Ryan walked into his dorm room and called out, “It’s the weekend! Time for ale and whores!” He was greeted with silence.

 

Ryan looked around and discovered he was alone. As he checked about it became increasingly obvious that Aldelmo was not only not here, but had taken most of his study books with him. Ryan pawed at Aldelmo’s desk and found a note to himself about studying with Monique at the library.

 

Ryan eyed the note as he narrowed his eyes at it. He tapped the desk a few times with a finger then went over to his desk, ~That girl is trouble. Nobody that hot would be interested in either of us.~ He flopped down in his chair by his desk and looked at it. The silence dragged on until Ryan started talking to himself, “So this is where you worked, Reed.”

 

Ryan gently caressed the top of the desk, “I’ve been avoiding this. I feel like I am looting someone’s tomb, but if I’m going to get to know you, I need to look through your stuff.”

 

Ryan started to slowly search through the drawers of the desk, fishing out items and putting it on top. As the items built up, a pattern emerged. There was nothing that was not work related. He searched through the cabinet finding nothing but clothes. The more he looked, the worse the nagging feeling in the pit of Ryan’s stomach grew.

 

Ryan eventually sat down on the edge of the desk, “You’re not here.” He looked around his section of the room slowly, “There isn’t a single memento, item, personal note, piece of jewelry… nothing.” He stood up and went back to the wardrobe, “Even your clothes. Boring. Dull. Everyone else personalizes their uniforms to some degree, but you couldn’t have been more generic.”

 

Ryan started pulling out drawers and tapping around looking for secret panels, “You aren’t here. Were you ever here?” He climbed up to flip over his mattress, “How does someone live their life without leaving any trace that you existed?” He stopped and noticed something odd about the bed frame. He ran his finger along it up to the headboard and found a hollow panel. He slid it back and a book fell out. Ryan picked it up and flipped it open.

 

It was a diary.

 

Ryan smiled triumphantly, “I knew you were in this room somewhere.” He started turning the pages, “I’m sorry to read your personal thoughts, but for what it is worth, I will do my best to honor your wishes.” Ryan’s smile began to fade, “I just want to…” He flipped a few pages, moving faster and faster to the end of the book, “...get to know you.”

 

Ryan got to the last page.

 

He quietly returned the book to its hiding place and thought for a while. He stood up and walked out, heading down the hallway to the bathroom.

 

That was when he collapsed.

 

---

 

It felt like someone was writing directly on Ryan's mind.

 

A series of text messages streamed past his eyes. He couldn't focus on them because they were being directly sent to his eyes. No matter where he looked, they remained in the same fixed position relative to where he was looking. It made it impossible to read, but one statement stood out.

 

Estimated Casualties: Thirty Billion Dead.

 

Then there were thoughts. It was as if he was experiencing someone else's mind first hand. Not just seeing what they were seeing, but thinking, as they were thinking. It wasn't a download of experiences either. He was 'thinking it' in real time.

 

~...At least that was the estimation. There comes a point where counting is no longer practical so that's our rough estimation. This engagement subjectively has lasted thirty-four years and is currently consuming the local dimensional group of about a dozen worlds. Although some were far more developed than others, it's still going to be a complete regression as far as society is concerned. A few of those worlds were already empty of intelligent life and we tried to keep the fighting there, but this conflict was never going to be so easily contained. It was only a matter of time before it spilled over into… well… everywhere.~

 

It seemed like a battle report, but at the same time a personal accounting.

 

 

The perspective shifted taking on a dream-like quality. He was watching from outside his body, but it wasn't even his body anymore. He was starting to get the impression that what happened next was more of a recreation, then first hand experience. Words he never used before appeared in his mind and the meaning came with it. Just as quickly the information slipped through his mind. He grasped for the knowledge, trying to retain it, but it was like trying to grab a lake and hold it to your bosom.

 

---

 

Yoson removed the void blade from the final elite. Like most his cowardly kind, the elite made sure to use his subordinates as meat shields onto the last orc. The void blade was a gift from a now dead god. It was made by forging the very fabric of reality itself into a single-edged slightly curved blade. Invisible when seen edge on, from the side the blade looked like pure spite-filled darkness. The sort of darkness that swallowed light, instead of absorbed it. Yoson gave his wrist a flick and red circuit-like patterns erupted across its surface as a wave of light erupted. The corpse was reduced to ash. It was important to keep such useful raw material out of the hands of enemy necrotechs.

 

Dismissing the blade, Yoson let go of the hilt and it clanged as it returned to its place on his hip. He turned towards the others, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a bit of color. As he stepped closer, it was glimmer of yellow. It was a single dandelion that had been crushed under foot and was the only remaining sign of foliage for miles. He winced as this triggered his implants and his perfect recall kicked in. Having your own personal search engine installed in your head allowed one to remember obscure data and correlate it quickly. This was a useful trick in a field commander, but unfortunately it also kept bringing up things he didn’t wish to remember.

 

This field was once green and over flowing with life. He remembered riding with his father through the area oh-so long ago. This area was once a farm field filled with sunflowers. The owner of the land would make a maze out of them for people to get lost in for the month of Eight. He could see the scene in perfect clarity as he ran among the rows, calling out to his childhood friends. One after another as he called out their names in memory, their obituaries would flicker into existence on the edge of his vision.

 

He shook his head in an attempt to stop the memories, casting his eyes around for something, anything, to disrupt the process. He saw a lump of scattered debris and knew that was where the farmhouse once stood. This triggered a map in his mind. He remembered exactly where he buried the bodies he found there. Every memory came back to him in sequence, queuing up in his mind and arranging themselves in his mind eye in the form of a standard military post-action report. When it finally finished and gave him the end result, he dismissed it all, leaving behind the stark reality before him.

 

He stood in a field of adhesive mud that was churned by the passing of countless boots, or the impact of artillery rounds. The only sound he heard in this windless expanse was the crackle of distant fires where the dead were being burned. Yoson’s mind noted how many weapons were scattered about; abandoned lash rifles, broken shard cannons, discarded diamond-edged mono-blades. All this and more littered the ground. There was a time when his regiment was in desperate need of such supplies. Now he allowed himself a bitter smile at a situation that was so thoroughly reversed.

 

Far too many weapons and no one left to wield them.

 

While returning to the designated post-engagement staging area, Yoson noticed an intermittent glitch in his visor. He paused to sit down on a large chunk of white marble that was completely out of place in the middle of this desolation. He had heard that the enemy had used a quarry a few miles away as a staging area. Perhaps it exploded and the detonation landed this here. He reached up and cycled the command codes to disengage the seals. He felt the spine jack snap out as he twisted off his helmet to reveal long silver hair and an aged face.

 

He checked his Aegis Class Thaumactive body armor for damage. The ACT armor’s black surface had become pitted and scarred during the battle. The standard three numbers adorned his left pauldron: Regiment, Unit and Serial. Below that he had carved his initials as an act of individuality. Technically that was against regulations, but nobody was going to care. Otherwise, his armor was featureless and he couldn’t tell what might be causing the problem. He settled on just hitting the helmet on the marble slab a few times in hopes of jarring it back into functionality.

 

He checked his equipment out of reflex. His old gauss gun was still locked to his back plate, though it had not worked for years. The heat of an overcharged shot burned the coils to slag. The recoil had tossed him like a ragdoll, but it had removed another god from the war along with the top of a mountain.

 

As he sat there he mused aloud, “I wonder if the only mark I leave in this world will be how much I altered the skyline.”

 

The whine of a familiar powered exosuit got closer.

 

That meant Ayaka had survived the engagement as well. Yoson looked up to see a familiar towering ogre who approached one lumbering step at a time. She still wore her old priestly robes over her body armor, although it was looking even more tattered than ever. Ayaka pulled back her hood to expose her snow white skin. It took on an orange hue in the setting sun's dying light. Yoson smiled warmly, because it was good to know at least one companion still lived. Ayaka sat next to him and took a moment to pray to her people’s dead goddess. The war may have claimed their progenitor, but it had yet to claim Ayaka’s faith.

 

As his friend lifted her head to speak, a pillar of black erupted, coming up from past the horizon. The cyclonic detonator had been successfully delivered to its target. The void cyclone's unstoppable rampage had begin. The souls in this area would be drawn to it and be consumed as fuel to further the range of the destructive curses it randomly spat. Since the last angel of death died years ago, souls no longer moved onto the afterlife in an orderly fashion. Given how many had died on both sides in the area, it should be quite the show.

 

Yoson stared at the cyclone, “Well, the bombers made it, at least.” She turned away to look at the opposite horizon and admire the orange of the setting sun, “I hope the elves and dwarves got our message in time.” This battle had been a final gambit. It was a way to buy time for the last of the planes to load up and take off. They had only one Thaumavore class weapon remaining and no way to launch it.

 

Using a bomber was suicide, all the pilots knew this. Still, one went up with the weapon, and another ninety nine went up as a screening force. There was no point in dropping it. Once they were over target, they would just activate it. Technically you could have set it off anywhere in the area, but the farther from base they could get it before detonating, the more likely someone might survive. The closer it is to the fuel source, the faster it would grow and the less time it would give the enemy to escape. This battle was nothing more than a sacrifice. A pile of souls to feed that monster.

 

Rocks Fall. Everyone Dies.

 

It is going to cause a great deal of disruption as well. Not just here, but all over the local multi-dimensional group. Even if they didn’t get the message off world, this was going to draw a whole lot of attention. Ayaka kept watching the approaching doom, "We got word from our flank. They haven't fallen."

 

"Yet" Yoson replied.

 

"We have held here. If they can hold our flank, the enemy's offensive will be all but spent. It'll be thousands of years before they can muster another force." Ayaka spoke as if she was repeating something they both knew, as if it was supposed to be some sort of comfort.

 

"They built that world too quickly." Yoson closed his eyes and leaned back to lie back on the fallen monolith, "And it's far too close to the dark matter shoals."

 

"Neither side will be able to deploy heavy weaponry. It'll come down-" Yoson cut her off, "I don't want our last conversation to be about the war. Our part is done." The conversation came to a halt. The only sound was the whistling wind as Yoson kept vigil on the sunset.

 

After several minutes of silence, Ayaka spoke. Her voice sounded worn down to the bone, “So, here we are.”

 

“Not like we didn't know it would end like this.” Yoson replied, “A draw was the best we could hope for. We made the next war winnable for whomever comes after us and rebuilds.” He stood up and gestured to the area around. Ayaka smiled as she actually liked it when Yoson slipped into epic motivational speech mode.

 

Yoson started speaking as if he was trying to rally the troops for one last push, “WE mere mortals have killed GODS! WE saved the people of this world from an eternity of tyranny under a jealous tyrant!” He pointed to the gyrating unmaker devouring the very horizon itself. “WE made him throw a tantrum like some petulant toddler then broke ALL his toys! This…” He stopped and his eyes unfocused. He stood there motionless for several heartbeats as he stared into the distance with eyes unseeing.

 

“This pleases me.”

 

Yoson slowly sat back down and resumed looking at the sun as it dipped lower and lower. He reached for a pouch on his chest plate, but the arm seized up. He stared at it a bit then let out a soft, “duh” before hitting the manual release. He pried open his gauntlet and eventually had to shake it free. It tumbled down as a shattered framework of advanced electronics and enchanted alloys. As it popped open it revealed a Property of U.S. Army sticker had almost been completely worn away. He mused out-loud, "These things weren’t meant to last three years, much less thirty." As he grabbed two cigars from his pouch and handed one to his friend.

 

Ayaka took the cigar and eyed it. She nodded once and snapped her fingers causing a bit of flame to leap out and ignite the end. Yoson leaned over with his cigar in his mouth, touching the end of his to hers. A few puffs later, both cigars were burning nicely.

 

As they sat there, smoking the last two stogies in this existence, Ayaka cleared her throat in a way that Yoson knew meant there was something on her mind, “What is on your mind, old friend?” Ayaka looked at her cigar, “Never had one of these before.” She took another long drag on the cigar and blew the smoke out at the Void Cyclone.

 

“This is terrible.”

 

---

 

Everything shifted.

 

It looked like he was staring at himself in a mirror, except he couldn't make out his face. Behind him there was a rolling miasma of pixilated reality and madness.

 

"Sorry for the raw footage. I didn't have time to edit it for the thoughtgram. We've lost Gamma. We're bugging out. The demons brought in a damn Chrono Bombard. It imploded when we hit it with a void cyclone. The whole plane is a loss. It's going full a-loop. Upside, they can't come in this way. Downside, that means you are full on cut off."

 

The voice seemed to pause to draw in a deep breath, "You have to hold Avalon. No matter the cost, no matter the price, you HAVE TO HOLD. I know we didn't give you any reserves. I'm sorry. I truly am. We didn't think you'd have to deal with anything but stragglers. If they breach Avalon, they will have full and complete domination of zero point and this battle will be lost. We'll have to abandon this entire stream and fall back"

 

There was a pause, "I'm afraid this 'gram ain't secure. I'm detecting that it's splitting. Someone's tapped into your resonance."

 

There was a pause, "I won't have another chance to talk for a while, so I'm afraid I have to disclose this. We have an unfurcator in reserve. If you can't hold the line, we'll send it in. We'll try to give you time to evacuate, but we can't let any forces through."

 

The voice's tone shifted and got a bit of an edge to it, "I know you are listening in. I want you to know this. We will BURN Avalon before we let you have it. Even if it means feeding the whole place to the deaders, we will."

 

Then the tone shifted, "That's it. Good luck, Daddy-o. Try and make it back in one piece."

 

---

 

"He's coming around."

 

Ryan felt like his head had just been filled with dynamite, exploded, and reformed. Several times a second. He tried to sit up, but Charity was pushing back on him, "Lie still. You've been having some sort of seizure." Ryan wasn't strong enough to resist and fell back. His head lying in Charity's lap. A quick glance around showed that they were in the middle of a hallway.

 

A crowd had gathered around. Ryan wasn't sure if they were concerned, or merely curious. He took a moments to compose himself as he looked up at Charity. She smiled down at him looking relieved, "Feeling better?" He nodded.

 

She furrowed her eyebrows, "What happened?" Ryan thought about it for a while before answering, "My guess?" He sat up.

 

"Wrong phone number."