They say hell is fire.

  They’re wrong.

  Hell is memory.

  It’s knowing exactly what’s going to happen and being powerless to stop it. It’s waking up in the same corpse of a world, over and over again, wearing a new scar each time.

  Sometimes it ends in blood. Sometimes in fire. Sometimes it just… stops.

  But it always ends.

  And I’m the only one who remembers.

  ?

  I don’t know why I was chosen. If that word even applies.

  There’s no prophecy, no divine whisper guiding me. Just the weight of time and the hollow ache of repetition. I’m not a hero. I’m not even a survivor. I’m just… still here.

  Each loop plays out differently. Sometimes I die on day one. Sometimes I make it years. But no matter what I try, no matter who I save, the world always finds a way to tear itself apart.

  So I stopped trying to change things.

  I stopped caring.

  That’s what I tell myself.

  ?

  I don’t use my real name anymore. It’s buried with everything else that used to mean something. These days, I go by Rex. Short. Sharp. Easy to forget.

  Like me.

  But no matter how far I try to fall, one thing keeps clawing its way back into my chest.

  Her.

  Luna.

  She was the first person I lost. The first person I failed.

  It doesn’t matter what loop it is, or how many years pass. Her face always finds me. Sometimes in dreams. Sometimes in the faces of strangers.

  Sometimes I see her die all over again.

  And sometimes… I see her live.

  She once looked me in the eyes, half her body burned, breath rattling in her throat, and said—

  “Promise me. Don’t give up. Not ever. Not even if it hurts.”

  It hurts every day.

  But I’m still here.

  Because I made her that promise.

  Because I’m too much of a coward to break it.

  ?

  I don’t know if this loop will last a day or a decade.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  I’m still breathing.

  And the world’s still ending.

  So I do what I always do.

  I pick up my sword, I head into the ruins, and I wait for the next inevitable, meaningless fight.

  _____

  There’s no such thing as a right number.

  How many times have I lived through the end of the world?

  Does it matter?

  The number doesn’t change the weight. It doesn’t make the screams easier to ignore, or the blood easier to wash away. Whether it’s the 30th loop or the 300th, it always ends the same.

  With me.

  Alone.

  Alive.

  Still here when I shouldn’t be.

  I used to count the loops. Kept a tally scratched into a wall somewhere. The kind of thing a sane man does to prove he’s not crazy.

  But sanity’s a currency this world doesn’t take anymore.

  Now I just walk.

  Every loop has its own variations. Some are shorter. Some are longer. Sometimes I last two years. Sometimes twenty. Sometimes I die before the sky turns red.

  Doesn’t matter.

  I always wake up again. Same day. Same hour. Same silence ringing in my ears.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I stopped trying to break the cycle a long time ago. I’m not here to save the world.

  I’m here because I promised her I wouldn’t give up.

  And even now… I don’t know if that was a curse or a blessing.

  ?

  People call it by many names. The Collapse. The End Times. But most just call it Armageddon.

  It started five years ago.

  A slow, creeping hell no one saw coming.

  First came the wars, the breakdown of governments and laws. Then the skies turned strange. The ground cracked. And with that came the demons.

  Monsters born from the ashes of a dying world. Some say they’re the earth’s punishment. Others, a mutation of human cruelty.

  They’re everywhere now. Hunted the cities down, tearing apart what was left of humanity.

  And I’m stuck living it over and over.

  ?

  The katana rests easy in my grip as I approach the edge of the ruins. The sword’s not my first choice. Not usually. But it doesn’t jam, doesn’t misfire, and—most importantly—doesn’t draw attention.

  Guns are loud.

  And noise brings them.

  They don’t come all at once, the demons. They start slow. Shadows that crawl wrong, with limbs too long and faces that forget how to be human. The first ones were weak. Malformed things. The kind of monsters people laughed at before they realized how many were coming.

  Now? Nobody laughs.

  I spot the first one crouched by a crumbling sedan, hunched and twitching. Its skin bubbles like oil over fire, blackened and steaming in the daylight. It hasn’t noticed me yet.

  I don’t give it the chance.

  One clean step. A breath. Then the blade severs its spine with a whisper.

  It twitches. Falls.

  The second one shrieks—long and thin, like glass breaking. It leaps from a rooftop and lands sloppily in front of me.

  I twist my body as it lunges, blade flashing across its throat. It doesn’t bleed. It melts, hissing into a foul-smelling vapor that scatters on the wind.

  Small fry.

  Not even worth the effort.

  But the noise might attract more. I stay low, weaving through abandoned vehicles and shattered glass, keeping my footsteps soft. The air is thick with ash and memory.

  I reach the mall without another fight.

  Which is good.

  Because that’s when I hear the voices.

  _____

  I pick up my sword, I head into the ruins, and I wait for the next inevitable, meaningless fight.

  This one happens in the crumbling bones of what used to be a strip mall. Rusted signs hang like corpses. Windows shattered. Brick scorched. The kind of place people used to walk past without thinking. Now? It’s the edge of civilization.

  If you can even call what’s left “civilized.”

  I’m here for a rifle. Mine cracked last week—bad weld on the upper receiver. Can’t trust it anymore. Steel’s better anyway. Simpler. More honest.

  Still, it pays to carry a firearm, even a bad one. People hesitate when they see it.

  And hesitation gets you killed.

  ?

  I hear the struggle before I see it.

  Low growls. Curses. The scuff of boots against pavement. Someone’s surrounded.

  Normally, I’d avoid it. I’ve learned not to get involved. Choices have weight. Save someone today and they might slit your throat in a week.

  But today… I need gear.

  Scavengers are like vultures with switchblades. Maybe they’ve got something worth taking.

  So I follow the sound.

  Step around the edge of a collapsed storefront. Stay low. Breathe slow.

  Six of them. Dirty, lean, twitchy. Faces like rotted fruit. They’re circling a woman in a dark hood, backs to me.

  She’s holding a short blade. Breathing hard. One arm’s bleeding, but her stance is good. Proud. Not afraid.

  That’s rare.

  But she’s outnumbered. One of the bastards lunges at her. She ducks, slashes—gets his thigh. He screams. The others move in.

  I exhale.

  Then I move.

  ?

  The first one doesn’t even turn around before I drive my sword through his spine. Quick. Clean.

  Second guy hears the gurgle and spins—too slow. I let him raise his knife before I split his head from the bridge of his nose to the base of his neck.

  Steel’s honest.

  The woman—she freezes. Just a second. But not from fear.

  From recognition?

  No. Can’t be. Not yet.

  The third scavenger runs at me, swinging wild. I step sideways, let his weight carry him past, then bury my boot in his ribs. He hits the ground hard. Doesn’t get back up.

  Four left. The woman takes one down herself, stabbing under his chin as he tries to grab her.

  Good.

  I like survivors.

  One grabs her hood and yanks it back.

  Then time stops.

  My blade halts mid-swing. My breath catches.

  It’s her.

  Luna.

  But not the Luna I knew. Not exactly. The hair’s shorter. The posture’s sharper. But the eyes—God—the eyes.

  I saw them close more times than I can count.

  Pale. Defiant. Full of fire, even in death.

  I saw her die.

  I remember holding her, blood soaking through my shirt, her voice a broken whisper.

  “Don’t give up.”

  I blink.

  And time starts again.

  ?

  The last one tries to run.

  Bad idea.

  I chase him down, throw my sword wide in a single, exaggerated swing. The steel hums through the air and takes his head clean off. It rolls, bounces off the curb, and lands staring up at the sky.

  I clean the blade on his coat. No rush. No words.

  The woman is staring at me.

  I don’t look at her. Not directly. Instead, I crouch by the bodies, rummaging through their gear.

  One of them has a rifle. Barrel’s bent. Another has a pistol—empty.

  Useless.

  I sigh.

  “Thanks,” she says. Proud voice. Just slightly hoarse. It probably kills her to say it.

  “You kill them for sport, or was there a reason?”

  “Looking for a gun,” I reply flatly. “Yours?”

  She shakes her head. “Didn’t come with them. They jumped me outside the gate.”

  I look up, finally letting my eyes meet hers.

  It’s like being punched in the gut.

  The same fire. The same face.

  No. Not the same.

  She’s not her. Just a ghost the loop threw at me.

  But for one terrifying moment… I let myself believe.

  ?

  “You’re skilled,” she says, arms crossed. “Very. I’ve seen trained soldiers flinch more than you just did.”

  I shrug. “You learn. Or you die.”

  “I’m with Eden. It’s the largest surviving group this side of the state. We run clean water, secure housing, and food rotations. We have a future.”

  Eden.

  Of course.

  Even here, this loop, it still exists.

  Still trying to build a heaven out of a burning hell.

  It never lasts.

  “And let me guess,” I say, voice dry. “You want me to join your noble mission.”

  She doesn’t rise to the sarcasm.

  “My name’s Luna. I handle recruitment and field logistics. We could use someone like you.”

  I flinch.

  It’s small. Barely a twitch.

  But I feel it.

  Her name.

  Her face.

  Her voice.

  Everything inside me screams run, but my mouth answers for me.

  “I’ve seen Eden fall.”

  She stares.

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen it burn. Twice. Three times. Maybe more. Depends how you count.”

  There’s silence.

  Her expression shifts. First doubt, then curiosity. She tries to read me, but I’m good at masks.

  She doesn’t speak again right away. Just watches me with those eyes that aren’t hers but hurt just the same.

  Eventually, she says, “We’re holding strong. We’ve made mistakes, sure. But we’re learning. We’re changing.”

  I nod slowly. “You’ll try. You’ll fight. Maybe even hold on for a while.”

  “Why do you talk like you know how it ends?”

  Because I do.

  Because I’ve watched it happen.

  I meet her gaze and force a tired smile.

  “Because I’ve seen this play out before.”

  I walk past her.

  “Thanks again,” she calls after me, voice tight.

  I raise a hand without turning around.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to see Eden? Just to be sure?”

  I pause. Not long. Just a second too long.

  “…Nah. I’m good.”

  And then I keep walking.

  Because that’s what I do.

  I walk through the ashes.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.