Chapter : 1737

  The Commander stood at the base of the ramp. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and imposing. He reached up and pressed a release seal on his helmet. With a hiss of pressurized air, he removed it, tucking it under his arm.

  He was a man in his late forties. His face was hard, carved from granite and scarred by years of battle. His hair was cut short in a severe military style. But his most striking feature was his left eye.

  His right eye was brown and human. His left eye was entirely machine.

  It was a glowing red lens that whirred and clicked as it focused. It didn't blink. It cycled through different vision modes—thermal, night vision, telescopic, and mana-detection. It gave him the look of a predator that never slept.

  He scanned the horizon, the red eye spinning.

  "So this is Riverio," he muttered, spitting on the white ground. "Looks like a wasteland."

  "Don't let the geography fool you, Commander," a subordinate said, keeping his helmet on. He was holding a heavy plasma cannon as if it weighed nothing. "According to the scan, there are millions of people on this continent. Cities. Castles. Empires."

  "Focus," the Commander snapped. "We aren't here for sightseeing. We aren't here to trade with the locals. We are here for containment."

  He tapped a metal vambrace on his left arm. A small projector hummed to life, creating a 3D holographic map in the air above the salt. The map showed the entire continent—the mountains of the North, the deserts of the South, and the forests of the East.

  Three red dots pulsed on the map.

  "The situation has deteriorated," the Commander stated. His voice was cold, devoid of any emotion. "The local assets we planted have failed. Altamira was supposed to be our puppet state, but our intelligence network there has gone dark. The Queen... Seraphina... she has gone rogue."

  He swiped his finger across the hologram, zooming in on the southern part of the map.

  "Alpha Team," he ordered. "You take the South. Find out what happened to our spies. Secure any remaining technology. If the new Queen is a problem, neutralize her. We cannot have a unified South interfering with the mission."

  Two soldiers nodded. They turned and moved toward the ship’s cargo bay. A moment later, they rode out on two sleek hover-bikes. The bikes didn't have wheels; they floated on magnetic cushions and moved silently.

  The Commander swiped the map again, moving to the East, to a city labeled 'Ashworth.'

  "Beta Team," he said. "You take the East. There is a target there. Codename: Ben. Intelligence indicates he has consolidated power in the region. He has accessed the local magic system and become a Warlord. He is dangerous."

  "Rules of engagement, sir?" one of the Beta soldiers asked.

  "Assess his threat level," the Commander said. "Do not engage unless you have a kill shot. He has King-Level magical support. We need to know if our energy shields can withstand that kind of kinetic impact before we start a fight. Watch him. Learn his routine. Find his weakness."

  Two more soldiers moved to prep their gear, activating the flight thrusters on their backs.

  "Gamma Team," the Commander said, looking at the female soldier and the heavy weapons specialist who remained with him. "You’re with me. We are going North. To the Kingdom of Bethelham."

  He zoomed the map in on the northern capital. A bright red dot pulsed there.

  "To KM Evan?" the female soldier asked.

  "To Lloyd Ferrum," the Commander corrected her. "That is his handle now. He’s playing Lord. He thinks he’s safe because he has built a few walls and hired some swordsmen."

  The Commander reached to his hip and pulled a sidearm from his holster. It was a heavy pistol, a magnetic-accelerator designed to punch through tank armor. He checked the charge pack, the weapon emitting a high-pitched whine.

  "He doesn't know we're here," the Commander said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "He thinks the war is about magic. He thinks it's about demons and politics and dragons. He has forgotten what real war looks like."

  "He was a soldier once, sir," the heavy weapons specialist noted. "KM Evan. On Earth. He was Special Forces."

  "He was," the Commander agreed. "But that was a long time ago. He has gone native. He has gotten soft. He has forgotten about satellite surveillance. He has forgotten about drone strikes. He has forgotten about sniper fire from three kilometers away."

  He holstered the weapon with a sharp click. "We are going to remind him."

  Chapter : 1738

  "Sir," the heavy weapons specialist asked, looking at the distant mountains. "What about the locals? The magic users? The 'Spirits' they talk about?"

  The Commander laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.

  "Hostile fauna," he said dismissively. "Treat them like dangerous animals. If a wolf attacks you, you shoot it. If a wizard attacks you, you shoot him. Their fireballs and lightning bolts are just plasma discharges. Physics still applies in this world. If it bleeds, we can kill it."

  He looked up at the sky. The tear in reality was already sealing itself, vanishing as if it had never been there. The ship was their only way home, and it wouldn't have enough power to open a portal again until the mission was complete.

  "We have forty-eight hours to establish a Forward Operating Base," the Commander ordered. "Deploy the micro-drones. I want a complete surveillance net over the continent by sunset. I want to know when Lloyd Ferrum goes to the bathroom. I want to know what he eats. I want to know who he loves."

  He turned to the female soldier. "Launch the swarm."

  "Yes, sir." She typed a command into her wrist computer.

  From the top of the black ship, a hatch opened. A swarm of tiny, black objects shot into the sky. They looked like bugs, no bigger than a fingernail. There were thousands of them. They buzzed upward, disappearing into the clouds. These were micro-drones, equipped with cameras and microphones. They would spread out across the world, becoming the eyes and ears of the squad. Nothing would happen on this continent without the Commander knowing about it.

  "Why the focus on his personal life, sir?" the female soldier asked as she monitored the drone feed. "Why not just drop a kinetic rod on his castle and end it?"

  "Because KM Evan possesses the Omega Protocol," the Commander said, his cybernetic eye spinning red. "He knows the codes. If we kill him before we extract the information, the mission is a failure. We need to break him first."

  He looked at the map, at the location of the Ferrum estate.

  "On Earth, KM Evan was a sentimental fool," the Commander said. "He lost his squad because he hesitated. He tried to save everyone. He hasn't changed. Our psychological profile suggests he has formed attachments here. A family. A wife."

  The Commander’s smile widened. "That is his weakness. We find his leverage, and we squeeze. We make him watch his new world burn until he gives us what we want."

  "Move out!"

  The squad sprang into action.

  The hover-bikes whined to life, kicking up plumes of white salt as they sped off toward the south. The Beta Team activated their flight suits, thrusters flaring with blue ion fire on their backs, and launched themselves into the air toward the east.

  As the Commander prepared to launch, he lingered for a moment. He looked at the vast, empty desert. He felt the mana in the air, a tingling sensation on his skin. He hated it. It felt chaotic. It felt unclean. He couldn't wait to pave over this world with order and steel.

  "Enjoy your crowns, Major General," he whispered to the wind, addressing the man who was hundreds of miles away. "Enjoy your magic tricks. Because the future just arrived. And it’s coming for you."

  He activated his own thrusters. With a roar of power, he shot into the sky, a streak of unnatural light against the medieval backdrop.

  Far away, in the fortress of Ironhold, the celebration was in full swing. The wine was flowing. The Kings and Queens were laughing. The soldiers were toasting to a new era of peace.

  But on the balcony, Lloyd Ferrum stood frozen.

  He held the recording crystal in his hand. He had heard the static. He had heard the whine of the engines. He felt a sudden, inexplicable shiver go through his body. It wasn't the cold wind of the mountains. It was a phantom pain, an ache in his chest from a life he thought he had left behind.

  He looked out the window, toward the south, toward the desert he couldn't see.

  He didn't know about the black ship. He didn't know about the Commander with the red eye. He didn't know about the drones that were currently drifting high above the cloud layer, photographing the layout of his fortress.

  But his instincts—the instincts of a veteran soldier—were screaming at him.

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  We are not alone, his mind whispered.

  The political war was over. The treaties were signed. The alliances were forged. The swords were sheathed.

  But as the seven streaks of light dispersed across the continent, a new war began. It would be a war not of spells and swords, but of circuits and silence. A war of snipers and satellites.

  The inter-dimensional war had begun. The Firefly had landed. And it had come to burn the world down.

  Chapter : 1739

  The sensation was like floating in a giant, cosmic lava lamp that had been shaken way too hard. Lloyd felt weightless, drifting through a space that defied all the laws of physics he knew—and he knew quite a few, considering his background in engineering and blowing things up. But this wasn’t a place of gears, circuits, or even mana. It was the messy, chaotic soup of his own subconscious.

  Colors swirled around him—violent reds clashing with melancholic blues, creating a kaleidoscope that would have given a sober man a headache and a drunk man a spiritual awakening. It was quiet here. Too quiet. The kind of silence that usually preceded a very loud explosion or a very awkward conversation. Lloyd tried to "swim" through the void, kicking his legs against nothingness, but he didn't move. He was just a passenger in his own head.

  "Great," Lloyd muttered, his voice echoing weirdly, sounding like it was coming from inside a tin can. "Trapped in the psychedelic waiting room of my own brain. If I’m going to be stuck here, could I at least get a chair? Or maybe a magazine? ‘Weekly Void’ perhaps?"

  He looked around, trying to find an exit or at least a distraction. That’s when he saw him.

  Standing in the distance—though "distance" was a relative term in a place where space folded like a cheap napkin—was a figure. He had been there for what felt like months, a silent statue in the chaos. It was a man. A man who looked exactly like Lloyd, but... less impressive. He looked tired. His shoulders slumped, his eyes were dull, and he had the general vibe of someone who had just dropped his ice cream cone in the sand.

  It was the Original Lloyd. The version of himself from the first timeline. The "failure." The guy whose bad decisions had basically paved the highway to hell for everyone involved.

  Usually, the Reflection just stood there, staring blankly into the abyss. Lloyd had tried shouting at him, throwing mental rocks at him, and even making rude gestures, but the guy never reacted. He was like a glitchy NPC in a video game that had lost its scripting.

  But today was different.

  The colors around them shifted, darkening from vibrant hues to somber greys and deep purples. The Reflection moved. He took a step forward, then another. The movement was jerky at first, like a rusty machine waking up after a century of neglect, but then it smoothed out. He walked toward Lloyd with a purpose that sent a chill down Lloyd’s spine.

  "Oh, look who decided to wake up," Lloyd said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you finally run out of brooding time? Or did you just realize how boring you are?"

  The Reflection didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stopped a few feet away, his eyes locking onto Lloyd’s. Those eyes were the worst part. They were filled with a weary, ancient wisdom that didn't belong on a face that young. It was the look of a man who had seen the end of the world and lived—or rather, died—to regret it.

  "You are loud," the Reflection said. His voice was soft, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "Even in here, you are loud."

  "And you’re quiet," Lloyd retorted. "It balances out. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve been haunting the back of my mind like a bad smell, or can I wake up and go back to my actual life?"

  "You think you know the truth," the Reflection said, ignoring the jab. "You think your hatred is a shield. You think your anger is a weapon. But you are fighting a war based on a map drawn by your enemy."

  Lloyd rolled his eyes. "Cryptic metaphors. My favorite. Look, buddy, I know the truth. I lived it—well, you lived it, and I inherited the hangover. Rosa Siddik is a traitor. She betrayed the family. She’s cold, calculating, and she let us all die. I’ve got the 4K ultra-high-definition memories to prove it."

  "No," the Reflection said. The word was simple, but it hit Lloyd like a physical blow. "You have memories. But memories are like paintings. They can be forged."

  Lloyd frowned, his defensive sarcasm slipping for a moment. "What are you talking about?"

  "Rosa Siddik," the Reflection said, saying the name with a tenderness that made Lloyd uncomfortable. "She was never the monster you believed her to be. In the first life... she never betrayed us."

  Chapter : 1740

  Lloyd let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "Okay, now I know you’re hallucinating. I remember it. I remember the cold. I remember her standing there while the estate burned. I remember her eyes. They were empty. She didn't lift a finger to help us."

  "You remember what you were shown," the Reflection corrected him gently. "But you did not see what happened in the dark. You did not see the final hours."

  The void around them began to ripple. Images flickered in the air like ghostly projections. Lloyd saw a scene of devastation—a burning battlefield, the sky choked with smoke. And in the center of it was a woman.

  It was Rosa. But not the cold, composed statue Lloyd was used to. Her hair was wild, whipping around her face in a freezing wind. Her dress was torn, stained with blood and soot. She was surrounded by a horde of nightmares—cultists, beasts, shadows. And she was fighting.

  She was fighting with a ferocity that terrified him. Massive spikes of ice erupted from the ground, skewering enemies. She moved like a blizzard, a force of nature unleashed. Her face was twisted in a scream of pure, desperate rage.

  "In the final hours of the first world," the Reflection whispered, narrating the scene, "when the walls fell and the fires consumed everything... she was the only one left standing. She stood against Bael, the Devil King of Pride. She fought him alone."

  Lloyd stared at the image, his heart pounding against his ribs. This didn't make sense. This didn't fit the narrative. "Why... why would she do that? She hated us. She hated me."

  "She never hated you," the Reflection said sadly. "She was cold because the world was burning, and she was trying to keep the fire out. Her coldness wasn't malice, Lloyd. It was a shield. A defensive wall she built to protect herself from a world that had already begun to rot from the influence of the Abyss."

  The image shifted. He saw Rosa facing a towering figure of shadow and flame—Bael. She was exhausted, bleeding, her mana drained. But she didn't run. She stood her ground, shielding something behind her—the ruins of the Ferrum banner.

  "She fought until her spirit core shattered," the Reflection continued. "She fought until her blood turned to ice in her veins. She died trying to save a memory of a family that had already been destroyed. And you... you died hating her for it."

  Lloyd felt a sharp pain in his chest, like a rib had just snapped. He stumbled back, shaking his head. "No. No, that’s not right. I saw her. I saw her walk away."

  "You saw an illusion," the Reflection said, his voice hard now. "A psychic scar planted in your mind by a much darker entity. A creature that feeds on discord. You have been hating a ghost, Lloyd. You have been directing your vengeance at the only person who actually tried to save you."

  The revelation hung in the strange, shifting air of the void like a heavy fog. Lloyd felt dizzy. His entire motivation, the fuel for his cold demeanor towards Rosa in this second life, was built on the foundation of her betrayal. If that foundation was a lie... then what the hell had he been doing?

  "An illusion?" Lloyd repeated, his voice sounding small. "You're telling me someone hacked my brain? In the middle of a massacre?"

  "The enemy we face is not just strong," the Reflection said. "They are insidious. They do not just break bodies; they break truths. They knew that if you and Rosa united, even in that broken first timeline, you would be a threat. So they made sure you would never trust her."

  Lloyd looked down at his hands. In the real world, he knew he could summon chains of steel from his blood. Here, in the dreamscape, that power reacted to his emotional turmoil. Ghostly, translucent chains began to manifest around him, rattling and clanking against each other like restless snakes. They coiled around his arms, tightening as his distress grew.

  "So," Lloyd said, watching the chains vibrate. "I’ve been a jerk. A massive, colossal, history-book-level jerk. I treated her like an enemy. I insulted her. I divorced her in my head about a thousand times. And she was... she was on my side?"