“Mmh…”

  Pain hammered through Yan Qing’s skull, a dull, relentless throb that pulsed behind his eyes. It was as if someone had slammed his head against stone—each heartbeat a fresh wave of agony. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, breath shallow, as his hands fumbled blindly over the ground. His fingertips scraped across gritty, sun-baked soil—dry, powdery, and unfamiliar. The sensation made him freeze.

  He forced his eyes open, blinking against the sting of sweat. Above him, the sky was a black ocean, scattered with a river of stars—so many, so bright, they seemed to pulse and shimmer, more dazzling than any summer night he’d ever seen on Earth. The air was thin and cold, carrying a faint metallic tang that burned his nostrils.

  He pushed himself upright, muscles trembling, and scanned his surroundings. Gone were the steel walls and humming machinery of Chris’s ship. In their place stretched a barren desert, endless and alien. The ground was cracked and ochre, scattered with strange, spindly plants—skeletal things with waxy, blue-green leaves that glowed faintly in the starlight. The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant whisper of wind slipping through jagged cliffs that loomed on the horizon, their edges sharp as broken glass.

  Where… am I?

  He staggered to his feet, unsteady, and only then realized he was nearly naked—just a pair of torn jeans clinging to his hips, the rest of him exposed to the chill. The bandage on his thigh was soaked through, dark blood oozing sluggishly down his leg, sticky and warm against his skin. Each movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through the wound, but the ache had dulled into a numb, heavy throb.

  He hugged his arms over his bare chest, shivering with a mix of cold and embarrassment. “At least I’m not completely naked…” he muttered, voice hoarse. The words vanished into the emptiness, swallowed by the desert’s hush.

  He limped forward, each step sending loose gravel skittering beneath his feet. The ground sloped downward, and suddenly the stones gave way—a cascade of pebbles tumbling into a vast chasm below. At the canyon’s base, dense vegetation shimmered in the starlight, blue-green and ghostly, like something from a dream.

  Instinct took over. He studied the fractured stone, the way the layers radiated outward from a single point. An impact crater, he realized—ancient, the product of unimaginable violence. He caught himself, grimacing. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, Yan Qing,” he muttered, tapping his forehead. “Stop thinking like a scientist.”

  But the need to understand gnawed at him. Was this the past? Whose past? His head throbbed as he tried to untangle the logic, the ache behind his eyes intensifying until he forced the thoughts aside.

  He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the danger until it was almost too late.

  Beneath the star-strewn sky, five dark shapes crept across the sand—low to the ground, moving with predatory silence. They were the size of hunting dogs, but not dogs at all. Each had a conical head, four eyes glinting in different colors as they caught the starlight. Their jaws split backward, dividing into four sections, each lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth that gleamed wetly in the dark. Their claws scraped softly over the stone, sending shivers up his spine.

  A stone shifted—a faint, gritty sound. Yan Qing’s heart lurched. He spun toward the noise, every muscle tensing.

  He froze.

  “ROAR—!”

  The creatures burst from the shadows, howling, their voices raw and guttural. Instinct seized him. He turned to run, but his foot found only empty air. The ground vanished beneath him.

  “Ah—!”

  He tumbled down the slope, the world spinning in a blur of sky and stone. Sharp rocks tore at his skin, leaving burning trails of blood across his arms and back. The monsters leapt after him, claws digging into the scree, moving with terrifying, inhuman agility.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He hit something hard, the impact jarring his bones. Something blue flickered beneath the blood on his skin—patterns, like living tattoos, crawling up his side.

  If only I could fly, he thought, panic rising.

  He was going to die.

  The blue markings spread, racing up his right arm and across his face, cold and electric. The air warped around him, shimmering with invisible force.

  Suddenly, he stopped falling.

  He hung in midair, suspended above the rocks as if caught by unseen hands. His eyes flew open, wide with disbelief. A faint blue light shimmered in his pupils, casting ghostly reflections on his cheeks.

  He was floating.

  “The Ultimate Weapon…” he whispered, voice trembling. Was this what the Fenreigan meant?

  A roar shattered his thoughts. The creatures were still coming, eyes blazing, jaws gaping. Yan Qing flailed, desperate for something to hold onto, but there was nothing but empty space.

  “Put me down!” he shouted.

  Instantly, his feet slammed onto solid ground. The shock rattled his bones, but he managed to stay upright.

  Run.

  He limped toward the canyon floor, lungs burning, the taste of blood in his mouth. The forest ahead was a tangle of blue-green trees, their leaves glowing eerily in the starlight. Behind him, the monsters followed, claws clicking on stone.

  He stumbled, breath ragged, and his injured leg buckled. He crashed to the ground, pain flaring white-hot. One of the creatures landed on his back, its claws tearing into his flesh. He screamed, the sound raw and desperate.

  With a surge of adrenaline, he twisted, grabbing the beast’s throat and kicking it away. It tumbled through the undergrowth, yelping. The others circled, eyes gleaming, jaws snapping.

  Helplessness squeezed his chest. He was surrounded.

  They lunged.

  And then—

  Everything slowed. A single leaf drifted across his vision, spinning lazily through the air. The world moved like a fractured film reel, each frame stretched and distorted. The creatures hung suspended, mid-leap, their teeth inches from his skin.

  Yan Qing. Let your will draw out the power. Let the power become your weapon.

  The voice was gentle, familiar, echoing in the silence.

  What is your will? it asked.

  I don’t want to be eaten.

  Then what will you do?

  His fists clenched.

  Kill them.

  The blue markings flared to life, illuminating half of Yan Qing’s body with an intense, unnatural glow. His right eye ignited with a piercing, cold light, foreign and unyielding. The surrounding air vibrated, roaring with the force that had been set free.

  In an instant, time resumed its normal pace. The beasts were obliterated mid-leap, torn apart by an invisible force that ravaged everything in its path. Trees splintered, their trunks detonating, and the forest itself was reduced to chaos by a violent storm of unleashed power.

  “Stop!” he screamed, terror rising—not of the monsters, but of himself.

  The destruction raged until he screamed again—“STOP!”

  Silence fell. Ash drifted through the blackened clearing, settling on his trembling shoulders.

  This isn’t possible.

  I gave it to you in the cave.

  The voice returned, soft and sad.

  Why?

  I wanted to save you. Only the Ultimate Weapon can defy the laws of space and restore what is lost.

  “I didn’t ask for this.”

  I’m sorry, Yan Qing. I just wanted to save you. I didn’t know it would burden you.

  The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the distant sigh of wind.

  Why did you save me?

  “Tell me your name.”

  A pause.

  My name is Chen. Xing. Chen.

  His breath caught, his dark pupils contracted ever so slightly.

  Please don’t confuse me with the “Chen” you’re thinking of. I’m only the artificial intelligence of the quantum computer Chen’s predecessor embedded within your mind.

  “So, you’re not him,” Yan Qing whispered, voice raw.

  Correct. Put simply… I’m just a remnant he left behind.

  Yan Qing tipped his head back, the motion slow and heavy, and stared into the darkness above. The sky stretched overhead—vast, endless, and utterly indifferent—a black ocean scattered with a thousand cold, white stars. Their light was sharp and remote, pricking at his eyes, making him feel smaller than a grain of sand.

  “If you hadn’t met me as a child… would you still have died, Chen?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, lost to the night. The words seemed to vanish before they could reach the stars, swallowed by the chill wind that brushed over his bare skin, raising goosebumps along his arms.

  The wind answered only with silence, slipping past his ears and tugging at his tangled hair.

  Then, behind him, a soft click broke the hush—a sound sharp as a pebble striking glass. It echoed off the rocks, impossibly loud in the emptiness.

  Yan Qing’s heart stuttered. He spun around, the world tilting beneath his feet, eyes wide and searching the shadows for the source of that sound. The darkness behind him seemed to ripple, as if something had just slipped away, leaving only the whisper of movement and the pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

  A shadow slipped away into the darkness.

  Despite the pain in his leg, Yan Qing ran after it, hope and dread warring in his chest.

  There was no mistake.

  “Chen—!!”