Fractured Time

He woke up with a dull ache pounding in his head, his body sore from lying awkwardly on the cold, hard floor. His back protested as he slowly shifted. "Ouch," he muttered, wincing as he sat up. "My back."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he groggily scratched his head, his fingers brushing through his messy hair. Blinking a few times, his vision focused, and he found himself face-to-face with… a wall. He frowned, confusion etched across his face.

"Why am I sleeping in front of a wall?" he muttered to himself, his voice laced with both irritation and bewilderment.

Ezra pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. As he stood, a sudden jolt of pain shot through his skull, and his vision fractured like shards of glass. Fragments of something—memories?—invaded his mind in sharp, unbearable bursts.

Countless images flooded his consciousness, each one more horrifying than the last. He saw himself, sprawled lifeless in the chamber, over and over again. His body was twisted, broken in myriad ways—crushed, torn apart, burned. The abomination loomed in every vision, its grotesque form a constant harbinger of his demise. Every death played out vividly, each one more gruesome and agonizing than the last.

But there was more. In each memory, he was closer to the shard. Closer and closer. In one, his fingertips brushed against it, only for the abomination to snap his neck. In another, he stood over the shard triumphantly, only to be impaled seconds later. The fragmented visions swirled together in a chaotic storm, his mind barely able to process them all.

And every time, the fear was the same. A paralyzing, gut-wrenching terror that locked his body in place, as if the abomination itself commanded it.

Then, something shifted.

One memory—one image—stood out, sharper and more vivid than the rest. He saw himself standing in the chamber, his body rigid and his eyes glowing a brilliant gold. His expression was blank, almost otherworldly, and the faint outline of the shard pulsed in his hand like a heartbeat.

A whisper. Soft, faint, and chilling. It cut through the chaos of his mind, leaving everything else silent.

"Break the cycle. It all begins with the tree."

The words echoed, reverberating through his very being. Ezra gasped, stumbling back against the wall, his chest heaving as he clutched his head. The whisper lingered, growing fainter but refusing to disappear entirely. It felt like a thread pulling him forward, connecting everything—the shard, the chamber, the tree, the abomination.

"A loop," Ezra muttered under his breath, his voice trembling as realization dawned. "It's all a loop."

His eyes darted around the chamber, the urgency in his movements growing. His gaze landed on Shirley, sprawled out as usual, looking far too relaxed for the situation at hand.

"Shirley, get up!" Ezra shouted, running over and shaking the older man by the shoulder. "We're running out of time!"

The older man groaned, his eyes fluttering open groggily. He squinted up at Ezra, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "Huh?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you yelling about now?"

Ezra gritted his teeth, gripping Shirley's arm tighter. "We're in a loop, Shirley! The shard, the monster, the tree—it's all connected. We've been through this over and over again, and every time—every single time—we've died!"

Shirley blinked, his grogginess quickly replaced by wariness. He sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes. "A loop? What are you even talking about?" His tone was skeptical, but the unease creeping into his voice was unmistakable.

Ezra's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling over. "I don't have time to explain it all right now! Just trust me—we need to move, now!"

He pulled Shirley to his feet, the older man stumbling slightly but following nonetheless.

"Alright, alright!" Shirley grumbled, brushing dust off his clothes. "But if this is some kind of half-baked plan, I'm going back to napping."

Ezra ignored Shirley's grumbling, his mind racing as his lavender eyes darted around the chamber, searching desperately for the next step. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl of half-formed plans and fractured memories.

Where do I even start? Destroy the tree? Kill the monster? Just survive? Protect the fragment?

He stopped abruptly, his breath catching in his throat as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

The shard—it wasn't here anymore.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively clutching his chest. The fragment wasn't in the chamber because he'd consumed it.

Ezra's fingers trembled slightly as he glanced down at himself. The faint hum of energy inside him made his skin prickle, its presence unmistakable. The fragment was no longer an object—it was a part of him now. A cold dread settled over him as he remembered the ominous warnings scrawled in his own bloodied handwriting.

Before he could spiral any further, a loud creak echoed through the chamber, the sound of something shifting, something coming closer. The abomination's presence was growing stronger, its oppressive aura beginning to seep into the room like an unseen fog.

Ezra shook himself out of his stupor, turning sharply to face Shirley, who was still standing there with a confused scowl.

"Shirley, we're leaving the chamber. Now. Move!"

"What?" Shirley blinked, his voice rising in protest. "Why? You were just rambling about loops and fragments and—"

"Not now!" Ezra snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He grabbed Shirley by the arm and pulled him toward the exit. "Trust me, we do not want to be here when that thing gets in."

Shirley hesitated for a brief moment before groaning and relenting, his footsteps falling in line behind Ezra's. "Fine, fine! But if we're going out there, you better have a damn good plan."

Ezra didn't respond, his jaw tight as he focused on the path ahead. A plan? He didn't have one—not yet. But staying in the chamber meant certain death, and right now, all that mattered was surviving long enough to figure out the rest.