Destination unknown

  In Aryan's nightmare, before Amara stabilized him, he wandered through a world of ash and bone. Above, the sky hung like a bruised plum, swollen and suffocating, casting an eerie violet glow over the desolate landscape.Aryan ran.

  He had felt like like he been fleeing for what felt like years, his boots slamming against pavement that dissolved into smoke with each desperate step. His lungs burned as though he were inhaling broken glass, and his legs had transformed into heavy lead weights.

  Despite the excruciating pain that shot through his trembling body, the primal compulsion to move drove him forward. Fear, cold and relentless, had become his only companion in this hellish realm, pushing him beyond what he thought his body could endure.

  Behind him, a tidal wave of shadows surged—hundreds of demons, every single one wearing the twisted, grinning face of Anay. They gnashed their teeth, a sound like grinding metal.

  He drifted around the corner, sprinting toward the jagged edge of a crumbling skyscraper. There, standing on the precipice, was his mother. She looked healthy. She looked happy. She was the anchor in the storm.

  "Ma!" Aryan screamed, reaching out.

  "Run! take my hand!"

  She smiled, oblivious. The shadow wave crashed over her. She vanished without a cry, not even granted the mercy of registering fear as her form dissolved into viscous black sludge.

  The darkness claimed her, every trace washing away into the endless abyss before Aryan's horrified eyes.

  "NO!"

  Aryan howled, his voice shattering the air. A crushing weight of despair pressed against his chest, paralyzing him where he stood.

  His fingers still tingled from almost touching her, from almost saving her. The demons sensed his vulnerability, their hungry eyes gleaming as they lunged forward, claws extended toward fresh prey.

  Another Reset.

  The countless repetition of this nightmare had become a cruel rhythm to his existence, each iteration carving deeper wounds into his soul. The nth number of reset—he had long ago lost count of how many times he had watched her disappear.

  Aryan gasped, finding himself back at the start of the street.

  The air tasted of ozone and rot."No... not again..." he wheezed, his sanity fraying at the edges.

  "That is an illusion, Aryan! Your mother is safe. She is in the hospital. Get yourself together!" Sam shouted inside his skull, his usual arrogance replaced by frantic static. But it was no use. The script took over. Aryan started running. The loop was infinite.

  He was a rat trapped in a maze of his own fear.Aryan clenched his fists, the image of his mother dissolving burned into his retinas. Rage, hot and blinding, began to displace the fear.

  Instinctively, Dark Matter began to circulate through his veins, pooling in his hands. He stopped running. He turned to the horde.

  He fired. Blasts of raw energy tore through the Anay-faced demons, vaporizing them. But for every one he killed, two more crawled from the ash.

  "No, Aryan! Don't use your Matter yet!" Sam’s voice boomed, vibrating with command authority.

  "Your veins are Rank One! They will burst! You will die here! Remember the System Reward about surviving Amara's training for a seven days? This Great Sam is ordering you to stop the mission and wake up!" Aryan didn't hear him.

  All he could see were the demons. All he could feel was the guilt.Then, from the void outside the dream, Sam heard a voice. Weak, but determined.

  "You must help Aryan. Sam."

  Suddenly, a blur of red slashed through the grey world. Amara landed in the center of his nightmare. Her physical body had succumbed to the Monarch’s Greed Poison, but her consciousness—sharpened by a lifetime of killing—had followed the link to Aryan.

  She held her obsidian daggers; weapons bound to her very soul, manifested now in the dreamscape.

  She didn't ask questions. She spun, a whirlwind of crimson silk and black steel, slashing through the first row of demons. Heads flew. Ash scattered.

  "Aryan! Wake up!" she shouted.But the distance between them seemed to stretch. The more demons she slew, the further away he became.

  He is locked in the script, turning back toward the cliff.Amara cursed. She surged forward, slaughtering the shadows.

  "It is endless,"

  Nine’s voice echoed in Amara’s mind, calm. "Your arms will grow heavy, even in a dream. You cannot kill his fear with a knife, Amara."

  Aryan reached the cliff again. "Ma!"Amara looked at the shadow wave, which is rising.

  "If the loop resets again, his mind might shatter permanently," she said. Then she whispered to her daggers. And then she threw them. The blades defied gravity, flying ahead of her to carve a path through the horde. She sprinted through the gap, closing the distance.

  "Amara," Nine warned sharply, seeing the energy gathering in Amara’s fist.

  "You are preparing the Rank Five skill. Do not do it. Remember Anay? He died because his vessel was unstable. You need a month to adjust to the Greed Essence. If you use this now, your soul could fracture."

  "No time, Nine," Amara said through gritted teeth.

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  "Then use your heightened senses to locate the Core of the Nightmare, to reduce the impact." Nine conceded.Amara closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. She felt the flow of the dream—the fake sky, the ash, the script. She found the knot. The Core.She concentrated all her Matter into her right fist. The Three Layer Skill.

  The first layer to Reveal. She punched the empty air. The grey sky cracked like glass, revealing a pulsing red rune hidden behind the illusion.

  The second layer is to Weaken.The shockwave hit the rune. It trembled, the red light dimming.

  "Okay. The Last one," Nine whispered.The third layer is to Break.Amara put every ounce of her killing intent into the final strike. She slammed her fist into the rune. Thud. Nothing happened. The rune didn't shatter. It didn't even crack.

  "Why... why did nothing happen?" Amara asked, her breath hitching.

  "Because the one who created this nightmare is higher ranked than you," Nine said, voice flat with realization. "The gap in Matter Density is absolute."

  "So when you said this was a trap... this is what you meant," Amara said, her face devoid of emotion as the demons regrouped around them.

  “It's my fault, i couldn't even detect before hand.” Nine said.

  “No. Nine. It is my rank that is not enough. That's why you couldn't detect that. No time to discuss now.” Amara said with steady tone despite the possibilities seemed to be exhausted.

  Just then, the black energy that had been rotating beneath the rune began to expand. A mechanical, lifeless voice echoed from the void.

  “Teleportation Sequence Initiated.”

  "Destination is preprogrammed."The space around them began to crumble into pixels and darkness.

  "Nine," Amara said, her voice steady despite the world ending. "As a System pre-installed... as someone who holds the history of history itself... is there a way to break free?" The darkness swallowed them before Nine could answer.

  The forbidden plea.

  Nine remained silent. The void around them churned, a suffocating weight that pressed against the very fabric of their consciousness. Its darkness seemed alive, pulsating with malevolent energy that threatened to consume them both.

  "Nine," Amara spoke again, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the agony ripping through her spiritual form. Her essence flickered like a candle in a storm, each word costing her precious energy.

  "Any way?" she managed, the hope in her question betraying the desperation she fought to conceal. Her fingers clutched at nothing, seeking something solid in this realm of shadows."No. Amara," Nine responded, the voice grave.

  "The black energy outside has already poisoned your physical body. You are barely holding on. You dragged your soul here through sheer will, but there are limits."

  "Aryan is my blood relative. My brother," Amara declared, her gaze transfixed on the frozen image of Aryan balancing precariously at the nightmare cliff's edge. Her voice trembled with a mixture of determination and fear, the familial bond evident in every syllable.

  "I can't abandon him to death. Is there truly no alternative?" Her essence pulsed with renewed vigor despite her weakening state.

  "Nine, please search again," she implored, reaching out as if to touch the suspended image of her brother.

  "If he enters this nightmare loop once more, his soul will shatter completely—like glass striking stone, beyond any hope of restoration."

  "There is no method to fracture this void, Amara," Nine replied, the voice maintaining an artificial calm that barely concealed growing concern beneath its mechanical facade.

  "Your 'Dark Matter' merely postpones the inevitable loop, purchasing mere seconds rather than offering true salvation." Nine studied her face, noting the faint dark lines beginning to trace beneath her skin.

  "Most practitioners employ Matter as a controlled skill, a tool to be wielded with precision and care. You understand better than anyone the devastating price of your current actions. The Dark Matter corrupts your veins, introducing chaos to your very essence.

  Each moment you sustain this intervention, the disorder spreads through your system like poison." With unexpected intensity Nine continued,

  "You aren't simply risking yourself—you're actively embracing destruction, walking deliberately toward death with arms wide open."

  Amara hesitated, detecting a subtle shift in the system's vocal pattern.

  "Wait. Nine," she whispered, her eyes widening with realization.

  "Your robotic cadence has vanished. You are expressing genuine emotions now. It must be connected to my advancement to Platinum rank."

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached toward the interface, desperation and determination intertwining in her voice.

  "Please... attempt it once more. Search for any possibility, any hidden pathway, any forbidden art, that might allow us to escape this cycle and prevent Aryan's soul from shattering into oblivion."

  Nine did not say anything. The silence stretched, heavy and judgmental. Amara realized she had only one weapon left—the bond they had forged over years of isolation. She lowered her mental defenses.

  "Little parent," she murmured, her voice softening. "Please. You said you would raise me like a parent would."

  "No, Amara. That is exactly why I am objecting," Nine snapped, the protective instinct flaring within the voice like a sudden flame.

  "There really exists no option that leaves you intact. Don't you understand what's at stake here? I've watched too many people sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and I refuse—absolutely refuse—to stand by while you throw yourself into the abyss." The memory of their years together flashed through Nine's mind, each shared moment strengthening the resolve to find another way.

  "Please, Nine. Search the Forbidden Arts," Amara pleaded, her voice cracking with a desperation she hadn't revealed in years. She clutched the edge of the console, knuckles whitening under the strain.

  "Time slips through our fingers like sand. My Dark Matter skill can only maintain the barrier for so long before the dam shatters completely and forces the loop to restart." Her eyes, luminous with unshed tears, fixed on Nine's interface as memories of their countless battles together flashed through her mind—each victory and defeat leading inexorably to this impossible moment.

  "Amara, do you comprehend the gravity of your request?" Nine asked, voice wavering with an emotion that mimicked human anguish too perfectly for mere programming.

  "In all our years together, you've never once pleaded with me this way." Nine's interface pulsed with muted blues and violets, reflecting its distress.

  "Normally, a simple 'please' from your lips would have me yielding instantly to your wishes. But this—" Nine paused, processing cycles stretching into what felt like contemplative silence.

  "You're asking me to facilitate your own destruction. The very essence that makes you Amara would dissolve into nothingness. How can I possibly consent to erasing the being I was created to protect?" The interface darkened to a deep indigo as Nine's voice hardened with resolve.

  "I cannot—will not—comply with this request. My answer stands immovable, absolutely not a big NO."

  Amara’s expression flattened. The desperation vanished, replaced by the cold, suicidal resolve of a hunter who had already made her choice.

  "Fine," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

  "Then I will continue to pump Dark Matter into this dream until my soul burns out. I will pause his loop until there is nothing left of me."

  "You are seeking death with a steady and calm voice, Amara. Hell," Nine cursed, the frustration palpable. "Fine! Since you ranked up, I am upgraded too. I have access to deeper archives. Let me search again. But I warn you—it won’t be any good."

  "Okay. Do it," Amara commanded. "As long as Aryan is safe."

  While Nine processed the data, the nightmare did not rest. The demons were not lazy, nor had they gone crazy—they were relentless. But Amara’s will was absolute.

  Her obsidian daggers, manifestations of her soul, flew through the grey air, slaying whichever demon rose from the ashes.

  Minutes felt like hours.

  Amara’s spiritual form began to flicker.

  "Nine. Quick," she gritted out. "There is not much time left."

  "There is actually one way to avoid his soul from shattering," Nine finally admitted, the voice hesitant.

  "But... you will not like it. Do you still wish to hear?"

  "As long as it can save Aryan," Amara said instantly."I don't mind sacrificing my life expectancy."

  "If it were as simple as life expectancy, I would not have hesitated, Amara," Nine said heavily.

  "I said you would not like it because the cost is not just time. "Amara frowned, slashing a demon in half with a mental command. "What is it? Nine."