"I break the chain by calling your name, MARKUS BROME." I didn't wait for him to collect himself; my body was collapsing too fast for such luxuries. Instead, I knocked him out before he could see anything damning, and left a bright red bottle with a note tied to it beside his sleeping form. He'd wake before anything dangerous discovered that the area was no longer as dangerous as it had been, so I held no concern for him. Nor could I, even if that wasn't the case; I simply lacked the time to care. I had to get to the next one before my body crumbled too much for me to move.

  I am always running out of time.

  I'd felt one of the two souls pass on soon after leaving them, but I hadn't turned around to console the remaining one; it would have done nothing but agitate their emotions. I quickly rushed to meet another of my cursed family, releasing them and dying in the process. When I woke, I found the other had passed on as well, beyond my hands, without my knowledge, long before we'd spent enough time together. Never enough time.

  But I made a deal; I'd free the others as fast as I could, then I'd return to them. So with reckless abandon, I sought out another, releasing them, and again, my body gave in to the pressure of time, perishing. Again, I returned to the void of my sleep, the void of my broken mind. Every time I freed one of them, I took on their curse, took in their madness, and each time the dream in between grew more real, it grew longer, and it took on forms I'd never wish on the world. It grew harder to discern when the dream ended and reality began. Still, I persisted, freeing them from whatever hell they dreamed up to evade facing reality. Every time, I faced that hell myself and gave them the time they needed to heal. I'd always provide them with that time, even if I didn't have enough of it to offer, and I'd always pay the price in other ways.

  I experienced everything, a million snakes, biting chunks off my flesh, ants crawling through my veins, worms swimming in my guts, acid dripping across my eyes, stones thrown at me by invisible hands, my bones growing at impossible speeds, fire cooking me alive, my flesh being torn from my body strip by strip, nails driven into my spine, and more. All of it, so they would heal, so they would stop that incessant screaming, that annoying drone of anguish that they inflicted on themselves. I freed them, returned to my dreams, then freed even more, but I could feel the world changing with every one. In the glimpses of the world between my dreams, I saw the wilds shrink, wars grow larger, men grow greedier, and monsters grow more common; I was running out of time. Never ENOUGH FUCKING TIME.

  All because these forsaken ingrates couldn't accept the truth about themselves, couldn't just stop screaming long enough for me to save everyone. If they'd all just shut up, I'd stop the end, I'd stop them from coming into being, I'd stop it all, BUT THEY WON'T SHUT UP. Day and night, they scream and cry and bleat like animals. And because of them, I can't fix what I've broken, and I can't save anything because they take up my time—running out of time, running out of patience, running out of resources, running out of everything. Never enough time.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I stepped forward despite how blatant the effects of the madness had gotten. I had to hurry, I wouldn't survive a fight against another one, but if I caught it by surprise, I could free two before my body gave out. I had to hurry, not only now but always because if I didn't, the world would pay for my mistake. They couldn't see it, but it was coming. The taint was infecting the world, the consequences of my war bleeding into generations long after. Each time I woke, I saw the signs, children born stronger but already closer to the brink than their parents. Cities spread faster, but more of them developed a hunger for more they couldn't explain. Monsters grew weaker, but they appeared everywhere, constantly popping into existence in places they'd never occurred before. I was running out of time.

  My feet landed behind my target; their form crouched over the bloodied mess of something, leaving them unaware of me. I didn't wait, and I didn't give them any sign I was here. I could feel my legs crumbling beneath me. If I didn't act fast, I'd fall before I did anything. As quickly as I could, I slammed one of my feet into the back of my target's knee. A sickening pop resounded from the impact as their knee exploded beneath the force, but so too did my foot, crumbling into black ash in the wind. I ignored the wound, quickly latching my hand onto my target's head, desperate to start before they could put together what happened to them.

  I grabbed with desperate hands, grasping at time, frantic to hold the moment where this damned creature was sitting still. I felt the world resist, it knew I had no collateral left, but I grabbed nonetheless. My bones screeched, my body disintegrating faster despite my hold on the flow of time. But I kept a hold, my mind crumbling the same as my body to pay the price.

  I rushed the words, barely rhyming, let alone aligning them to my target. "You, a monster in form only, your mind is broken, so you cannot feel sorry." The words flowed, but they barely stuck, barely acted like glue. "You killed before, and you'll kill again, but I am here to free you from that sin." I watched them heal, slow, steady, their ego reforming with each moment that didn't pass. But I felt they wouldn't make it, so I kept saying inane trivialities to force the process. "You broke under pressure, but none could blame you, of this I am sure." He imagined his hell as sand, blasted across his skin by brisk winds. I felt my skin flay from my body as I took the brunt of his curse, forcing it away from him. I felt my bones rub smooth and my blood dry into dust in the crystalline grains. Then the winds changed, and the wind rebuilt my body, but the nerves never aligned correctly. Instead, they burned with the pain of faulty connections. But this was the last part; if I survived a cycle of his self-inflicted hell, He'd have finished healing, and I could end this.

  "I come to leave you unrestrained; make sure you feel named; even if it drives me insane, I will call your name." The wind turned again; ice joined the same, driving sharp chunks through me before they melted, leaving me full of holes. Then the cycle reset, and I was back at the start. He hadn't been very inventive, and for that, I thanked him. "GARITH MARKS." I bellowed out his name and almost instantly felt my body die. I hoped he'd find the note and the potion, though I was unsure he would. I didn't have the time to care. Never enough time.