The hours dragged on with a painful, suffocating weight, every second stretching longer than the last. Eko's head rested on Mya's shoulder, her breaths shallow and uneven as if the very act of breathing required more energy than she could muster. They both stared blankly ahead, lost in the echo of their thoughts, the sterile scent of the hospital a constant reminder of the reality they couldn't escape
Jesse and Richie would come and go, seeking updates or a shred of hope before retreating back to Toni's side. They were all holding their breath, waiting for something to give, for someone to emerge and tell them it would be okay. But no one did.
Mya had discovered, during the painful wait, that Eko had been completely unaware of Matthew's worsening condition and his need for a heart transplant. She hadn't known about the secret conversations regarding his surgery or that Matthew had been quietly considering dates for the procedure. The realization rattled Mya to her core, and she had prepared herself for an emotional outburst from Eko—whether it be anger over being kept in the dark about something so crucial or hurt from being left out of such important decisions.
But Eko hadn't exploded. She hadn't lashed out or raged. Instead, she had simply nodded, her face hollow, eyes distant. Mya had watched as the gravity of it all began to sink in, as though the weight was too much for Eko to process at once. The silence between them grew heavy, fragile, until Eko's composure finally broke. Tears fell—silent and relentless—leaving her drained, utterly emptied of any fight.
By the time there was movement beyond the doors, it felt as though the night had fully descended, its suffocating darkness seeping into the corners of the waiting room. The soft whoosh of the sliding doors broke the stillness, snapping Eko and Mya out of their daze. Both women looked up at the same time, their tired, red-rimmed eyes locking onto Dr. Keaton as he stepped into the hallway. The exhaustion on his face mirrored their own, though a flicker of something else—dread or resignation—passed through his expression.
"I, uh, was just coming to find you," Dr. Keaton began, his voice thick as he cleared his throat, trying to shake off the weight of the news he carried. But the slight tremor in his hands betrayed him. He fidgeted, fingers twitching nervously at his sides, his strained attempt at composure crumbling under the gravity of what he had to say.
Mya was the first to break the silence. "How is he?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Dr. Keaton's eyes flickered between Eko and Mya, as though searching for the right words, something to soften the blow, but there was no way to make it easier. His silence was suffocating.
Both women stood up simultaneously, the weight of Dr. Keaton's silence suffocating them. Eko's voice followed, shaky and desperate. "What? Tell us, please," she pleaded, her heart racing, her stomach twisting in knots.
Dr. Keaton shifted uncomfortably and launched into a clinical explanation of the surgery, detailing the complications, the steps they had taken, the medical jargon spilling from his lips in a detached monotone. Words like "stabilize," "oxygen deprivation," and "complications" floated around her, but Eko couldn't process any of it. It all felt distant, like he was speaking underwater, every word muffled by the frantic pounding of her own heart.
None of it mattered—not the technical terms, not the intricate details of the surgery. All Eko wanted to know was if Matthew was still breathing, still alive, still here with her. But Dr. Keaton wasn't answering the one question that mattered most.
"Is he—?" Eko's voice cracked, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists, trying to hold herself together. "He's... he's okay, right?" The words felt jagged, sticking in her throat, each one laced with fear and desperation, as though speaking them aloud would force reality into something bearable.
Dr. Keaton's gaze softened, and in that moment, Eko saw the truth etched in his eyes, even before he spoke. The weight of it, like the whole world collapsing in slow motion, was delivered with a gentleness that seemed almost cruel. "I'm so sorry," he began, his voice low, burdened with a deep regret, "I'm sorry that I have to be the one to tell you..."
"Tell me?" Eko's voice trembled violently, her entire body shaking as if it might shatter any second. "Why... why are you apologizing?" Her words tumbled out, jagged and broken, as though speaking them could somehow stop everything, could reverse the nightmare unfolding. Her hands clutched at her shirt, desperately trying to hold herself together. Beside her, Mya's breath hitched, sharp and fragile, the silence between them suffocating.
Dr. Keaton hesitated, his throat tightening as he fought to deliver the words. "Eko..." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "We declared time of death at 22:35."
For a beat, the world hung still.
"Time of death?" Eko gasped, her voice fractured, barely recognizable, her head shaking violently in disbelief. "No, no... that's not... impossible!" Her voice cracked, desperate, raw. "Literally impossible!"
Her breathing grew ragged, erratic. The walls of the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her. She stumbled back, hands flailing, grasping at the empty air as if she could somehow claw her way out of this nightmare.
"He can't!" she cried, her voice escalating, frantic. Her eyes darted wildly before landing on Mya, and she clutched at her friend's arm like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. "Mya!" she sobbed, her words barely coherent through the choking sobs. "Mya, tell him! Tell him to go back in there! Matthew's not dead, he can't be! He's not gone!"
Her words were a desperate plea, broken and torn from her soul. "He wouldn't leave me here!"
Mya's heart shattered as Eko's desperate grip tightened, her tear-filled eyes pleading for the impossible—anything to change the brutal reality that had just been delivered. The raw pain in Eko's voice was like a knife to Mya's chest, cutting deep, but she couldn't find the words. What could she say? How could she offer comfort when there was none to give?
Eko's pleas grew more frantic, her words tumbling out in broken sobs. "Please, Mya, tell them! Get them to go back in there. They can't just quit on him like this!" Her voice cracked, the sheer desperation clawing at Mya's soul.
But Mya remained frozen, unable to speak, unable to offer the lie that Eko so desperately wanted to hear. She couldn't give her false hope, not when the truth was suffocating them both. All she could do was stand there, her own eyes brimming with unshed tears, locked with Eko's, sharing in the unbearable grief that neither of them knew how to voice.
"Jesus! No!" Eko screamed, her voice slicing through the silence, raw and broken with desperation. When Mya still didn't respond, Eko spun back toward Dr. Keaton, her voice trembling, rising with hysterical anguish. "Fix him!" she shouted, her fists clenching as if willing the world to bend to her will. "Go back in there and fix him!"
Her words echoed down the sterile hallway, louder, more frantic with each breath. "He's stronger than this! He's stronger!" Her voice cracked, dissolving into something raw, torn from the deepest part of her soul. "He's not done! You hear me? He's not done!"
Her chest heaved with sobs, her body shaking uncontrollably as she pleaded, her face contorted in anguish. "Just go back in there and bring him back to me!"
Dr. Keaton, though hardened by years of medical practice, flinched ever so slightly under the weight of her despair. Her grief was palpable, cutting through his professional detachment like a knife. Yet beneath his composed exterior, deep sympathy gnawed at him. Guilt, thick and unforgiving, settled in his chest—a guilt that stemmed not just from the failure of the surgery, but from the years he had known Matthew, watched him grow from a determined teenager into the man he became. Despite his best efforts, despite everything they had fought through together, Matthew had died under his care, and the weight of that failure pressed heavily on him now.
"TURN AROUND AND GO BACK IN THERE AND FIX HIM!" Eko screamed again, her finger trembling as she pointed toward the surgery room, her entire body shaking with rage and desperation.
Dr. Keaton closed his eyes briefly, his face pale, lined with grief. His own heart ached with the memories etched into his mind—the frantic beeping of monitors, the quiet chaos of his team as they fought to stabilize Matthew's new heart. "We need more vasopressors... no response." His hands had trembled as they checked the bypass machine, watching helplessly as the new heart simply wouldn't take. The flatline on the monitor echoed in his mind—slow, inevitable, and final.
"Eko," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, "there's nothing left to fix." His words fell like a death knell, cold and final. "He's gone."
"NO, HE'S NOT!" Eko's scream reverberated through the sterile hallway, her denial fierce, almost tangible. "THIS IS MATTHEW WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Her voice cracked with the rawness of her pain, the sheer force of her refusal to accept the unthinkable. It was as if her denial alone could bring him back, as if sheer willpower could reverse the inevitable. Her chest heaved with sobs, the echo of her anguish filling the empty space around them.
"Eko..." Dr. Keaton's voice was barely more than a whisper, but each word felt like a hammer, smashing her already crumbling world into jagged, irreparable pieces. "He was without oxygen for too long."
Eko shook her head, her mind screaming against the truth. She clung to a sliver of hope, a desperate belief that there had to be something—anything—that could still be done. This wasn't how it ended. Not like this.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stumbled forward, grabbing the front of Dr. Keaton's coat, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "No... there's always something... you—you're a doctor!" Her voice was thick with grief, her eyes wild with disbelief. "You fix people, you fix things! You can bring him back!"
"The heart took too long to arrive," he continued, his voice trembling under the weight of the unbearable truth. "And the poison... the poison spread too far before we understood what was happening. His organs..." He faltered, his throat tight as he tried to steady himself. "They started shutting down. One by one. His body—" Dr. Keaton swallowed hard, his own voice cracking, his composure teetering on the edge. "It couldn't take the strain. Multi-organ failure."
He stopped, the final words catching in his throat, knowing that what he had to say next would forever break her. The words that would steal whatever hope remained. The words that would make the nightmare real.
"His body... it was already too far gone."
Eko's head shook violently, her lips trembling as the words slammed into her. "Even if the heart had made it in time... the lack of oxygen, the hypoxia—it caused irreversible brain damage."
The words didn't just hit—they ripped through her like shards of glass. Eko staggered back, her hands reaching blindly for something, anything, to hold onto, but the world around her blurred and spun violently out of control. Her breaths were ragged now, coming in desperate gasps as if she were drowning in air too thick to breathe.
Dr. Keaton's words were muffled now, drifting into a haze of sound that didn't register, and though he turned to Mya, explaining something—anything—Eko didn't hear it. She couldn't. Her mind was already unraveling, unable to process what had just been said. It was like hearing the end of her world being announced, and all she could think about was Matthew. She needed to see him, to know.
Without hesitation, her feet moved of their own accord, driven by sheer panic. She pushed past them, her heart hammering wildly in her chest as she reached the green buzzer. The soft hiss of the door opening felt deafening, but Eko hardly noticed. All she knew was that she had to get to him.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Eko stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat.
And then she saw him. What awaited her was a sight she could never have been prepared for—not in her worst nightmares. Matthew lay still and lifeless on the table before her. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be him—not like this.
Her chest tightened painfully as her gaze fell to the incision down his chest, hastily stapled shut. A cruel reminder of the battle his body had fought, a war it had lost.
Her eyes moved up to the tube still lodged in his throat, surrounded by the other lines and wires, now useless. They had fought to keep him alive, and now those efforts were nothing more than reminders of a life they couldn't save.
The heart monitor's flat line was deafening in its silence, its message undeniable. Her hands trembled at her sides, every instinct in her screaming to reach out, to touch him, to find even the smallest hint of warmth. But the blood—his blood—that had pooled beneath him, dark and unyielding, stopped her.
The dagger—that dagger—still lay on the nearby tray, a cold, gleaming for the poison that had coursed through his veins had sealed his fate, indifferent to the battle he had fought.
She could barely hear the quiet murmurs of the doctors and nurses moving around her, their faces averted, as if they couldn't bear to meet her gaze. They had tried. They had failed. And now, they stood there, helpless, as the enormity of her grief consumed the room.
One figure, however, stood apart from the others—Dr. Shields. His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached her, his eyes heavy with sorrow, his expression weighed down by the gravity of the situation. His silence confirmed everything Eko feared—nothing could be undone here. No reversal, no miracle waiting to unfold.
"You shouldn't be in here, Eko," Dr. Shields said softly, though his voice held a quiet insistence. "No one should have to remember their loved one like this." He glanced at Matthew's still form, then back at Eko. "We need to finish here—close his chest, remove the tubes, clean him up. Please, let us handle this. You don't need to see it. Trust me on this."
Her grip on reality was slipping, everything feeling too surreal, too wrong to be real. She couldn't look away. Dr. Shields stepped closer, his hand hovering in midair, unsure whether to reach out. He stopped short, knowing that there was no solace he could offer her in this moment.
"Eko..." His voice was hesitant again. "I know this is impossible to accept, but... Dr. Keaton explained everything, right?" He paused, searching her face, unsure of how much she had truly absorbed through the crushing fog of her grief.
Eko didn't truly hear him. Her mind was locked onto one desperate thought, frantically sifting through possibilities the doctors hadn't even considered. After all, they didn't understand the crystals, the powers Matthew had—what they all had. They couldn't possibly grasp that Matthew wasn't like everyone else. The crystal's power had kept him alive, strong, almost invincible. There had to be something they were missing.
She took a shaky step forward, drawn to him, and gripped the edge of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was the last fragile thread tethering her to any semblance of control, as her world spun wildly into chaos.
"Eko?" Dr. Shields' voice was distant, muffled through the suffocating fog of grief that clouded her mind. She blinked, but her gaze remained fixed on Matthew—on the unnatural stillness of his chest, the void where his breath should be. He wasn't gone. He couldn't be.
Dr. Shields exhaled softly, his face worn with sympathy as he stepped closer. There was no amount of caution that could shield her from what came next.
"If you can hear me," he began, his voice low and steady—too calm for the storm he was about to unleash. "We'll give you a few minutes to be with him." He paused, watching her, her gaze fixed on Matthew, her breath shallow and uneven. She was barely holding on. "But after... there are procedures we have to follow."
The word "procedures" echoed in the sterile air, a cold and merciless sentence. Even though her mind fought against it, some part of her—deep down, buried beneath the raw grief—understood.
"Procedures?" she whispered, her voice trembling, small and hollow.
Dr. Shields hesitated, his tone heavy, burdened by the weight of the words he knew he had to say. "Yes. An autopsy." He paused, the next words almost choking in his throat, but he pressed on, knowing there was no way around them. "And then... preparations for organ donation." His voice wavered, barely holding on. "Eko, he... he is still considered Allegiant property. Without next of kin to officially claim him... they have the rights to his body."
Her breath caught, the clinical detachment of those words hitting her like a freight train. "No next of kin? Property?" The cold, unfeeling terminology ripped through her like a blade, shredding the last thread of sanity she clung to. Matthew—her Matthew—was no longer a person to them, no longer her love. He was reduced to a body. A vessel. A "procedure."
Autopsy.
The word beat relentlessly in her mind, each syllable a fresh wound. They would cut him open, slice through him, examine and dissect every part of him—lay him bare in ways she couldn't even bear to imagine. It was an unspeakable violation.
The man who had held her, kissed her, promised her a future was now nothing more than a body to be carved up and sent away. His organs—pieces of him—would be given to strangers as if what they had shared, what he had been, could be divided, parceled out, and forgotten.
It was too much. The very idea of him being dismantled, his essence stolen and sent off in pieces, made her spiral into a dark, tailspin of despair.
"Do you understand, Eko?" Dr. Shields asked gently, his voice a thin thread trying to weave through the chaos that enveloped her. He spoke softly, cautiously, aware of how delicate her world had become.
But how could she understand? How could anyone? The man she loved—her Matthew—who had been the center of her universe, was now reduced to sterile terms. "Procedures." He had become paperwork, an object for organ donation, dissected and dispersed. And she was left standing in the shattered remains of what was once her life, a future that had been ripped from her grasp in an instant.
"Eko?"
Dr. Shields' voice pierced through the fog, but she barely registered it. She managed only a faint, hollow nod, more out of reflex than comprehension. Without another word, Dr. Shields cast her one final, sorrowful glance, then signaled to the staff. The soft click of the door closing behind him resonated through the room like a final, irrevocable ending, leaving her alone in the crushing silence with Matthew.
Her hand trembled as she reached out, her fingers barely grazing his. The coldness of his skin hit her like a shock, sending a jolt of disbelief through her. She pulled back instinctively, the chill a stark reminder that this—this still body before her—couldn't possibly be him. Not her Matthew. But she couldn't leave, not yet. Forcing herself to stay, her trembling fingers, both terrified and desperate, reached out again, wrapping around his hand. She gripped it tightly, willing warmth into the cold, lifeless skin, as if her touch alone could bring him back, make everything right again.
She clutched his hand tighter, her forehead pressing desperately against it. "I should have been there," she whispered, her words barely slipping past the suffocating sobs that wracked her body. Tears poured down her face, unchecked, each one carrying the unbearable weight of guilt. "I should've stopped this. I should've protected you." Her grip tightened.
The sobs wracked her body, harder and more violent, each breath stolen from her as if the world itself was collapsing on her chest. Suddenly, she yanked herself back, forcing her body to still, to stop shaking. She wiped at her tear-streaked face with trembling hands, trying to pull herself together, even as her heart raced uncontrollably. Her gaze flickered toward the door, ensuring she was still alone. The idea that crossed her mind was wild, insane even—but the alternative, losing him forever, was a fate she refused to accept.
"This isn't how it ends," Eko's voice shattered with anguish, her words trembling as they left her lips. "The universe doesn't get to do this to us!" Each breath came in jagged gasps, despair gnawing at her insides, trying to rip her apart. But beneath the crushing sorrow, something new and fierce flickered to life—a refusal to accept this fate, a fire she never knew she had. A refusal to bow to fate.
She tightened her grip on Matthew's cold hand, her resolve hardening into something unstoppable. "You're not leaving me here alone!" Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotion, but her will was unshakable. Her hand trembled, but her spirit was fierce. "I won't let fate, destiny, or anyone else take you away from me."
Desperation and fury surged through her as she pressed her free hand harder against her chest, feeling the crackling energy pulsing beneath her skin. She closed her eyes, her heart hammering, and focused on the raw, volatile power coursing through her veins—power she had feared for so long but now clung to with everything she had. This was her last chance, her only hope. She had to bring him back.
"You're coming back to me!" Eko's voice trembled with both fury and desperation, her heart pounding against her ribs as though trying to break free. Then, as if responding to her plea, two crystals materialized from her body, hovering above her trembling palm. One pulsed with a fierce, familiar light, vibrant and alive with the energy she had always known. But the other—the one she hadn't felt stir in years—was dull, barely glowing, its essence almost entirely drained.
It hovered, casting the faintest of shadows, its dim light heavy and lifeless, like a candle's flame on the brink of extinction. Eko's heart lurched at the sight, an ominous weight settling in her chest as she stared at the fragile crystal, knowing it was connected to something deeper, something lost.
"You saved me," she barked at the crystal, her voice raw, cracking with anguish as if the very crystal could hear her desperation, as if it held the key to saving everything. "You kept me alive all those years ago. You protected me when I was just a child. I don't understand why, or how, or what you are—but if there's any magic left in you, if there's anything at all—I beg you." Her voice quivered, breaking under the weight of her plea, her hands shaking as she clutched the fading light in front of her.
Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the crystal tighter, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. "Please... save him," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, as though the crystal itself could feel her desperation. Every word was a fragile sliver of hope, the last thread she had to hold onto. "He doesn't deserve this. He's fought so hard. He's been through too much."
The tears came heavier, spilling onto Matthew's still, unmoving body, the only sound in the room her quiet sobs and the gentle drip of her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the crystal to respond, her breath shaky as she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please," she gritted through her teeth, her words barely audible. "Just like you saved me when I was a little girl. Bring him back to me. Do it. Bring him back. Right now."
Her hand trembled violently as she lowered the crystal, pressing it gently against Matthew's chest, right over his silent, dead heart, hoping against everything that somehow, against all odds, the crystal would respond, and Matthew would come back to her.
Eko closed her eyes, her heart pounding with the weight of hope and fear as she poured every ounce of her remaining strength into the crystal. Her breath hitched, trembling with a mixture of desperation and fragile belief. As the crystal pressed against Matthew's cold skin, she felt it—a flicker of energy, so faint it could have been imagined, but it wasn't. It was real. A pulse of something deep and ancient surged from the crystal and into Matthew's lifeless body.
Her breath caught in her throat, her entire being focused on that single, elusive thread of magic. The faint glow began to ripple beneath his skin, like stars faintly coming to life, spreading across his body in delicate threads of light. Each vein, each muscle, each scar—everything that had once marked his suffering—began to heal, to close, as if the universe itself was stitching him back together.
Eko's hands shook as the light coursed through him, her eyes widening in disbelief. The impossible was unfolding right in front of her, and yet she clung to that moment, not daring to believe it too soon. Hope—wild and untamed—bloomed in her chest, fragile but burning bright.
"Come back to me," she whispered through trembling lips, her tears falling unchecked. "Pull him back from death's grip... bring him back to me." Her voice cracked, her emotion raw, the plea born from the depths of her soul.
The machines behind her beeped faintly, their sounds weak but unmistakable, as if they too were coaxed back into life. The rhythm of Matthew's heart, once so still, grew stronger, steadier with each beat.
The erratic flutter that had barely kept Matthew tethered to life now smoothed into a consistent thrum. Eko's breath caught in her throat, but this time, it was in sheer, tearful relief. She broke into a sobbing smile, her entire body shaking as she clung to him. His wounds hadn't completely disappeared, but they were healing—and his heart was beating. That was all that mattered.
With trembling hands, Eko spread her fingers across his chest, her palm resting against the steady thrum of his heart—the heartbeat that had always grounded her, always pulled her back from the brink. Now it was him tethered to life, and that rhythmic pulse anchored her, keeping her from unraveling. The fear that had suffocated her so completely began to ease, replaced by a surge of love and overwhelming relief that she could no longer hold back.
"You will survive," she demanded of him, her voice hoarse but resolute, as the crystal slowly and completely absorbed itself back into her body. "So take a breath, and open your eyes. You are not done here in this world."
Her words trembled with desperation, the kind that came from someone who had brushed too close to losing everything. She leaned in, pressing her lips softly against his forehead, lingering there as if willing her love, her hope, to seep into him through that tender touch.
Eko wrapped her arms around him, pulling him as close as she could, her heart aching with the weight of everything she had feared to lose. "You are not going anywhere that I can't follow. You got it?"
And then she felt it—the slow rise and fall of his chest as his lungs filled with air. Even though it was aided by the machines, it meant his body was working again, slowly healing itself. She had kick-started his heart, pushed the power into his crystal aswell it seemed to give him a fighting chance.
Her hands threaded through his hair, brushing it away from his face as she whispered fiercely, "Death is not getting his hands on you so easily. Not while I'm here."
With a deep breath, she pulled back, her tears still flowing, and with all the strength she could muster, she screamed for the doctors, her voice tearing through the silence like a battle cry, summoning them there to her - to bring everyone back to do what they needed to do. She had brought him back from the brink of oblivion, and now it was up to them to make sure he stayed here.
"GET IN HERE, NOW!"
****** Flashback 15 Years Ago ******
Matthew's small legs pumped furiously as he darted through his burning hometown, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. Flames leaped hungrily from building to building, consuming everything in their path. The heat was suffocating, searing his skin as he frantically searched for a way out. His eyes stung from the thick smoke, tears of fear and frustration blurring his vision, but he kept running—driven by the primal instinct to survive.
The ambush had come without warning. One moment, he had been playing with friends, laughing in the late afternoon sun; the next, he was drenched in their blood. Monsters had descended upon them, their claws tearing through bodies with a brutality no child should ever witness. Heads severed, limbs ripped apart—it all happened so fast, the horror barely registering in his young mind before the instinct to run kicked in.
Matthew's tiny feet slipped on the blood-soaked earth, sending him crashing to the ground. The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, mixing with the acrid smoke that clogged the air. He pushed himself up, but his hands slid in the slick crimson beneath him, and he fell again, the impact rattling his small frame.
Above him, the flames roared like beasts, their heat licking at his skin as they cast an eerie orange glow over the devastation. The walls of fire closed in, towering over him like prison bars made of flames. He curled into a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, as if making himself smaller could shield him from the nightmare unfolding around him.
The Youmas' guttural screams echoed through the chaos, their howls of fury sending shivers down his spine. Their monstrous silhouettes grew nearer, distorted by the flickering flames. Each heavy footstep they took sent a jolt of fear through Matthew's trembling body, the ground shaking under their weight.
His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might explode from his chest, he couldn't catch his breath between the intense smoke that clogged his lungs, and the blood that covered his body, he was paralyzed between the guttural howls of the monsters closing in on him wanting to tear him apart like everyone else around him.
"Mattie!" The anguished cry pierced the chaos—a woman's voice, familiar and frantic.
"Mom?!" Matthew's voice, small and trembling, was swallowed by the inferno surrounding him. The softness of his childhood innocence, a voice unrecognizable to the man he would become, was lost amid the horror. But he clung to the sound of his parents' frantic calls, lifting his head from the blood-soaked ground, hope flickering faintly in his chest.
"MATT, WHERE ARE YOU?" His father's voice, deep and raw with fear, echoed through the flames. There was rage in it—rage born of terror and desperation. Matthew knew that tone; his father was frantic, fighting to reach him.
The fire crackled ominously as the monstrous footsteps of the Youmas grew closer, but the sound of his parents' voices was like a lifeline, pulling him up from the ground. For a brief moment, hope surged through him, and he scrambled to his feet, his tiny frame shaking with exhaustion and terror. He didn't know if they could see him, but he screamed into the burning world around him, tears mixing with the blood on his face.
Determination surged through Matthew as he scrambled to his feet, despite the flames licking at his skin. He pushed forward, stumbling out of the narrow alleyway into the chaos of the main street. Debris and bodies littered the ground, the once-familiar landscape now a twisted hellscape of destruction. His small frame was drenched in sweat and blood, the sticky warmth of it clinging to him as he fought through the chaos, desperate to reach his parents.
Ahead, a building crumbled, sending a cascade of debris into his path. He skidded to a halt, his sneakers slipping in the slick pools of crimson that smeared the street. The walls of fire on either side seemed to close in on him, pushing him back into the nightmare.
"MOM, DAD!" he screamed again as he was herded into a different alleyway by the panicked crowd, their screams mingling with the guttural roars of the Youmas. The fleeing civilians, drenched in blood and horror, shoved past him, their faces twisted in fear as they ran in all directions, like a river of despair carrying him along.
Suddenly, the alley opened up into another street, and Matthew's heart leaped as he caught sight of his parents in the distance. Amidst the chaos, they stood out, their faces etched with the same fear that gripped his own heart.
"MATTIE!" His mother's voice rang out again, filled with desperation, as his father moved away from her, scanning the chaos for any sign of their son.
"MATT!" His father's voice boomed over the cacophony, trying to cut through the sea of bodies rushing past them.
"HERE!" Matthew screamed. "MOM, HERE!" He saw his mother, her blonde hair wild and free in the flames, turn toward him. Relief washed over her features, softening the panic in her eyes.
"Oh Mattie," she whispered, her voice full of love and relief. "Thank God," she breathed, taking a step toward him.
But in that brief moment of hope, their respite turned to horror. Matthew's heart clenched as he watched his mother's expression twist from relief to pain. Behind her, a monstrous Youma emerged from the smoke, its towering form casting a terrifying shadow over her. Its eyes gleamed with malevolence, and a guttural growl rumbled from deep within its chest.
Before she could react, the creature's long, razor-sharp claws curled around her neck. Time seemed to slow as Matthew's world shattered. He screamed, but his voice was drowned out by the monstrous roar of the Youma. With a sickening crack, the creature snapped her neck, her body going limp in its grip.
"MOM!" Matthew's scream was a raw, broken wail of despair as he watched the creature wrench her head from her body in one brutal motion. Her lifeless form crumpled to the ground, and blood poured from the stump of her neck, soaking into the dirt as the Youma held her head aloft like a grotesque trophy.
"MOMMMMM!" Matthew tried to rush forward, but strong arms wrapped around his waist, dragging him backward. He struggled against the hold, his eyes locked on the horror before him. The Youma tossed his mother's head aside, and her body was torn apart by the ravenous pack that swarmed around it, their grotesque forms ripping into her flesh with unbridled hunger. Their laughter—like the hyenas of hell—echoed through the chaos.
Matthew's screams grew more frantic, his small fists pounding against the iron grip that held him back. Desperation clawed at his insides as he watched his mother's lifeless body vanish beneath the swarm of monstrous creatures. The realization hit him like a physical blow—it was his father's arms that contained him, not allowing him to run to her. The heat around them was unbearable, the flames licking at their heels, and the thick, acrid smoke choked their breath, filling their lungs with burning ash.
"MATT, STOP! WE NEED TO GO! WE NEED TO GET TO YOUR SISTER!" His father's voice broke through the haze of horror, desperate and filled with pain. He pulled Matthew away with all the strength he could muster, forcing them both to turn away from the gruesome scene.
The narrow alley was a corridor of nightmares, the sounds of destruction and death closing in on them. Above, the sky seemed to tear open, unleashing a wave of fire that bathed the night in an eerie, hellish glow. The inferno raged on, showing no mercy. Fiery debris rained down upon them, molten shrapnel slicing through the air, turning the world into a storm of heat, blood, and destruction.
"DAD!" Matthew screamed, his voice shrill with terror as a piece of burning shrapnel grazed his skin, searing pain shooting through him. His father spun around, scooping Matthew up into his arms, holding him tight. Matthew instinctively wrapped his legs around his father, feeling the strong hand on the back of his head, pushing him down, forcing him to bury his face into the crook of his father's neck for protection.
They bolted through the alley, the fire closing in from every direction. Suddenly, a burning beam from a collapsing building crashed down in front of them, blocking their escape. Matthew peeked up from his father's shoulder, his heart pounding wildly as he watched the skies continue to rain death—fiery debris falling like molten pellets from above.
His father's arms began to tremble, his grip loosening. Before Matthew could react, he was dropped to the ground, tumbling hard. He scrambled backward, his wide eyes locking onto his father, who had collapsed to his knees, blood trickling down his face from a deep gash in his forehead.
"Dad?" Matthew's voice was a quivering wail, his heart hammering in his chest. He watched in horror as the blood poured down his father's face, pooling at his feet. The mask of pain and fear on his father's features was a sight that would haunt Matthew forever. The flow of blood intensified, the crimson streams running thicker and faster, staining his father's clothes, the ground around them slick with it.
Then, with a sickening thud, more shrapnel fell from the sky, this time with deadly precision, embedding itself deep into the top of his father's head. The impact was brutal, and the force of it drove his father forward, his body crumpling to the ground in front of Matthew.
Matthew's voice cracked with desperation and he scrambled forward, his little hands shaking as he tried to turn his dad over, his fingers digging into his father's shirt. "D-dad!?" The word came out in a choked sob, barely more than a whisper. He shook his dad again, harder this time, but there was no response.
"Dad? Wake up, Dad!?" His small hands shook uncontrollably, "please!?" he cried out. The smoke was thick, burning his throat and making his eyes water, and every breath felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside. But he couldn't leave his dad. He couldn't just leave him there.
Then, he heard it—a low, scary growl that made his whole body go stiff. Matthew froze, every hair on his neck standing up. He didn't want to look, but he had to. Slowly, his wide, tear-filled eyes turned toward the sound.
The wild Youma, a monstrous creature that resembled a rabid dog with devil-like fangs and pitch-black eyes, stared him down. Blood dripped from its jaws, the remnants of its last kill.
It was looking at him, its black eyes boring into his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, Matthew was certain it would come for him next. But then, the Youma shifted its attention, its gaze locking onto his father's lifeless body. Matthew's heart hammered in his chest and it was then that he made the hardest decision of his young life, because he knew what was going to happen next.
With trembling hands and tears blurring his vision, Matthew crawled backward, inch by inch, away from his father's lifeless body. Every part of him screamed to stay, to fight, to do anything—anything at all—but deep down, he knew it was useless. If he stayed, he would die too. His chest tightened with grief, each sob choking him as he forced himself to move, retreating from the nightmare that had consumed his world. He needed to survive, for his sister. She was all he had left, and he had to find her, had to protect her. She was his only family now.
The Youma let out a vicious snarl, and then, with a terrifying burst of speed, it lunged forward. Its teeth sank into his father's flesh, ripping through muscle and bone with sickening ease. The sounds—oh, the sounds—of tearing flesh and snapping bones filled the air, overwhelming everything else. Blood splattered everywhere—on Matthew's shoes, on his clothes, even on his face. The warm, sticky liquid smeared across his cheeks, mixing with the tears that streamed down his face, unstoppable and unrelenting.
He wanted to scream, to cry out for his dad, but the terror that gripped him was suffocating, his voice catching in his throat, choking him. He watched, paralyzed, unable to move or think. The Youma tore his father apart, bit by agonizing bit, until what remained was a grotesque mess of blood and gore, unrecognizable to the man he once knew.
The monster, lost in its gruesome feast, paid no attention to the trembling boy only a few feet away. This was his chance—if he didn't move now, he'd be next. The overwhelming urge to scream clawed at his chest, but Matthew fought it down. With shaking limbs, he forced himself to inch backward on his hands and knees. Each movement felt excruciatingly slow, every shallow breath catching in his throat as panic threatened to consume him.
He sat there, shaking uncontrollably, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, rocking back and forth as the world burned. The guttural howls of the Youmas echoed through the suffocating, smoke-choked air, their screeches slicing through the chaos as they hunted for more victims. Every scream of the dying sent a jolt of terror through him, the sound of people's lives being torn apart pressing down on his chest, making it impossible to breathe.
Time dragged on like an eternity, every minute a never-ending stretch of fear. The weight of destruction around him crushed him, threatened to suffocate him in the horror of it all.
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed him from behind, yanking him out of his hiding place. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?" a gruff voice barked, dragging him out from the rubble. Matthew's heart slammed in his chest as he thrashed wildly, desperate to break free, terror surging back to life.
"Stop! Let me go!" Matthew screamed, kicking and clawing at the man, desperation burning in his voice. "The Youmas are still out there—"
A sharp slap cut through his words, the force of it snapping his head to the side. The sting was instant, blinding in its suddenness, leaving him momentarily dazed.
"Shut up!" the man hissed, his eyes darting around nervously, as if they were being watched. His grip tightened on Matthew's arm, his voice low but dripping with menace. "I will hit you again, you little shit! So just be quiet!"
Matthew's head spun, the sting of the slap still reverberating through him, disorienting his senses. He pressed a trembling hand to his cheek, feeling the burn of the hit, and struggled to regain his bearings. The world around him was a blur of smoke, fire, and chaos, but then the monstrous forms of more Youmas emerged from the thick haze. Their grotesque silhouettes twisted in the flames, and before Matthew could react, the man who had struck him bolted, disappearing into the smoke.
Matthew didn't expect what happened next—the creatures shifted their focus, abandoning him and tearing off after the stranger. The sound of their snarls and the man's desperate screams echoed through the burning ruins, growing distant until, once again, Matthew was left alone.
His mind was in a fog, his cheek throbbing as he stumbled forward, trying to navigate through the hellish landscape. Every breath was labored, the thick, acrid smoke filling his lungs, choking him. The screams of his people—the people he'd grown up with—pierced the air, rising and falling in waves of anguish and terror. The heat from the flames licked at his skin, and yet, the cold grip of dread squeezed tighter around his heart.
With trembling legs, Matthew picked up his pace, every step bringing him closer to the remains of what used to be his home. But with each step, the weight of what he might find became heavier. The flames consumed everything in their path, leaving behind a graveyard of ashes, twisted memories, and lives destroyed.
And then he saw it.
His breath hitched, his heart stalling for a beat as his world crumbled around him. Amid the rubble and choking smoke, just outside the wreckage of his home, lay two bodies. The older one—ginger-haired, their babysitter—was barely recognizable, her limbs mangled and missing, her body torn apart by the blast. But it was the smaller figure beside her, lying impossibly still, that made his blood run cold.
His sister.
Her blonde hair, once so vibrant and familiar, was now matted with blood and soot, darkened beyond recognition. Her tiny frame, so fragile, was swallowed by the devastation around her. A crimson pool of blood spread beneath her, staining the ground, and in that instant, he knew. He didn't need to touch her, didn't need to confirm the truth his heart had already shattered over.
She was gone.
Matthew's knees buckled beneath him as he stumbled forward, collapsing beside her. His trembling hands reached out, barely able to steady themselves as his fingers brushed against her cold, lifeless skin—the warmth of life already stolen from her. A sob, raw and broken, tore from his chest, shaking him to his core. His breath came in ragged gasps as he gently swept the blood-matted hair away from her face, revealing the delicate, still features of his baby sister.
She looked so small, so fragile, as if she might wake up any moment. But the stillness in her body, the silence that filled the air around them, told him the unbearable truth. She was gone, and he hadn't been there to protect her.
"No... no, no, no..." Matthew's voice trembled, breaking into a choked whisper as grief clawed at his throat. He pulled his sister's small, fragile body into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if somehow, through sheer will, he could bring her back. As if love alone could defy death and undo the horrors that had claimed her.
Her tiny form was a canvas of brutality—claw marks and burns marred her skin, a deep slash ran across her throat, and her once-pure clothes were soaked in dark, dried blood. She was so small, still so little that her delicate body fit perfectly into his trembling arms. The reality of it crushed him. His baby sister—his last bit of family, his responsibility—was gone, and no matter how tightly he held her, nothing could change that.
Matthew's hands trembled violently as he held his sister's lifeless body closer, burying his tear-streaked face in her neck as though he could shield her from the horrors of the world crumbling around them. The chaos—the fire, the death—became a distant hum. All that mattered was the cold, unmoving weight in his arms, the haunting finality of it. His heart pounded weakly, his soul caught between the agony of loss and the terror of what came next.
And then, amidst the darkness, something strange and unfathomable stirred within him.
Warmth—an unexpected, unfamiliar warmth—began to pulse through his veins, spreading like a slow burn. It wasn't enough to pull him completely from the abyss, but it was there, faint yet undeniable. He blinked in disbelief, eyes wide as he instinctively looked up toward the fiery sky, confusion clouding his tear-filled gaze.
"You will survive," a voice called out, cutting through the haze of grief like a lifeline. Eko's voice. It wrapped around him, soft and desperate, as if reaching across time and space. "So take a breath, and open your eyes. You are not done here in this world."
Clutching his sister tighter, Matthew blinked, bewildered by the sensation coursing through him. His body, once weighed down by grief, now felt different—lighter, almost as if something powerful had awakened within him. Magic. He could feel it thrumming in his veins, but he didn't understand it. He didn't understand why the heaviness had lifted or why his body no longer felt like it was sinking into the void.
Still, he didn't want to let go. The warmth in his chest warred with the sorrow clinging to him like chains, but the memory of that terrible night—the blood, the monsters, the fire—was too vivid, too present.
Eko's voice persisted, a constant force against the waves of his despair. "You are not going anywhere that I can't follow. You got it?" Her words echoed, rumbling through the dreamworld, shaking it to its core. "Death is not getting his hands on you so easily. Not while I'm here."
The fire, the blood, the monsters—they all began to blur, the edges softening as the darkness crept in, wrapping around him like a familiar shroud. Matthew wanted to stay in that place, to punish himself for the things he couldn't change, for the losses he couldn't undo. But the warmth... the warmth was different. It called to him, gently pulling him away from the nightmare.
He was so tired. The exhaustion weighed down on him like lead, pulling him into the abyss of nothingness. Slowly, the voices and warmth that had touched his heart began to fade into silence. The darkness closed in, suffocating him, wrapping him in its cold embrace, and then—there was nothing. Just a deep, all-consuming silence as his consciousness slipped into the sleep of oblivion.
** *** ****
The chamber pulsed with an ominous energy as the beast rose from his shadowed throne, his towering form casting a dark silhouette against the fractured sky above. Starlight flickered weakly through the shattered ceiling, barely managing to penetrate the gloom that clung to the room like a living entity. Madison, standing nearby, felt a shiver crawl up her spine as the beast's gaze locked onto the distant horizon, his eyes narrowing with calculated intent.
"The crystal... it pulses... wildly," the beast growled, his voice a deep, guttural rumble that reverberated through the chamber. His eyes burned with a malevolent glint. "She wields it—more powerfully than her other self could have ever imagined."
Isis emerged from the shadows, her expression tight with urgency, while Cid lingered in the background, a silent and brooding force against the wall. "Do we move now?" Isis pressed, her voice sharp, laced with urgency. "Take her while they're distracted?"
The beast turned slowly, a sinister grin curling across his lips. "No," he replied, his voice low and dangerous. "We wait. This time, patience will be our weapon."
"Wait?" Isis echoed, her confusion palpable. "The key to ending this war is within reach. We can strike now, take her, and—"
"Enough!" The beast's snarl cut through the air like a whip, silencing Isis instantly. His eyes gleamed with a cold, ruthless light. "The crystal will slip through our grasp again if we move too soon. The huntress within it is cunning—aware. If it senses us, it will flee. The huntress will disappear into another timeline, and we will have lost our chance. No," he growled, "we must bide our time, let her believe she's safe."
He turned his back on them, his gaze once again drawn to the fractured sky above. "The blood moon will come in eight months. The fabric of reality will be at its weakest then. That's when we strike. It will be our moment of greatest power."
"Eight months!" Isis's shock was clear, her voice tinged with frustration. "Why wait? We could capture her now, keep her chained like this one," she spat, gesturing toward Madison, who now occupied the spot where Ezra had once been held, her wrists bruised and raw from the shackles.
The beast's eyes burned with a menacing glow, his fury far from spent. As Isis stood trembling before him, her previous defiance now fading, the air around them seemed to shift. A suffocating weight pressed down on the chamber, and with a flick of the beast's clawed hand, an invisible force lashed out.
Isis gasped, her body folding in on itself as she was driven to her knees. The pressure was unbearable, like a thousand hands pushing her down into the stone floor. Her breath came in short, pained gasps, the weight of the beast's power crushing her chest, her limbs trembling as she fought to stay upright.
"You dare question me?" The beast's voice dripped with venom, each word a sharp sting that pierced through her defenses. "You forget your place, Isis. I can strip you of everything with a single thought." His hand twisted in the air, and a searing pain shot through her body, making her writhe in agony. Her screams echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the beast's dark, rumbling laughter.
The others in the room, including Madison, watched in horror as the beast twisted Isis's pain into a show of his dominance. Her body convulsed, her cries torn from her throat as the beast intensified the torment, invisible tendrils of power snaking around her, squeezing tighter, drawing out every ounce of suffering.
"You will learn obedience, or you will learn pain," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. The darkness around him seemed to swell, feeding off her torment, and the room dimmed further, shadows creeping closer, drawn to her suffering like vultures circling a dying prey.
Isis's voice broke, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. She crumbled fully to the floor, her body curled in submission, but still, the beast did not relent. His power held her down, forcing her to feel every inch of his wrath.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pressure eased. The air became lighter, though the darkness lingered. The beast withdrew his hand, his cold, satisfied gaze resting on her broken form.
"You will not question me again," he said, his voice low, menacing, and final.
Isis remained on the floor, gasping for breath, her body aching from the punishment she had just endured. Her defiance had been snuffed out, replaced by an agonizing submission that lingered in her every trembling limb. She dared not look at the beast again as his attention shifted toward Madison.
Madison, on the other hand, barely flinched. Her mind was elsewhere, focused on the path ahead—the equinox, the ritual, her cousin's blood. The beast's cruelty was a constant, something she had come to accept. She stared down at her shackled wrists, knowing that her freedom lay in this dark alliance, however grotesque the means might be.
With slow, deliberate steps, the beast approached her, his hulking figure towering over her with an air of dominance. His gaze pierced through her, cold and calculating. As he closed the distance between them, a dark portal began to swirl into existence beside him, a mass of roiling black energy, crackling with dark power.
"Go," he commanded, his voice resonating with lethal authority as he turned his attention back to Isis and Cid who was helping his wife from the floor. "Sow chaos in the other timeline. Our time will come here soon enough."
Cid stood from the floor, keeping Isis close to him, his fear of the beast overcasting everything else, and then the couple stepped toward the portal, his massive form barely acknowledging the battered Isis at his side. She staggered to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate as she followed him.
Madison remained silent, her eyes fixated on the swirling portal as they passed through it, vanishing into the other timeline, where the chaos they were meant to ignite would begin.
The beast's grip tightened on Madison's chains as he turned toward her, his smile a chilling whisper of malice. "Come along, little bird," he said, his voice dripping with menace, tugging her forward with a dark, cruel ease. His gaze burned with a ruthless intensity, a promise of all that was yet to come. He led her toward the swirling portal, where shadows danced like eager predators, waiting to devour them.
As the darkness swallowed them both, the chamber grew deathly quiet, empty save for the lingering echoes of his final command. The oppressive energy that had filled the space began to dissipate, leaving only the faint hum of the power that had been unleashed.
Time stretched before them, endless and fraught with dark possibilities. The beast likened his enemies to canaries in a cage—arrogant in their freedom, oblivious to the cat that lay in wait.
The canaries, blind to their fate, would soon fall. Their overconfidence would be their undoing, their weakness laid bare. He would watch them break, one by one, until there was nothing left of the world they so foolishly thought they could protect.
Victory was inevitable. And the beast knew it.