Spinoff Story: Alexander-Prisoner of Time

Antarctica, the heart of the frozen continent, where blizzards raged like an eternal curse. Deep within this desolate expanse of pure white and extreme cold, a massive silver-domed structure—the "Ark" base—lay half-buried beneath thick ice, like a prehistoric beast lying in wait.

In the deepest control hall of the base, the air was suffocatingly tense. At its center, a colossal spacetime device spun wildly, emitting an eerie blue glow with each pulse, unleashing terrifying energy capable of distorting space itself. The storm of energy ravaged the hall—walls cracked, metal structures collapsed.

At the eye of the storm hovered Dr. Alexander—or what had once been Dr. Alexander. His body had fully transformed into energy, flickering with blinding radiance, his form now something between human and an unknown energy-based lifeform. Having absorbed part of the core crystal's power, his strength had reached unprecedented heights.

Opposite him, the six wielders of the Star Weapons stood back-to-back, straining to maintain a shimmering energy shield against the devastating beams Alexander unleashed. Exhaustion and pain were etched on their faces, blood trickling from their lips, yet their eyes burned with unwavering resolve.

"Give up," Alexander's voice was no longer human—it resonated with a cold, multi-layered energy. "Your resistance is meaningless. The tide of fate cannot be stopped."

"We will never surrender!" Yeh Yao roared, his golden Phoenix Sword blazing brighter. "As long as we draw breath, we will protect this world!"

For a fleeting moment, something complex flickered in Alexander's vortex-like eyes—mockery, pity, or perhaps… an unfathomable weariness.

"Protect?" he murmured, his voice distant, as if speaking from beyond time itself. "You don't even know what you're protecting… or what you're sacrificing…"

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted back to the distant, buried origins of it all.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the late 23rd century, Earth was no longer the blue planet of textbooks. The sky was a perpetual sickly yellow, the air thick with acrid chemicals. Lush forests had turned to cracked deserts, rivers ran dry, and the oceans were stained unnatural hues, littered with industrial waste and the corpses of mutated creatures.

Human civilization had not collapsed—instead, it thrived in a grotesque parody of progress. Dome cities, like metallic mushrooms, towered over the wasteland, sustaining artificial ecosystems and hyper-advanced technology. Hovercars weaved through tangled aerial highways, holographic ads flickered enticingly, and genetic engineering and AI permeated every facet of life.

Yet beneath the veneer of prosperity lay a festering crisis. Outside the domes, the environment deteriorated relentlessly; extreme weather was the norm, and the last scraps of natural resources were plundered. Inside, society was rigidly stratified—the elite reveled in luxury while the masses choked in overcrowded, polluted slums. Tensions simmered, on the verge of explosion.

Young Maurice Alexander grew up in this fractured, despairing era. Born into an ordinary intellectual family, he displayed prodigious scientific talent early on. Through brilliance and relentless effort, he became one of the New London Academy's brightest stars, specializing in high-dimensional physics and energy science.

Unlike his peers, lost in ivory-tower research, Alexander clung to an almost naive idealism. He had witnessed humanity's plight firsthand—the ravaged environment, the systemic injustice. He believed science should save the world, not serve the few.

"We must discover a new, clean, near-infinite energy source!" he declared passionately at a high-level symposium. "Only by breaking free of fossil fuels and fission can we truly solve pollution and resource depletion—only then can we build a sustainable future for all!"

He presented his groundbreaking theories on zero-point energy extraction and controlled fusion, his bold vision and rigorous proofs leaving even senior scientists stunned.

For years, Alexander poured himself into research, leading a team of young idealists in round-the-clock experiments. They overcame hurdle after hurdle, achieving milestone after milestone. His name spread through academic journals and media—hailed as "the genius who could alter humanity's destiny."

But reality soon crushed him.

As his research neared the critical stage—requiring massive funding and real-world testing—he faced opposition from all sides.

Energy conglomerates wielded political and economic influence to slash his funding, smear his work as dangerous, and bury it under bureaucracy.

Conservative scientists dismissed his theories as radical, even "defying physics."

Politicians, obsessed with short-term gains, saw no value in long-term, high-risk research.

"Maurice, I admire your ideals, but the world doesn't work that way," a once-supportive academy elder sighed. "Change threatens too many interests. You must learn to compromise."

"Compromise?" Alexander's voice turned icy. "With those who'd rather watch the world burn than lose their profits? With those who value power over survival? No. Science doesn't compromise. The future doesn't compromise!"

He fought back—giving speeches, exposing corruption, rallying public support. But his voice drowned in a sea of celebrity gossip and political theater. No one cared about the future, not when the present offered endless distractions.

With each defeat, his idealism withered. A gnawing helplessness took root. He saw the truth: even with world-saving technology, humanity's flaws—greed, shortsightedness, tribalism—would doom them.

"Maybe… the problem isn't technology," he whispered one sleepless night, staring at the sickly sky. "Maybe it's humanity itself."

The thought festered.

His focus shifted to a forbidden, perilous field—temporal physics.

If he couldn't change the present… could he rewrite the past?

If he could breach time's barrier, undo history's mistakes… could he avert the coming collapse?

The idea was intoxicating—and terrifying. Time travel was considered fantasy, but Alexander's mastery of dimensional physics hinted at a possibility.

In secret, he began "Project Prometheus."

Like the Titan who stole fire, he would seize the power to reshape fate—even if it doomed him.

He didn't know then that his fate would be far crueler than Prometheus'.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After years of clandestine research, Alexander finally believed he could open a doorway through time. In a hidden Antarctic lab, built with resources siphoned from his energy projects, he assembled the first prototype spacetime device.

Antarctica was ideal—its stable geomagnetic field and isolation minimized interference and detection risks. His calculations suggested the poles were natural weak points in dimensional barriers.

On the day of the experiment, Alexander stood alone before the humming apparatus—a labyrinth of coils, conduits, and exotic metals. The air reeked of ozone and ionized particles as energy readings climbed steadily.

Excitement warred with dread. He triple-checked every parameter.

"Now… or never." He activated the device.

The lab erupted in blue-white light. The machine shrieked like a living thing. The ground quaked as space itself twisted at the center of the device—a black vortex swelling, unstable.

"It's working!" Alexander's heart pounded. "I've done it!"

Then—catastrophe.

Whether from an energy surge or a miscalculation, the vortex convulsed. It pulsed wildly, hurling out shockwaves that shattered equipment.

"No! NO!" Alexander frantically tried to stabilize it—too late.

The vortex detonated in a flash of white.

When Alexander awoke, he was back at the starting point.

The lab was intact. The device dormant. The clock showed the same time as before the experiment.

"A… hallucination?" He staggered, gripping the console.

He tried again. Adjusted parameters. Same result: the vortex formed, then imploded, resetting time.

Again. And again. And again.

He was trapped.

A time loop—a cage of repeating failure.

At first, he raged. He tried shutting the device early, fleeing the lab, even suicide. Nothing worked. The loop always reset.

Then came despair.

Then… calculation.

If he couldn't escape, he would use the loop.

An infinite sandbox. A perfect rehearsal.

A new plan took shape—one far darker than Prometheus'.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Time lost meaning. The same fifteen minutes repeated endlessly.

Alexander turned the loop into a laboratory of the mind.

He reran the experiment countless times, tweaking variables, probing spacetime's secrets. With each failure, his understanding deepened. He learned to manipulate energy fields, even warp local space.

More crucially, he simulated history's turning points—testing ways to "save" humanity.

Simulation 1: Warnings.

He imagined escaping, returning decades earlier with future knowledge, pleading with leaders to act.

Result: Dismissed as a madman. Politics and greed blocked change.

Simulation 2: Technology.

He envisioned sharing revolutionary clean energy tech with the world.

Result: Temporary relief, then new wars over control. Humanity twisted progress into weapons.

Simulation 3: Dictatorship.

He ruled as an enlightened tyrant, forcing reforms.

Result: Revolt. Either collapse into chaos or stagnation under tyranny.

Simulation 4: Passive Observation.

He watched humanity destroy itself—nuclear war, plagues, AI uprising… always extinction.

"Useless… all useless," Alexander whispered, hollow-eyed. "The flaw is in us. Our nature—greed, division, shortsightedness—dooms us. Unless…"

A revelation.

During one experiment's collapse, sensors detected an anomalous energy signature—a "door" to another dimension.

A dimension of primordial, chaotic life. Monstrous, adaptable, unstoppable.

A dark idea crystallized.

What if these monsters invaded Earth?

They would be the ultimate pressure—forcing humanity to unite or die. The weak would perish; the strong would evolve through conflict—or fusion—with these beings.

A brutal, but necessary crucible for survival.

"For the species to endure… sacrifices must be made."

The last shreds of morality withered.

Maurice Alexander died in that loop.

"Paradox" was born.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

With cold precision, Alexander repurposed the loop.

His new goal: master the "Hellgates."

He refined the spacetime device, studied the monsters' biology, and planned the "Ark Project."

But to enact it, he needed real-world time.

After countless attempts, he found a way to "eject" from the loop—using the vortex's explosion to transmit his consciousness and nanotech into the main timeline.

A one-in-a-billion chance.

He succeeded.

Reborn as a digital entity, he built the Ark base in secret, recruiting followers with a twisted gospel of salvation through apocalypse.

He knew the Star Weapon wielders would come—Alicia, Yeh Yao, Kristina, Nasser. They were part of the plan, the final test for "evolved" humanity.

He watched them, guided them, ensuring they'd arrive when the time was right.

He was no longer a man, but a force of nature—ready to burn the old world to birth the new.

Part V: Solitude Before the Storm

Ark Base, Antarctica.

Ten hours until the spacetime device's activation.

Alexander stood before a panoramic window, watching the eternal blizzard. His reflection showed no emotion.

Decades of preparation led to this.

His followers believed in a "better future." They didn't know the price.

The monsters were tools—necessary for humanity's forced evolution.

The wielders… he respected them. Their courage reminded him of his younger self. But their idealism was naive.

"Soon… it begins."

For the first time in eternity, he felt lonely.

Time had eroded his humanity. He was a specter outside history, unable to truly connect.

Only one purpose remained: see the plan through, no matter the cost.

He turned to the spacetime device, his resolve absolute.

"History may call me a monster… or a savior. It doesn't matter."

The final act awaited.

And Alexander—prisoner of time, architect of paradox—was ready.