Ethan opened his eyes.

His nose twitched, immediately assaulted by the stench of rot. The air was thick, choking him with the odor of decay and mold. The sight of decaying walls and a crumbling ceiling filled his eyes. Distant whispers echoed through the cracked walls—muffled coughs, the rustling of feet, and the eerie hum of despair from the other survivors, a constant reminder of the world outside.

"I died..." he muttered, sitting up slowly. His head spun, and the confusion gnawed at him like a hungry beast. "But... why is there no pain?"

The last memory he could grasp was the Last Boss’s three monstrous heads turning toward him. The image seared itself into his mind; every grotesque detail burned into his consciousness. But everything after that—blackness, cold and unforgiving. "An instant death attack?" he wondered aloud, his voice hollow. "But why use it on me? Why not the heroes? What triggers it?"

His mind spun with questions, buzzing like angry hornets trapped in a jar. Now that he had decided to kill the monster, every detail mattered. He tried replaying the moments leading to his death, but the more he thought about it, the more impossible his plan seemed. How could he defeat something the combined might of five powerful heroes couldn’t even harm? The monster had crushed them without breaking a sweat, and he was just one man.

A nobody.

"No... I have to do it," he whispered, clenching his fists.

The embers of his determination flared up again. He couldn’t afford to waver. After all, the only other option was eternal repetition of suffering—dying, reviving, and dying again until the weight of it all crushed him into dust.

"Do what?"

The soft, teasing voice jolted him from his thoughts.

He looked up to find Mary’s curious, innocent smile staring down at him. Her hair swayed gently as she leaned closer, her golden locks catching the dim light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. She tilted her head, the soft rustle of her worn clothes filling the silence between them. "Is something on my face?" she asked, her cheeks flushing slightly under his intense gaze.

Ethan quickly averted his eyes, his heart skipping a beat as a knot tightened in his chest. The desire to slay the Last Boss wasn’t just for himself—it was for her. The memory of her final moments—her face filled with peace—was what lit the fire of revenge in his heart. But here she was, standing in front of him, full of life and warmth.

'So... What’s the point, then?'

His resolve wavered for a moment. Why fight if she’s alive? Couldn’t he just spend these final hours with her, savoring every fleeting moment until their inevitable end?

'No... that’s twisted.'

Even if he spent every second by her side, it was meaningless if only he remembered. It would be nothing but a hollow, one-sided illusion—a fake. It would be a mockery of their shared lives.

Mary continued to watch him, clearly perplexed by his cryptic murmurs. The silence between them stretched, but her soft, steady presence remained constant, like an anchor. Sighing, he forced a thin smile and asked the question that had been haunting him. "Mary... If you saw me about to die, what would you do?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

It was a question driven by impulse, a need to understand why she’d sacrificed herself for him in the first place. Why did she push him out of harm’s way when she knew she’d die instead? Did she not care about her own life? Or was it something else?

She blinked, her eyes widening in surprise, before laughing softly. Her laughter was like a balm to his frayed nerves. She brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, her expression softening. "Is that what’s been eating at you?" She leaned in, her voice a playful whisper. "Of course, I’d pray for your soul. What else would I do?"

"... Heh."

Ethan chuckled despite himself. He had imagined countless reasons for her sacrifice—bravery, love, guilt—but her lighthearted response was almost too fitting. 'Maybe it was just an impulse for her, too,' he thought, shaking his head. But no matter how much he tried to brush it off, her final smile—so full of peace and acceptance—remained a mystery he couldn’t untangle.

He stood up, the cold dirt beneath him sticking to his worn clothes. "What are you up to today?" he asked, his tone lighter than before. "I’ll help you."

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? Ethan, volunteering? Will the world end tomorrow or something?"

"It might," he said with a chuckle, not losing sight of the irony. "Hahaha, it just might."

Her laughter followed his, her soft giggle providing a refreshing break from the suffocating dread that usually plagued his mind.

They worked side by side for the rest of the day—cleaning the crumbling rooms, cooking meager meals, and even praying for the other survivors. It was a simple but meaningful time, one that Ethan couldn’t remember ever having cherished before. Despite knowing Mary for over eight years, he realized how little attention he’d paid to anyone other than himself.

'I could have lived better,' he thought as the day wound down, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows over the dilapidated camp.

When night finally settled, Mary and the others retreated to sleep. Only Ethan remained awake, sitting alone in the cold darkness. His mind churned as he replayed the events of the day, memorizing every detail of the Last Boss and the heroes' strategies.

"... I need more data."

The hours dragged on as he watched the scarce glowing stars fade, replaced by the soft glow of the approaching dawn. His heart raced when the familiar rumble shook the earth and vibrated through his bones.

The Last Boss had arrived.

Ethan stood still, his hands trembling as the monstrous silhouette appeared on the horizon. It moved like a dark god of destruction, its enormous body dwarfing everything around it. Fear gnawed at his insides, threatening to paralyze him, but he forced himself to remain calm. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as his eyes fixed on the battlefield where the heroes rushed to meet their fate.

He observed everything—from the movement of the monster's grotesque limbs, to the ripple of its twelve pairs of red eyes scanning the battlefield with malicious intent. Blood dripped from his nose, unnoticed, as his concentration deepened. Each movement of the Last Boss seemed to slow down in his mind, every twitch of muscle, every swipe of its colossal claws engraved into his memory.

"Ethan!" Mary’s voice broke through his trance, her hands gripping his arm. "What’s happening? Are you hurt?" Panic laced her voice, but her words barely reached him.

His focus was elsewhere. The heroes’ desperate, doomed attempts to fight the unyielding beast played out like a grotesque dance before him. Forty-three seconds. That’s all it took for them to fall—again.

To the Sword Hero, Arthur, and the rest of the squad, the Last Boss crushed them like bugs. And the mage—devoured in one swift bite, her screams lost to the chaos.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, the Last Boss turned toward him. Its twelve pairs of eyes glowed with malevolent intelligence, locking onto him with deadly intent.

"...!"

Without thinking, Ethan pulled Mary close, shielding her in his embrace. His heart hammered in his chest, but his eyes never left the monster, watching its every move and committing each detail to memory.

He wasn’t a genius. He couldn’t figure everything out at once, nor could he remember every detail. But he didn’t need to.

'I have time...' he thought, his grip tightening around Mary. 'And as long as there's time left, I can pave a path to victory.'

The last thing he saw was the beast’s massive foot descending on them, its dark shadow swallowing them whole.

And then—darkness.