Explosions lit the night, tearing through the ground beneath me. Magic and steel clashed in every direction, a chaos of shrieks, gunfire, and blinding energy. The battlefield roared like a living thing, and I could barely hear myself over the noise.
"Dylan, move!" I shouted, sprinting toward the burning wreck of the prototype Armor. My heart pounded, panic surging through every nerve.
Inside the cockpit, Dylan's voice crackled over the comms. "I'm working on it! The core's unstable—it's going to blow!"
"We don't have time! Shut it down!"
His hands flew over the controls, but the whine of the overloading mana core only grew sharper, brighter, until the world itself seemed to shatter.
A flash of searing light. A jolt that felt like my body ripped apart and stitched back together wrong.
When I came to, everything felt off. My limbs... too strong. Too sharp. My breath caught as I looked down—blood poured freely from where my right arm used to be. The jagged stump pulsed with agony.
"Mark! Mark, are you okay?" The voice rang inside my head instead of from the comm.
"Dylan?" My voice trembled. I staggered. "Where... where are you?"
A heartbeat of silence. Then his voice, weaker: "The core exploded. I'm... I'm in the crystal. And you... you're in my body."
I froze. My heart pumped. "No. No, this isn't right. You're still— you have to be—"
"Calm down. First, stop the bleeding," Dylan said, his voice already starting to fade. "We can— we can fix this. Just stay calm and alive."
But the panic was already spiralling. My breath came shallow. The taste of ash clung to my tongue. My hands—these hands—weren't mine.
Next thing I remember was the walls painted white and green. With screams of peoples, noises of Machine. I can hear it all, I can feel it all. I want it to stop. I want everything to stop.
I don't remember collapsing. But when I opened my eyes again, I was still in the 4 walls of white and green, processing what was happening. But there was warmth. Familiar arms wrapped around me.
"Dylan! You're awake!" Brian's voice cracked with relief. He clutched me tightly, trembling. "I thought I lost you." He broke off, pulling me tight.
I let him hold me. Because it wasn't my place to say what I knew. Because I was already gone, and so was the person he thought he was holding. I couldn't meet his eyes. My gaze dropped to the bandaged stump where my arm had been. Wrong. All of it wrong.
Brian pulled back, his smile shaky. "The doctors did what they could. The core... the Armor's gone. Mark too. Knowing Mark, he might be the reason you are here right now."
I gave the barest nod, words catching in my throat.
"I know it is hard; he was a like a brother too us." he said gently, trying to sound normal. "I think in order to honour him; we should do a funeral for him."
I forced the smallest smile, which was followed by a tear from my left eye. "Yeah... for our brother."
When he left the room, I moved using my own strength. All movement, felt known yet foreign. I somehow managed to go to the restroom. I was greeted by a face, I knew but the look it gave me, wasn't the look I knew.
The face that stared back, the face was blank, no emotions, nothing. Just blank.
I lifted trembling fingers to the glass, tracing the unfamiliar features—Dylan's features. His eyes. His skin. Not me. Not mine.
A hollow breath escaped me. "This isn't me," I whispered. The reflection blurred. "This can't be real."
Panic surged, thick and drowning. My vision swam. And before I knew it, I struck the mirror—glass shattering under my fist. Blood welled from the cuts, but the pain barely registered.
I sank to the cold tile, shards around me. Clinging to my chest with my left arm, my breath ragged. My thoughts jumbled yet straight.
"The glass did cut deep, but not as deep as the truth: Whoever I was now, it wasn't me."
*****