Chapter 44: A Grace Period

’A grace period.’

Ophilia’s thought arrived without warmth, stripped of all inflection, like a system message carved straight into his mind. ’Time allotted for the system to integrate with your world fully. As well as giving enough time for the culling of the weakest. Once the timer reaches zero—’

Her thoughts were shattered.

“AAAARRRGGHHH!”

The scream detonated inside Jagger’s skull.

He recoiled as if struck by a physical blow, hands flying to his temples as his body folded inward. A blinding, searing agony ripped through his head, far sharper than pain, more invasive than any wound he had suffered so far. It felt like a white-hot spike had been driven straight through his brain, splitting thought from thought, memory from memory. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat as his vision exploded into light and static.

He slid sideways on the couch, shoulders curling as his muscles locked in reflexive defense. For a terrifying second, he thought he was dying again.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the pain vanished.

It left behind a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed behind his eyes and a silence so sudden it felt wrong. Jagger sucked in air, chest heaving, heart hammering violently against his ribs as sweat broke out across his skin. His fingers trembled as he lowered his hands, blinking hard to clear the dark spots that drifted through his vision.

“What the fuck was that?” he rasped.

He looked around the dim apartment as if expecting something to be standing over him, watching. Nothing had changed. The couch. The low light. The quiet hum of a city tearing itself apart somewhere beyond reinforced concrete and glass.

Ophilia’s presence returned slowly, faint and strained.

’I have no Idea, toy.’ Her thought came, weaker now, laced with something he had never felt from her before. Exhaustion. Restraint. ’Whatever it was… I can’t seem to remember what I was going to say.’

Jagger swallowed, his throat dry. “What?” he whispered.

’We will speak of this later,’ she continued, cutting off the question before it could fully form. ’For now, I need rest.’

Her presence receded, not violently, not angrily, but deliberately like a tide pulling back from shore. The pressure behind his eyes eased, and the faint awareness of her watching slipped into the background of his consciousness, until it was nothing more than an echo.

“Hey… Ophilia,” he murmured.

There was no reply.

The silence that followed felt heavier than any threat she had ever made. For the first time since the supermarket pharmacy, since the system, since the void and the cage and the chains of light, he was alone inside his own head.

Truly alone.

His gaze drifted upward to the corner of his vision, where the countdown timer burned in stark crimson.

Each number ticked down with merciless precision.

Jagger leaned back against the sofa, the tension draining from his body all at once. The exhaustion he had been holding at bay surged forward, crushing and absolute. The fight. The regeneration. The confrontation with Xander. The lies he had told Jane. The truth he could not tell her. The cosmic weight pressing in from above and within.

It was too much.

He closed his eyes, intending to rest for only a moment.

Sleep took him instantly.

–

He stood in a field of tall, golden grass.

Sunlight washed over him, warm and gentle, carrying the scent of earth and summer. The sky above was wide and impossibly blue, untouched by smoke or ash. Laughter drifted through the air, light and bright, and something in his chest loosened at the sound.

Children ran through the grass around him, their small forms darting in and out of view as the stalks bent and whispered in the breeze. Their laughter rang out again, pure and unburdened, and a smile spread across his face before he could stop it.

“Saint! Come and play!”

A small boy stood a short distance away, waving eagerly. His eyes were bright with curiosity, his grin wide and unguarded. There was something achingly familiar about him, a tug at the edges of memory that refused to take shape.

Jagger took a step forward.

The world shifted.

The warmth vanished.

He stood on cobblestone streets now, the stones slick and dark beneath his feet. The buildings around him were old, their shapes wrong compared to the modern world he knew. A medieval village stretched out in every direction, and it was burning.

Fire roared through wooden beams and thatched roofs, sparks clawing at a sky stained a sickly orange. Screams filled the air, sharp and desperate, layered with the guttural roars of monsters that did not belong in any world. In the distance, a portal yawned open, reality torn apart and bleeding light and shadow into the streets.

Fear slammed into him.

He looked down.

His hands were drenched in blood.

At his feet lay the boy from the field. The same bright eyes now clouded with pain and terror. One arm was gone, torn away so brutally it barely looked real. Blood pooled beneath his small body, spreading outward between the stones.

Tears welled in the child’s eyes.

“Saint…” he whispered weakly. “Help… me?”

Jagger dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he gathered the broken body into his arms. A raw, guttural sob tore free from his chest, the sound ripping itself out of him as he pressed his forehead against the child’s blood-soaked hair.

In the spreading pool of crimson beneath them, he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was not him.

Crimson eyes stared back at him from a pale, inhuman face. Long white hair framed sharp features. Black horns curved upward from the forehead, and at its center burned a four-pointed star.

Ophilia.

“Jagger! Jagger, wake up!”

The world snapped apart.

A firm hand shook his shoulder, grounding and real. He jolted upright with a sharp gasp, heart racing, breath shallow as cold sweat clung to his skin. His vision blurred before slowly clearing, and he found Jane leaning over him, her brow furrowed with concern.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said softly.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady himself, trying to shake off the lingering weight of the dream. “I… yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Just a bad one.”

She sat down on the coffee table in front of him, fully dressed in her dark leather armor, daggers secured at her hips. Every inch of her posture radiated readiness; the leader she had become carved into her stance. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said automatically, even as his chest still felt tight. “I’m fine.”

He glanced around.

Porpo sat curled on the couch, one knee drawn to her chest as she lazily ate from a can of beans and sausages, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Her hair stuck out in every direction, sleep still clinging to her. To his right, Lynis stood near a chair, towel in hand as he dried his hair, already geared up and alert.

“You wake up, sunshine,” Lynis said with a smirk, glancing between Porpo and Jagger.

Jagger lifted his hand and gave him the finger.

“You snore like a fucking bear,” Porpo muttered without looking up.

Lynis laughed. “And you talk in your sleep, meh.”

“At least I don’t sound like a lawnmower fucked a chainsaw,” she shot back, finally glancing at him with a faint glint of amusement.

Despite everything, Jagger smiled. He reached out toward Porpo, and without looking, she slapped her hand against his in a lazy high-five.

Jane sighed, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Alright, you two, enough,” she said, firm but not unkind. Her attention returned to Jagger. “We need to move. Today’s going to be busy.”

“Doing what?” he asked as he pushed himself to his feet.

She stood as well. “We gather supplies. We train. And we get you leveled up.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly. “I’m not letting a low-level newborn drag the rest of us down.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

The timer ticked down silently above them.

[1 day, 3 hours, 50 minutes, 24 seconds]

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