He Who Watches Time Burn

Alice walked up nonchalantly and stepped through the portal without hesitation. Just as Michael was about to follow, Edward stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Here, hold on to this for me. I'll take it back once you have something better," Edward said, handing him a beautifully crafted dagger.

Michael opened his mouth to protest, but in the same heartbeat, Edward leaned in and murmured as he gave Michael a gentle push into the portal,

"And be wary of people. I know you're smart—but sometimes, monsters wear a smile. That goes for Alice too, Michael."

Michael twisted back to question him, confusion written across his face—but before he could say a word, the world stretched, collapsed, and vanished.

He was pulled into what he could only describe as a black hole.

As Michael was hurled into the portal, the world twisted and blurred into a whirl of shadow and light. Space folded in on itself. Time unraveled.

Then—suddenly—everything stopped.

The spinning silence became an abyss.

Floating in the void, suspended beyond all motion, Michael felt something old stir around him. The air grew thick, timeless. 

And then,The world snapped.

Michael was flung out of the portal and slammed hard onto stone, the impact jarring but not enough to break him. He rolled to his side in silence, lips pressed tight as he took in the damp, metallic air—thick with rot, rust, and blood.

No groan. No cry. Just a stillness as he adjusted to the vertigo tearing through him.

His body convulsed once—dry heaves wracking his frame—but he braced an arm against the floor, riding it out in grim silence. No weakness shown. Not here.

The sound came next—wet, sharp, final.

Steel striking flesh. The whimper of something dying.

Then silence again.

Michael's fingers tightened around the dagger Edward had given him. He hadn't drawn it. Not yet. But it was there, and that was enough.

He rose slowly, like a machine booting back to life. One knee first, then his feet, his breathing measured. The scent of blood thickened the air.

Five dark-green, child-like creatures lay twisted across the hall.

Some still clutched their weapons. Others were frozen mid-scream, caught mid-charge. Their blood steamed in the cold air, thick and black, spreading like ink on wet stone.

Michael stood still, eyes sweeping over the bodies.

Clean kills. Arrows, blades. Quick. She didn't hesitate.

Goblins, probably. Low-tier. But not harmless.

At the edge of his hearing, scratching and snarling echoed from deeper in the tunnel.

More were coming.

From the far wall, a shadow shifted.

Alice stepped out, her smile wide and careless. Gore painted her clothes, her blade dripping like it was enjoying the moment.

She turned to him, eyes gleaming.

"Oh, some more friends are coming to play. You should try to have some fun too," she called out—light and amused. It wasn't a suggestion.

Michael didn't reply. His gaze stayed on the tunnel.

Three of them. One with a bow. The others are charging.

I've got a dagger I didn't choose, no idea how durable it is. And my own ability…

His jaw tightened. Still no control. No pattern. I can't trust it.

He forced his breathing slow. Centered.

I hate this part.

Guess we're doing it live.

He took a step forward—then the world slowed.

Not actually. But almost. His mind dropped into that razor focus again. Like being underwater, everything thick and deliberate. A skill drilled into him by his second foster family—one of the few useful things they taught him. An athlete's zone, but sharper. More survival than sport.

The goblins were on them.

He moved toward the outside of the first goblin's shoulder, out of the archer's line of fire. The goblin raised a rusted scimitar—too close to swing properly, too slow to tackle.

It lunged.

Wrong move.

Michael slipped to the side, clean and smooth.

The dagger kissed across its throat. A shallow line. Enough to shock, not kill.

It froze.

Michael didn't.

He stepped forward and drove the blade into its temple—sharp and final.

One down.

A breath hissed out through his teeth.

No room for hesitation.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—an arrow.

He turned just in time, deflecting it with the flat of the blade.

The string had snapped with a shriek. That one would've gone deep.

He let gravity take him, dropping forward—low and fast.

At a steep angle, he planted his left foot hard and launched.

The ground blurred.

The archer barely had time to widen its eyes.

Michael reached him, stabbed through the skull before the thing could even drop its bow. The body dropped, twitching.

Two.

The last goblin turned to run. Fast little thing. Panic in every step.

Michael grabbed the fallen bow.

Pulled the string back.

Haven't shot in months. No time to aim.

He let the arrow fly.

It hit the creature in the back, hard enough to send it sprawling.

The goblin screamed—short and ugly.

Michael didn't hesitate.

He walked up. One hand. One motion. Neck snapped clean.

Done.

The silence that followed felt heavier than the fight.

Alice strolled into view again, blood drying on her skin like war paint. Her eyes danced.

"Oh," she said, amused, "I didn't think you'd show me this kind of expression… from just a bit of guts and blood."

Michael didn't speak.

Didn't blink. Just stared—blank, unreadable.

Inside, his heartbeat was slowing. Controlled again.

He gave a single nod. Not agreement. Just acknowledgment.

Alice cocked her head, smile curving wider.

"Well, no answer is an answer, right?"

She spun her blade in a slow arc, blood droplets arcing into the dark.

"This was just the guard. More are coming. I killed their leader earlier, but he'll respawn soon. Might be fun to see if you can solo him."

Michael finally spoke, voice even and flat.

"Then we should move. Before they regroup."

Alice blinked, then laughed, spinning on her heel.

"Cold and straight to business. I like it."

Michael didn't reply.

Keep the exits in mind. Check the echoes. Don't turn your back on her.

He followed her, steps silent, dagger loose in his grip.

He didn't trust her.

Didn't need to.

Not yet.