Dimensions Collide: Destiny Bond

John sat up and yawned. His body felt a little stiff, but given what he’d been through, he felt incredible. He stretched and rolled his neck back and forth to work out the kinks. He wasn’t sure what he’d do today. Talk to the rescued prisoners? Meet up with Fate? He wasn’t quite sure where the [Plot] was going from here.

Suddenly, there was an explosion outside his room. He turned around, but it was hard to see anything.

“Prota, what’s-” he started, but then realized she wasn’t there as he turned back.

He had to go check himself. He walked over to the window and took a look but wasn’t prepared for what was coming next. It felt as if time had stopped. He watched as some strange, messy man lifted Prota by the neck, looking at her with a strange look. A look he recognized. A little dwarf missing an arm was standing nearby, watching.

That look. That wasn’t the look of a killer.

That was the look of a sadist.

In John’s history of resets, sadists were infinitely worse than killers. Killers just ended your life. Easy enough to fix.

Sadists, on the other hand…

“Such pretty girls don’t come along that often.”

“...what did he just say?”

He could feel his heart begin to race. The rushing of blood filled his ears as his vision started going out of focus. Shivers ran down his body as he watched the scene in slow motion.

[Determination activates! Limit: x1000000]

He tapped the side of his head, continuing to stare at the dwarf and the man, and his red eye lit up like a beacon.

He winced as a hot dose of pain shot through his head, but he ignored it. [Determination] was raging strong enough that the pain was basically nothing. He considered going to the maximum possible multiplier, but didn’t really feel like dealing with the pain. He was pissed off enough as it was, enough to ignore how cringe his ability was.

He opened the window and jumped out, landing softly. No thoughts were running through his head. None.

“...hey. What are you doing?”

The man turned around, not letting go of Prota.

“...you look familiar,” Birdie frowned. “Who are you again?”

“He’s the last guy we have to kill.”

“Oh, right! You’re manaless, right? Look, I’m a little busy right now, so just wait your turn.”

“Wait my… what?”

“Are you dumb? Here, I’ll spell it out for you. This girl here? I’m going to turn her into a living doll. I’ll cut her up so she can’t move, then I’ll keep her body and do what I want with it. Then I’ll do the same to you. So just wait a little, ok?”

It was clear Birdie was antagonizing John, but his taunts were probably based on a logical assumption.

John was manaless. He was weak.

“Now, where was I-”

There was a loud crack as John pushed off the ground, slamming into Mise and pinning him against a wall. Well, Mise would’ve been pinned had the wall not been shattered from the force of the impact. It seemed the dwarf’s body was sturdier than the structure.

“What the-”

Mise realized it. Something was very, very wrong. He didn’t have time to hesitate. Reaching into his back, he immediately pulled out another syringe and injected it without thinking twice.

John stared at the spell that seemed to be forming at a snail’s pace. He shook his head and kicked it like a soccer ball, sending it straight into the air. There was no need for theatrics or flashy lights. He just needed to finish the job.

Mise, on the other hand, couldn’t help but stare. What? What’d just happened? Where had his spell gone?

He broke out into a cold sweat. They were dealing with someone they couldn’t handle. Something had gone wrong. Doctor’s data, their spy’s report, anything. This boy was definitely not manaless.

Unfortunately for Mise, he’d realized that too late. John reached out and grabbed his enemy’s head and crushed it like a watermelon. Blood and brain splattered everywhere. John didn’t yell. He didn’t react. Mad as he was, there was no need for torture. They had bad intentions, but they hadn’t done anything just yet.

He just wanted to kill these two and be done with it. He turned to Birdie.

“H-hey, let’s calm down now,” Birdie stammered. He’d just watched Mise’s head get crushed as if one were crushing an apple.

Mise wasn’t weak. No, he was pretty strong. In terms of regular mercenaries, he and Birdie were some of the strongest that Doctor had hired. They were probably on par to A rank adventurers. If Mise was damaged, it wasn’t because he was incompetent. It was because he’d gone easy and lazed around.

For him to die so anticlimactically…

“Don’t- don’t get any closer! I’m warning you!” Birdie yelled, holding his knife to Prota’s neck. His bravado had completely disappeared.

“You sound like a third rate villain. Let’s stop talking now, ok?”

“I’ll- I’ll do it! Not one more step!”

“Your words don’t mean anything. They never did. They never will. Just like everything that happens in this fantasy.”

Birde panicked, and his hand began to move. Something in him rejoiced at taking at least one enemy out with him, but when he looked down, his hands were missing. Birdie stared at the husk of a man in front of him. John wasn’t talking. He wasn’t saying anything. Somehow, that made things worse. He hadn’t even seen him move. This wasn’t a logical power.

It was ridiculous. Beyond reasoning. Beyond the laws of this world.

“I’ll kill you!” Birdie yelled, injecting himself with a vial.

A swarm of darkness surrounded John, but it was useless. A massive pillar of light poured down from the sky, obliterating the spell. It wasn’t light, though.

It was just pure, raw energy.

As the light died down, John remained unharmed.

“Wh- what is that?” Birdie mouthed. He didn’t have the strength to speak. He was normally stronger than others. He enjoyed that feeling. He enjoyed preying on the weak and bullying the helpless.

He didn’t like being in the position of the prey, and he knew it.

To be fair, though, there was no one who could do something against this level of difference. For Birdie to fight back would be like trying to put out a forest fire with a water gun. John had obliterated his Final Stand, a spell that used a soul as a reagent, using raw energy, on himself to boot. And he’d come out unharmed. Without further hesitation, he slipped into the shadows and ran, but he was too slow.

It wasn’t that Birdie was slow, though. It was just that John was faster.

Then, somehow, against all logic, John reached into the shadows and pulled Birdie out. It’d only been five seconds, but they were way out in the forest. John just stared at Birdie, as if he was looking at a bag of trash he needed to take out. A little annoyed, but otherwise just another inconvenience to deal with.

“H-hey, we can talk this out, right? Hey, you'll let me live, right?”

John laughed. It was completely unexpected, but he let out a hollow laugh.

“Look, I’ve been trying to avoid a lot of things here. I’d rather not come off as edgy or anything like that, so can we just finish things up here?”

John’s voice was completely normal. There was no emotion in it. It was as if he was asking for a waiter to come with the bill.

“I’m a fan of fighting, but this isn’t fighting. This is… well, it’s like stomping on an ant, I guess. It’s not very fun. So before I start wandering into any boring cliches, let’s get this over with.

Birdie stared at John. “Wh- what are you talking about? No, hold on. I’ll change. I’ll reform myself. Come on, you have a bit of mercy in your heart, right?”

John’s eye brightened as he pulled out his sword. Birdie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The words he was hearing made no sense. He didn’t understand what John’s motives were.

What was going on?

“Mm… well, normally, it’s be easier to just let you go. But…”

John traced the blade on a finger to test the sharpness. Birdie gulped as a drop of blood fell to the ground. John’s head turned back, and Birdie saw. He wasn’t calm at all. There was a burning rage in those lifeless eyes.

“You went a little too far with Prota. So I think I’ll put in a little more effort here.”

~~~

Fate was fine, contrary to Birdie’s beliefs. As the Final Stand had wrapped around him, a charm around his neck had activated, surrounding him with a shield of fire. An artifact. It immediately shattered upon use, splintering as he fell to the ground.

Well, to call him fine was a bit of an overstatement. He was still immensely fatigued and injured after fighting Ten. In the first place, it was a fight he’d just barely won after pushing himself beyond his own limits. In ordinary circumstances, he’d never have that kind of energy level, nor would he be able to activate his talent to that degree. In fact, despite having survived the Final Stand, he was still on the brink of death.

It was all thanks to Kit. Due to Birdie’s quick departure, she’d been able to drag Fate to a relatively safe area, shielding him from much of the Final Stand’s damage and helping him recover.

“Prota,” Fate gasped as soon as he sat up. “John. Danjo.”

“You need to rest-”

“What if they’re dead?!” Fate exclaimed, picking his sword up and running towards the hospital.

Unfortunately, Kit was right. He did need to rest. He immediately stumbled and winced, feeling like his body had been run through a blender. However, his desperation was clear. Kit sighed and gave him a small energy boost, warning him that he’d need real rest after this. He nodded, but the safety of the others was a priority.

However, upon actually reaching the hospital, the sight he’d found was extraordinary. Prota, crumbled but alive, Mise with his head blown off, blood splattering the streets, and no John. No Birdie.

Fate wanted to look for John, but Prota needed immediate help.

“Danjo? Are you there?!” Fate called out, but there was no response. He lifted Prota up carefully, but he didn’t know any healing magic yet.

“Kit, can you-”

The fox nodded and put her paws on Prota’s head, a warm aura pulsing through Prota. It wasn’t nearly as good as the healing they’d gotten when Kit was in her human form, but it was keeping her alive.

Fate ran off and found Danjo huddled in a little home far away.

“Is- is it over?” Danjo whispered, shaking.

“Yeah, I-” Fate started, but winced as the whiplash of the battle hit him like a truck. “It’s done.”

It was at this time that John had chosen to come back. Of course, his eye had stopped glowing, but that didn’t necessarily make things better. His hands were all bloody. His scarf was covering his mouth, and his hood hung over his face, so nothing but his eyes were visible. And the emotion in his eyes was incredible.

“John, are you-”

“Here,” John said in a flat voice. “Just to confirm, this was an enemy, right?”

“That’s…” Fate stared. “Did you do this?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” John said, ignoring the question. He turned to Prota. “Is she ok?”

Fate looked at John. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“...is this something I need to answer?”

“Fine. I’ll let this one drop. I’m… it’s good to see you all alive.”

John remained silent as he continued to watch Kit heal Prota.

“...alive. Yeah. It’s good that we’re alive.”

~~~

Prota sat up in the hospital. Her wounds had healed within a day, thanks to the mana running through her body.

“John!” she gasped as she sat up, only to find that she was in a bed.

“Are you awake?” John said quietly, sitting on a chair beside her. He swiped at the air, probably dismissing his system, and looked at her.

His gaze was strange. Usually, it was indifferent, but there was some kind of emotion behind it now. She couldn’t really tell what it was, but he wasn’t just looking at her to see if she was alright.

“John…”

“I dealt with it.”

“Did John-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He said that, but that in itself was an answer.

He’d used his power once again. She didn’t know why that felt so bad. It wasn’t like he had any qualms against the power itself; he just didn’t like using it since it was inconvenient. And in this scenario, surely necessity trumped convenience, right? There was no winning this fight with just a gun.

However, she wanted to berate herself. She’d failed again. John had been forced to step in. What was she going to-

“Hey, Prota. Don’t… don’t do something like that again, ok? You can’t do that. You can’t…”

Unexpectedly, John pulled Prota into a hug. She paused, stunned at the action, but slowly wrapped her arms around John. She’d never seen him like this. This whole time, he’d been carefree or cold, but now, something was different.

He was breaking down. The mask he was always wearing was crumbling.

“Prota, I- it’s better to die in that scenario, ok? Just let yourself die. You can- you can come back. You don’t die. But the pain… you can’t escape that. You can’t get rid of it. So don’t- don’t-” John choked up, unable to finish.

Prota was silent as she continued to remain in John’s embrace.

He… didn’t want her to be in pain? She didn’t understand. She was the one protecting him, right? How was she supposed to feel about this?

She didn’t know.

John was similarly struggling with his own emotions. Why was he breaking down now? Why did he care so much about Prota? The first time, too. Why did he care so much about this girl when he didn’t even know what would happen to her?

He knew. He shouldn’t care. So then why couldn’t he stop himself?

“John.”

John awkwardly stopped hugging Prota and looked up. Zero.

“...you used your power again.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Mm. Sorry to interrupt your little moment, but…”

Prota looked back and forth between Zero and John. What was this about? It seemed Zero felt Prota’s confusion, because he turned to her. The mood had been ruined. Somehow, Zero’s appearance had shocked John back into his usual state, and he took a deep breath before his face returned to a neutral state.

“Prota. Have you ever read a boring story?”

Prota shook her head. In the first place, most of the stories she knew had been read to her. Why read a child a boring story?

“Well, boring is… subjective. But there are things that make a story boring. No struggle. Easy solutions. Lack of action. Lack of problems. Things like that.”

Prota nodded. She wasn’t sure about all the terms, but she could see how things like that could make a story boring.

“You know what else is boring? A character that just solves all the problems. Someone that’s like a walking cheat code. Someone who, without effort, steps in and snaps his fingers and gives everyone a happy ending.”

Zero pointed at John.

“That’s this guy. Right here.”

John nodded.

“Prota. My powers? The whole seal thing? It’s bullshit. It’s just to stop me from solving everything on my own. It’s so the [Author] gets to write their little generic action scenes that serve next to zero purpose. It’s so [Characters] get to grow through trauma and struggle.”

John sighed as if this were something he’d dealt with before.

“Characters require trauma to grow. It’s boring for characters to just win. To just power up for no apparent reason and overwhelm the enemy. They need to struggle. They need pain.”

John turned to Zero.

“So, if I used my powers, then there was a reason for it, right?”

Zero nodded.

“John. This situation has completely deviated from the original story.”

That was right. This story wasn’t John’s. It was Fate’s. There was a story that was supposed to run without John. But John was here now, and there was no getting around it.

“I’ve explained this before, but you were never meant to be here. The power of an [Anomaly] stems from the fact that they had no role in the story in the first place.”

He paused before going on.

“However, you’re a different kind of [Anomaly]. You being here is a side effect of you hunting for your memories, right?”

“Yeah? And?”

“You aren’t the only one interfering with the [Plot]. The existence of your memories has messed things up, too. John. The [Author] is almost writing an entirely new story because of you.”

That was right. The demon king had acquired John’s memories. She was incredibly powerful, much more so than she was supposed to be. What else had happened? Had anyone else changed? Had anyone else gotten more powerful? It was entirely possible an [Antagonist] had gotten their hands on a power that allowed them to subvert the natural expectations of the [Plot].

“That organization you’ve been hunting for was never supposed to have the ability to extract souls in the first place.”

Consequences of John’s existence.

“Fate was supposed to deal with everything without you, obviously. But souls were never a part of it. He’s going to tell you that he fought some sort of beast when you next see him. He fought a chimera. It had ten souls put into it. It was also the reason he couldn’t make it here.”

At this point, Prota was lost. She didn’t get what was going on, but it seemed that John did, so that was probably enough.

“Prota’s fight, too. Her opponent used a Final Stand. That shouldn’t have happened. Fate was supposed to be able to deal with both.”

“So… you’re telling me that I had to get involved because things escalated out of control?”

Zero nodded. “They were supposed to overcome things on their own. But now they can’t.”

He pointed at John.

“Your [Character] trait is currently your strongest trait. You now actively have to take part in the [Plot], because if you don’t… well, I suppose Fate, with the protection of the [Protagonist] will somehow figure things out, but… there’s also a chance he can’t.”

A chance he couldn’t. Something John had never seen coming.

Like it or not, John mattered to the [Plot].

~~~

John sat and watched silently as Prota slept. She still needed rest. So for now, there really wasn’t much for him to do. He wanted to do something. So he picked the novel he’d been reading back up.

For the first time in a long, long time, he’d started to fulfill his role as a [Reader] again.

He’d been told that his system had been made by the him of the past. Apparently, he’d been somewhat of an avid reader, and since the “system” or “status window” of so many novels had appealed to him, so he’d tried to replicate it in his own manner.

Of course, it wasn’t like he could level up or receive rewards or anything like that through the system, but it was still convenient. Regardless, he’d recently found out that there was a large collection of stories in his system. Webnovels, comics, shows, books, anything, there were hundreds. Thousands.

Maybe even millions?

So, with nothing else on his mind, he began to read.

He found that he couldn’t really focus on reading, though. Here he was. A [Writer] and a [Reader] acting as a [Character] in a story that only he really understood was fake. It was something that would continue to pester him and gnaw at him. An incredible contradiction of “reality” integrating into “fiction.”

And yet, despite all this, here he was in a fictional world, reading of another fictional world that was likely just as equally “real” as the one he was in now. Ironically, it was a story of a writer being thrown into their own novel, forced to survive.

He wondered sometimes.

[Reader]. That title belonged to those who were told stories. Those who took them and brought them to life in their own minds. That made sense. He was reading a book, right now.

A [Reader].

But what about [Writer]? Was he a [Writer]? Zero had never told him about his life on the original Earth. He had a few snippets of memories, a few names, a few experiences, but it wasn’t a lot. What had he written? Had he forced characters to go through the trauma he was going through right now?

Pain. Growth. Those two things were synonymous in stories. [Authors] loved to make their characters suffer. Of course, there were slice of life stories, but those typically didn’t have a plot for a reason.

Trauma. It was something inevitable in a story. The more the characters suffered, the more some people seemed to enjoy it. Some stories were centered around the main character only suffering, making their brief moments of triumph all the more special. He didn’t want trauma, though. He didn’t want to be part of a story. He didn’t want to be the source of happiness for others, the entertainment of the [Readers]. He just wanted to live life.

But he couldn’t.

Oh, he tried. The story wasn’t neat because of him. In fact, it was quite bad when he thought about it. He did what he wanted, and the pacing was thrown off. His power was a ridiculous power that ultimately solved things that should’ve been solved by other means. When he was around, death held very little meaning. So did victory. If this were really a story, he wasn’t sure that he’d want or care to read it himself.

Of course, none of this changed the end result. He was still a puppet. Dancing to the strings of another.

“...John.”

“Zero. Haven’t you had enough?”

“One more thing. Your powers. The excuse for your limiter is emotions, right? But we both know that you’re only using your emotions in extreme situations.”

“Yeah.”

Zero appeared and stared at John.

“Then this was an extreme situation, right?”

“...”

“I know you don’t want to think about it, but you used your powers for Prota. You care for her. You got upset for her.”

“We’ve talked about this already.”

“And we’re talking about it again. John, c’mon. Think. What do you really want?”

John just turned away. “I don’t know, Zero! I want her… I want her to be safe. I don’t… I don’t want her to suffer. But at the same time… she’s a [Character] in the end. That’s probably all she’ll ever be. So… what do I do?”

There was no answer. John looked up again, and Zero was gone. Clearly, John’s clone had given him some alone time. [Character]. They died so easily. Their deaths served purposes, usually, but still. All it took to snuff their life out was the whim of a single person.

He thought about that. He’d been a [Writer] once, right? Before he’d become a puppet.

Did he kill off [Characters]? Did he force them to go through things he’d never want to go through? He wondered. If his [Characters] were alive, would they curse him just like he cursed the [Author] that made him go through all this?

He didn’t know the answer. He wasn’t sure he ever would.