The Fool’s Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse

Tim's legs trembled as he leaned against the cold, unyielding fortress wall, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. His eyes darted between the chaos unfolding before him and the absolute lunatic at the center of it all.

"Harry!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get back here!"

But of course, he didn't stop. Because that would make sense, and Harry never made sense.

Tim's mind spun, caught between panic and disbelief. This was so Harry—charging straight into danger with all the grace of a drunk pigeon. But what truly sent a shiver down his spine was the gnawing sense of déjà vu.

The scene before him overlapped with a memory he'd buried deep in his mind — one from a year ago when they were in 10th class.

A group of senior bullies had cornered Tim in the schoolyard, their taunts and shoves forcing him into a corner. Just when he thought humiliation—or worse—was inevitable, Harry had swaggered in like he owned the place.

And then, in true Harry fashion, he'd made a joke. Something so absurdly out of place that it had caught even the bullies off guard.

It was probably like this: "Hey, fellas! If you're gonna rob him, at least do it properly—where's the intimidation? The villain monologue? The dark alley setting? Come on, this is just sloppy work."

Then, before anyone could react, he'd grabbed Tim's arm and bolted, laughing like it was all some grand adventure.

Of course, they'd still gotten caught and beaten. Both earned a black eye. But they'd also managed to return the favor - make their attackers regret ever trying.

So, technically, a win.

And now, a year later, here he was again—throwing himself into chaos to save someone else, logic be damned.

Tim shook his head violently, dispelling the memory. 'This isn't the schoolyard, you idiot. This is life or death.'

"Damn it, Harry…" he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching as he watched his friend reach the little girl trapped in the middle of the battlefield.

Harry scooped her up with that wild, barely-coordinated grace that only he could pull off, somehow managing to stay on his feet despite the ground shaking beneath him. For a brief, fleeting moment, Tim felt a surge of relief.

Then the world exploded.

A massive tendril slammed into the ground not far from Harry, shaking the earth with the force of a meteor strike.

"Lily!" someone cried from beside Tim.

A few moments later—

"Catch her!" Harry yelled, launching the girl forward with the precision of a seasoned quarterback.

Tim didn't hesitate.

The boy meant to catch her did hesitate, though—his hands fumbling uselessly in midair.

Tim stepped in just in time to catch the girl before she hit the ground. Her tiny hands clutched at his shirt, her sobs muffled against his chest.

"It's okay," Tim murmured, handing her off to her brother. "Take care of her."

Before he could process what was happening, the night erupted in light.

Fireballs rained down from the fortress walls, their blazing trails illuminating the battlefield. Arrows followed, glowing with an eerie, otherworldly energy—fire, ice, and lightning crackling in the air as they found their marks.

The ground beneath the monsters lit up in a brilliant, deadly display.

"Ular ki?"

"Nima bol yap ti?"

Unfamiliar voices shouted from above the walls, barking commands in a language Tim didn't understand.

Then, cutting through the chaos—

"They are our people! Save them, please!"

Tim's heart skipped a beat. His head snapped up toward the wall, eyes scanning the shadowy figures moving along its edge.

"…Is that—?" he started, breath catching.

"The student council president," Sam finished for him, confirming what Tim was too stunned to say.

Before he could dwell on it, movement above caught his attention. Figures leaped down from the walls with ropes in hand, their forms blurs of agility and speed. They landed lightly, moving with almost unnatural precision as they grabbed the nearest survivors and scaled back up.

The firelight illuminated their faces briefly—men and women clad in armor, their movements precise and calculated.

"Kel!" one of them barked, motioning for a group to move.

Tim's focus snapped back to Harry.

He was still out there.

"Harry!" Tim shouted again, about to rush forward—

Only for Sam to grab his arm.

"Don't," Sam said sharply, his eyes locked on the battlefield.

"But he—!"

"Look."

Tim followed Sam's gaze, his stomach twisting.

Harry was surrounded.

The Grimlings were closing in, their claws gleaming in the firelight. The Jonkeys hurled projectiles with terrifying precision. The massive tendrils twisted, slamming down with brutal force.

Harry was already on the brink of losing consciousness, his figure fallen, his breaths ragged.

"No…" Tim whispered, nails digging into his palms.

Then—something happened.

A figure appeared.

It moved like a shadow, weaving through the chaos with an inhuman grace. The firelight caught glimpses of dark clothing, the flash of a blade—

Tim's breath hitched as the figure leapt, soaring through the air with terrifying precision.

The tendril lashed out.

The figure twisted midair, just avoiding it. The Grimlings lunged—

Steel flashed.

They never even touched the ground.

Time seemed to slow.

The figure landed beside Harry, scooping up his limp form just as he lost consciousness.

Tim's legs nearly buckled beneath him as the firelight illuminated the face of the savior.

"No way…" he whispered.

"I-Is that… Max?" Sam voiced out his exact words.

Tim swallowed hard.

'Harry…'

'He's saved.'

______ ____ _

'...'

The darkness stretched endlessly around Harry, a vast, oppressive void that seemed to swallow everything.

He wandered aimlessly, his steps soundless, his form weightless. The blackness pressed against him, unyielding and infinite, suffocating in its silence.

His mind was empty, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of thoughts, quips, and worries that constantly filled it. The sharp humor that had always been his shield, his armor, was gone.

His face, once so animated with grins and smirks, was blank. His footsteps lacked purpose. His eyes, usually alight with mischief or curiosity, stared vacantly ahead. As if he has become a puppet.

There was no sound, no sensation, no tether to reality.

Just… nothing.

He wasn't even sure if he existed anymore.

Then—

A flicker.

A tiny pinprick of light appeared far above him, faint and distant, like a single star in a vast, empty sky.

His steps faltered.

Curiosity stirred.

The light grew, slowly but steadily, pushing back the darkness.

It wasn't harsh or blinding. It was warm, gentle—like the first rays of dawn breaking through a cold, endless night.

His steps quickened, though he didn't know why.

His chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache blooming in the void where his heart should have been.

The light expanded, illuminating the void in soft hues of gold and white. It reached for him, wrapping around him like an embrace.

He felt… alive.

The emptiness in his mind shattered as memories, emotions, and thoughts came rushing back.

The chaos, the monsters, the fortress, the girl...

The pain.

"—!"

His eyes snapped open.

He bolted upright with a sharp, ragged inhale.

"Hah—!"

He sucked in another breath, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. His heart pounded in his ears, his vision spinning before settling.

He was lying on something firm but soft, a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground he'd been running on before.

His mind reeled.

"...Where..."

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"...am I?"