take that exam."

Lydia’s hand instinctively drifted toward the small, concealed silver ring on her right index finger a compact, high-grade aether catalyst channeler. Her expression hardened into pure, military hostility. "You're a stalker. Or a corporate spy trying to leverage my father's position. If you don't leave this table in the next three seconds, I will personally ensure sector security handles your interrogation."

Harrison didn't move an inch. He didn't blink. He had faced down god like entities that devoured entire realities; an angry eighteen-year-old prodigy wasn't going to make him flinch.

"Look at the fountain in the center of the plaza, Lydia," Harrison commanded, his voice carrying the absolute weight of a veteran commander.

Lydia hesitated, caught off guard by the sheer authority in his tone. Against her better judgment, her eyes flicked toward the large, ornate stone fountain twenty yards away, where children were throwing coins into the water.

"What about it?" she demanded.

"The water isn't rippling from the wind," Harrison said softly. "Watch the center drain. The kinetic energy is pulling backward. The ambient temperature in a ten-meter radius around the stone structure has dropped by exactly four degrees Celsius in the last three minutes. Your spatial affinity should be screaming at you right now, but you're too focused on an outdated tablet to notice the anomalies."

Lydia frowned. She closed her eyes for a split second, extending her internal aether sensitivity outward. When her eyes snapped open again, the suspicion in them was completely replaced by a sudden, jarring spike of alarm.

She felt it. The subtle, unnatural twisting of the spatial pressure. The invisible tearing of the air.

00:07:42

"What... what is that?" she whispered, her hand tightening around her tablet. "The sector monitoring grid hasn't issued a warning. There are no sirens."

"Because the localized density of this distortion is too small for the central array to register," Harrison explained, standing up from his chair and adjusting his hat. "It's a micro-incursion. A localized rift. A single hunter-type beast is utilizing a spatial tear to bypass the outer defense walls. And it's going to manifest exactly where you are sitting."

Lydia stood up so fast her chair screeched against the concrete. She looked at Harrison, her mind visibly struggling to reconcile his civilian appearance with the terrifying accuracy of his tactical data. "How could you possibly predict a micro-incursion before the defense grid?"

"I told you. I'm an analyst," Harrison said, stepping out from under the café awning. "And right now, my analysis says we have exactly six minutes to evacuate this courtyard before the slaughter begins."

He turned and began to walk away, not waiting to see if she would follow. He knew Lydia Vance. She was stubborn, prideful, and fiercely independent but she wasn't stupid.

Behind him, Harrison heard the rapid, hurried footsteps of her heavy combat boots clicking against the pavement as she scrambled to catch up with him.

Above her head, the toxic scarlet numbers continued their merciless, silent dance.

00:05:12

00:05:11

The countdown was entering its final phase. Harrison’s eyes scanned the surrounding perimeter, his mind cataloging every exit, every piece of cover, and every potential weapon. His baseline physical attributes were a joke, but as he felt the air pressure drop and a faint, high pitched ringing begin to echo through the plaza, he knew he didn't need brute strength to change the future. He just needed to survive the next five minutes.