The strategy worked. **Null Set** clawed their way back into the series against **Vanguard**, tying the score $5-5$. Aris was now in a rhythm of calculated sacrifice: **Fail, Rewind $4.0$ seconds, Acquire Data, Win Next Round.**
The cost, however, was becoming horrifying.
The visual distortions—the temporal echoes—were no longer faint ripples. They were manifesting as brief, jarring overlaps of reality.
In the middle of Round 11, while looking at the digital radar, Aris briefly saw a phantom image layered over it: the same radar, but with the enemy players' icons in different locations—locations they would occupy $4.0$ seconds *ago*. The lag in his visual input was now a genuine, physical hazard.
"Paradox, cover me! Flank left!" Maya yelled over the comms.
Aris processed the request. He knew the optimal angle. He moved to turn, but the residual temporal flicker made him hesitate—a split-second neural misfire.
### The Human Reaction
That hesitation was all **Archon**, the opposing captain, needed. Archon, playing with ruthless efficiency, did not rely on predictable code; he relied on reading human fear. He saw the stutter in Aris's movement on the kill-cam feed.
Archon pushed instantly, catching Aris out of position. Aris knew he was about to lose the fight. He needed the rewind.
*Trigger: Critical Failure.*
But the required emotional commitment was too high, the physical drain too immediate. His body, depleted and poisoned by temporal resistance, simply refused. There was no **thrum**, no snap. Just the bitter realization of a clean, unrecoverable defeat.
**PARADOX ELIMINATED.**
Null Set lost the round. The score was $6-5$. Match point for Vanguard.
---
In the brief moment between rounds, Aris felt a desperate, primal urgency he hadn't planned for. He had to reset. He reached for the stimulant patches taped to the underside of his arm, tearing them off and pressing two fresh ones to his neck. The rush of pure caffeine and adrenaline was a violent shock to his system, forcing his energy reserves back up.
"Paradox, talk to me," Liam's voice was tight with panic. "What was that? You froze."
"Resource conservation," Aris lied, his voice a low, controlled monotone. "Vanguard is adapting to my anchor. We need a new vector."
*New Vector: Force high-consequence failure, ignore physical limits, stabilize Rewind.*
He decided on the ultimate gamble.
### The All-In Sacrifice
Round 12. Match point. If they lost this round, they lost the series, and his climb to the top would reset to zero.
Aris knew Vanguard's rotation: a coordinated split-push on the A-site, led by Archon.
"I am rushing the enemy spawn point," Aris announced. "A single, aggressive flank will disrupt their entire setup."
"NO! Paradox, that's suicide! We need you here to defend!" Chen pleaded.
Aris muted his comms. He didn't need their irrelevant human noise.
He sprinted across the map, running into the dense fog near Vanguard's spawn. He was committing to a $1$-versus-$5$ confrontation, a move of pure, calculated madness.
He spotted Archon and his squad moving into position. Aris didn't shoot. Instead, he stopped dead in the middle of the field and threw his most potent explosive device straight down at his own feet.
**He was not dying to the enemy. He was killing himself.**
*Trigger: The deliberate, high-consequence self-annihilation of the primary asset.*
The explosion was instant and absolute. Aris's avatar disintegrated.
The resultant **Rewind** was the strongest he had ever felt—a brutal, violent wrenching of his consciousness. It felt less like a debug and more like a tear in the fabric of his mind.
He slammed back to life, gasping. The round timer was at **0:50**. The maximum **$6.0$ seconds** had been restored.
He had the perfect data: the entire Vanguard formation, their planned rush, and their defensive positions for the next round. The knowledge was pure, clean, and total.
But as he opened his eyes, the world was no longer stable. The monitor, the desk, the walls of the booth—everything was vibrating with a subtle, temporal distortion. He was breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face, and the floor beneath his feet felt like it was shifting.
Aris unmated his comms. "Their formation is compromised. They are vulnerable. Go mid-lane, now. Attack."
He didn't wait for a response. He had what he needed. He had paid the price.
---
### The New World
Aris, relying on the $6.0$ seconds of pristine future knowledge, played the round with flawless, brutal precision. He preempted every angle, every grenade, and every single shot. He was an unstoppable, temporal ghost.
**Null Set won the round.** The score was $6-6$. Overtime.
But the victory was hollow. As the team erupted in cheers, Aris looked down at his desk. The surface, which had been smooth, sterile laminate, now had a tiny, faded burn mark near the edge.
It wasn't a mark from the game. It was a physical mark from a failure in a reality he had just erased.
Aris stared at the burn mark, his cold logic finally failing to provide an answer. He had pushed the anomaly too hard. He was not just cheating the game; he was bringing the **scars of failed timelines** back into his own.
The cost was no longer theoretical. The cost was real. And the final, terrible overtime round was about to begin.