“Fall back!” I shout.
I boost my skill to full capacity and take the brunt of the abominable power that destroys everything it touches.
Gisela radiates holy power, and Elizabeth infuses her body and the space with mana. In unison, they use purification abilities, but the power—something so gross I wouldn't dare call it a phantom—destroys it, disregarding it all.
It's disgusting. A power meant solely to destroy, like a Calamity. As a phantom, it should be able to communicate, but rather, it seems to be a natural disaster without a thought.
The worst part is that it's just a fragment of the owner.
My spirit unfolds. I spread and stretch it like never before, covering the chamber. The bed is already disintegrated, and the room itself is becoming nothing but a pile of ash. However, the people inside are somewhat safe thanks to my spirit's defenses.
Some idiots rush in, and I swear, they instantly disintegrate as if they never existed. The speed is something I am not close to perceiving. It was literally instantaneous.
The pressure causes me unbearable pain, but I try to maintain my consciousness. The urge to cover only myself and abandon everyone else is there, but I try to ignore it for now.
Maybe only me and Elizabeth?
I strengthen my body with Boost, increasing my skill output further. There is no leisure to use Mana Drain, and my meager capacity wouldn't fuel Quadra Elementum Potentia for long.
It's stupid.
I should always have at least a thousand times my normal magic power capacity in cases of emergency. It's doable, too. Not doing it up till now is really idiotic on my part.
More destruction spreads. I have created a ring where the damage is dampened, but the entire castle will get swallowed up in under minutes if this continues.
Even worse, I will die!
“Max, shock me awake if the situation gets too bad,” I say, and without waiting for a reply, I send my consciousness into a dive inside Iris's mind.
◇◇◇
Total darkness surrounds me.
I should be inside the mental landscape of the princess, but my consciousness is constantly attacked by the darkness.
If not for my phantom protecting me, I would have been torn to shreds—both my consciousness and body.
Actually, I am pretty upset right now. Not only have I never experienced anything remotely similar, but I am discovering new uses for my phantom that I haven't figured out yet.
Normally, it would be good, but this situational power isn't perfect, and I can die if I stay too long.
I must find the princess right now.
Sending my phantom to the surroundings is suicide; I can barely protect myself.
The fragmented ground reminds of broken glass. It reaches to the air, spreading visibly even in the darkness. Iris is on the verge of losing her mind.
“Focus,” I mutter, speeding my pace from jogging to sprinting.
In the world of the mind, I am as strong as I want. The only limit is my own imagination and visualization. My body moves at supersonic speed, and I call Iris with an especially loud voice that echoes far.
I refuse to believe she has been consumed.
This isn't just my wishful thinking.
From the moment I saw the princess for the first time, I knew she was an abnormal existence. Of course, time travel is already special, but doing so in consciousness only is theoretically impossible. The disharmony between body, mind, and soul should have killed her.
...Unless “they” are involved.
The only beings that could pull something like that are the gods, in particular the god of time, Kronos.
As if on cue, I arrive at the area where memories are stored. Although no sign indicates as such, I have explored my own mental landscape enough to recognize it. The pressure is almost too much now, so I jump into the first fragment of memory.
Maybe there are some clues here.
I output my Phantom and restore my vision. It's super painful, and my real-world vision is still missing, but I should be able to see inside the mind for now.
Much like Demonslaying Dreams, I can see the memories of Iris from up close. However, I can also walk around and see outside her field of view thanks to the subconscious correction of her mind.
Minds are such interesting things; no wonder Maxi is so cocky.
I am in a room I recognize as the audience chamber. The king and queen, as well as Julius and Elizabeth, are present. Iris looks at them with a bored expression as they converse solemnly. She doesn't look older than she is now, so it must be the same year in the other timeline.
Her eyes lack the intelligent spark, and she is just a boring brat I would have found utterly annoying.
(So boring.) Her thoughts echo in the air. (I will sneak out since Daddy is so busy even though he promised to play with me.)
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
What a mischievous girl.
More thoughts echo, annoyingly loud and stupid. I send a wisp of intent telling it to shut it, but Iris turns to look at me with puzzlement, and the memory fades.
So, if I use intent here, she will react. It won't affect the course of events, obviously, but her memory will take note of me and write me in. Those fake memories would feel totally real.
I gotta be careful.
Onto the next memory, Iris snuck out of the palace and is roaming the streets of the capital with enthusiasm.
There is a maid with her, and although the memory doesn't show, I am certain she had knights tail her. Yet she obliviously thought nobody knew.
(Why are the skies dark?)
Maybe this single thought was something she couldn't forget, but it was more lucid and vivid than other thoughts. Even the dark skies were depicted with remarkable accuracy, and the flames that descend are clear enough for me to recognize the origin.
Demons swooped down with crazy laughter, only second to the wicked craziness that is seen on Darky.
Why would he even bother with extra forces? That black flame alone must have annihilated everyone. Considering the intensity and scale, even the kingdom's two Titans, Elizabeth and Julius, must have died.
I wonder how Iris survived. Was it her skill, suddenly awakening to its owner's distress?
I curiously look at her, and my mouth opens agape.
A translucent metallic sphere protects her; the restrictive power of metal partially suppresses these vicious flames that even destructive intent is struggling.
The man that shields her wears no emotion on his hooded face. Burn scars adorn his face to the point it can be called hideous, with battle scars on top of it. The left eye is closed over a vicious scar, and the right is red from blood flowing to the iris and pupil in an ugly pattern; clearly, he is blind and crippled.
His left arm is gone. It was eaten by a wolf when he was young and left another scar that no healer could cure.
Across his body must be countless scars from countless battles, each having never been healed properly and slowly eating on his mental stability from constant pain.
His hair is black. His eye used to be black.
He is me.
◇◇◇
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck!
FUCKING HELL!
Just the sight of him pisses me off so fucking much I wanna kill something!
Why do you look like that? Why weren't you healed?
No, I know why.
We went through different lives, I am sure. There wasn't the opportunity to heal himself the way I did. I get it; I really do.
But! Just how much of a fucking idiot he was to go around like that without using the backup plans we both have! At least one could have alleviated the pain.
Damn it, I understand why so well that it makes me want to just kill indiscriminately. I am sure that if someone looked into my eyes, they would see them red and flaring.
While I was suppressing my boiling rage, the memory changes. That version of me made a mistake and left without killing Darky.
I understand that Darky is powerful, but pushing someone like him back will only come to bite you.
Don't you know this, me? Enemies must be killed without delay; otherwise, their constant presence would become a source of unimaginable anxiety that eats away at our mind.
How stupid.
“What's your name?” Iris asks, moving closer to the fire to become a little warmer on a cold night. I can tell that she cried and that she tries to push her sadness away.
They are in a forest full of monsters, but they sit on metal chairs with leaf padding. How that Ark did it is something I'm still unsure of.
He doesn't answer, his eye wavering and unstable.
Slowly rising to his feet, a sword is conjured out of thin air. Phantom fuels the metal sword spirit in a precise manner I never reached, and the moment demons appear from the darkness, they are rent in half.
“Let's go,” Ark says, his voice coarse and pained, unrecognizable.
It doesn't sound like myself, but for some reason, I think I'd never fail to recognize it.
We led different lives, experienced different things, and made different choices.
But at the core, we never change.
Life of suffering, disdain for everything, and pure indifference for the child he protects.
We are the same.
◇◇◇
“Mister, will I see you again?” Iris stands near imperial knights from Valencia.
She waves Ark goodbye, but he doesn't even spare her a glance.
Iris seems older, her cheeks sharper, and embers of intelligence finally begin to form. They must have traveled for some time. Her inner voice is rife with the sadness of parting, but she doesn't try to follow Ark.
An ambition to restore her destroyed kingdom prevents her from following, even though Ark wouldn't reject.
I know he saved her just for his personal gain. He must have seen something I couldn't see. It's hard for me to believe I'd bother saving her alone; it just goes against my nature.
The next few memories are something I saw before: a mountain of books and papers. Iris buries herself in them to expand her knowledge and assist in the war. She gets recognized and soon enough participates in war meetings, a little girl speaking confidently in front of distinguished big men.
I must have given her tips considering how impressive her mental capacity is.
Only I could have taught her the mindset of the victorious, after all.
It's something me and the other timeline Ark share in common, and I know that for certain because of one reason.
We are both alive.
◇◇◇
[He is dead.]
I quietly watch Iris expressing disbelief and pain.
Well, she was just told I died—the me in that timeline, to be exact—which is the most illogical statement I've ever heard.
The source isn't exactly reliable either.
He dons himself in black. Compared to the princess, who wears summer garments, the man wears a mantle, gloves, and even a mask.
Oh yeah, and the black smoke of destructive intent surrounds him and is probably consuming his mind.
“That can't be.”
[I do not care what you believe in.] The man's robotic voice is deep and threatening. It is smooth, as if he only alters his voice, but the audible sound of breathing that is ceaseless even as he speaks is disturbing, indicating there is something else. [Begone.]
Iris clenches her teeth. “Wait, we haven't finished discussing the members of the expedition.”
[There is nothing to say. Leave.]
“Don't you care about the fate of the world?”
Anger is rife in her voice. She is about as old as I am, maybe older, and she doesn't let the guy's intimidating aura scare her off.
But she picked a fight with the wrong guy. Iris, maybe you don't know, but you can never win an argument with someone who doesn't care.
The black smoke intensifies; destructive intent consumes him. The next words the man says are deeper and more intense: [This world is worthless!]
With these words, his black darkens further, cracking the memory, and I fall into a gray space, where the adult Iris crouches down, crying.
Her sanity, represented in this gray space with black encroaching in, is at its limits.
A girl who withstood the end of the world, the death of her loved ones, and the despair and helplessness of the weak. She shouldered a burden that even I can't take, and for that, I will forever hold this strong girl in high regard.
Iris Arcadia, I will remember this name and the world you lost.
“This world is not worthless,” I declare, my phantom rousing to expel the darkness.
Were this a fairy tale, my phantom would've been strong enough to succeed, but I can't. Even if I were to consume myself, my skill can't match.
“So long as there is worth in this world, I will protect it, no matter what.”
But for that, Iris Arcadia, remnant of a perished world, I will not be able to help you.
I abandon Iris.
My consciousness aligns with my body, where the black disaster keeps spreading.
(Ark! The bird... the bird you call Jeff...!) Maximillian calls to me in a panic.
That idiot. Had he known me in the least, he would've realized that he made a mistake letting me know.
I see Jeff on the ground. I feel particles of silver protecting me from the black disaster.
He isn't dead.
He ISN'T dead!
But I still lose it to anger and let it explode. My vision is dyed white. A roar thunders in my ears—maybe my own—and I am possessed with a single thought: revenge.
Even if it means destroying myself.
Even if everyone will think I'm a murderer or a psychopath.
This bastard is dead.