Jera's mind was not a cold, calculating engine. It was a storm.
The Vault's panicked voice was still echoing in his head.
"...The global power structure... their entire leadership... is gone."
"...The world is in chaos, Jera..."
He had done this.
He, Jera Murphy, had just accidentally decapitated human civilization because he was annoyed at an auction.
He stared at his comm, his fist clenched so tight that his high-end rig's gauntlet began to creak. This wasn't a "variable." This was a catastrophe.
The "Cain Walker" mask, the cold, flat, emotionless thing he had built to protect himself, was cracking. He wasn't a god. He was just a man with a power he couldn't control, and he had just made a mistake that would get millions of people killed.
"Oh, hell," Jera whispered, and this time, the voice that came through his helmet's speaker wasn't a digital monotone. It was his voice. It was the voice of Jera Murphy, and it was rough with panic.
"What is it?"
He spun around. Seraphina was watching him, her violet eyes wide with concern. She had pulled a discarded (and multiplied) utility blanket from a crate in his fortress and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked small, fragile, and terrified.
And she was the only other person on Earth who knew the truth.
"The... the Auction," Jera said, his voice struggling to remain flat. He couldn't. He was breathing too fast. "The portal I destroyed. It was the only way out."
"I... I know," Seraphina said, "I told you it was sealed."
"All of them," Jera ran his gloved hand over his helmet, a gesture of pure human stress. "The Vault... my broker... he says all the Guild Leaders were in there. Lord Valerius. Kenji Tanaka. All of them. I... I trapped them."
Seraphina's face went white. "All of them? You mean... Elias Thorne? General Jin Wei? Valeria Rostova? You trapped the Ascended?"
Jera's blood turned to ice. He hadn't even considered that. "What? No... they're... they're the Ascended. They can... they can get out, right?"
"How?" Seraphina said, her voice shaking. "They can't break dimensions. That portal was an ancient, S-Rank artifact. It's not a wall, it's a law. You didn't just punch a wall, Cain. You punched a law of physics. You broke the connection between two worlds."
She stepped closer, her eyes locked on his helmet. "You didn't just trap them. You've created a power vacuum that will tear the world apart. Guilds will collapse. Nations will panic. And... and the dungeons... without the Ascended to clear the S-Rank rifts..."
She didn't need to finish. Jera understood.
S-Rank dungeons, left unchecked, would "break," spilling their monsters into the world.
He had just doomed the planet. All to save... one person.
He looked at Seraphina.
His cold, logical "asset" was now the living, breathing reason for the apocalypse.
Jera turned away from her, the weight of his actions crushing him. He felt like he was back in that pit in The Scrapyard. Weak. A failure. Reckless.
"I... I need to fix this," he muttered.
"How?" Seraphina asked, her voice soft. "You can't. You said it yourself, the other night. You... you can't un-multiply. You can't un-punch a hole in reality."
"I... I don't know," Jera said. The admission felt like a physical wound. The "Cain Walker" persona, the all-knowing, silent Overlord, was a lie. He was just Jera, a 24-year-old man who was in way, way over his head.
He felt a small, hesitant touch on his armored gauntlet.
He looked down. Seraphina had placed her hand on his. He could feel the warmth of her skin, even through the high-tech metal.
"You're terrified," she whispered.
Jera's entire body went rigid. "I am... analyzing the tactical situation." It was a weak, reflexive lie.
"No," she said, her violet eyes soft. "You're scared. I can... I can feel it. Just like I can feel the Runestones. Your power... it's not cold. It's burning. It's rage, and grief, and... and this terrible, crushing loneliness. That's your true signature. That's what I felt in the auction hall."
She looked at his black, emotionless helmet. "You're not a monster, are you? You're just... in pain."
No one had spoken to him like this in three years. Not even Sarah, before the betrayal.
Jera's hand was shaking. He slowly, slowly, pulled his gauntlet away from her hand. He couldn't process this. He couldn't deal with her... and the end of the world.
"The contract," he said, seizing on the first logical thought he could find. "I... I have a contract. In Chicago."
Seraphina blinked, confused by the sudden change of subject. "What? Chicago? You're going back?"
"I have to," Jera said, the words coming out in a rush. He was pacing now. "I... I need to level up. It's the only thing I can do. The only path. I need to get to Level 100. I need to... to... Ascend. It's the only way. If I'm strong enough, maybe... maybe I can fix this. Maybe I can find another portal. Or... or..."
Or maybe he could just run away from the problem he had just created.
"You can't leave me here," Seraphina said, her voice suddenly small.
Jera stopped pacing. "This is the safest place on Earth. It's my... my base. You'll be protected."
"Protected? Or 'kept'?" she challenged him, the fire returning. "You just saved me from one prison, Cain. Don't throw me in another. You think those walls will hold back the Bleed if it comes? If the 'Corruption' you saw finds this place?"
She had a point. An absolutely terrifying point.
"And... and," she continued, looking down, "I don't... I don't want to be alone. Not again."
Jera looked at her. His mind, which could process S-Rank combat in nanoseconds, was completely stalling. He had no protocol for this. He had no answer. She was... she was a person. And she was right.
He was the "key." She was the "lock." They were bound by this cosmic mystery. He couldn't leave her behind.
"Fine," he said, the word sounding like a surrendered-lost-battle. "But... you're... you're fragile. You have no armor. No weapons."
"I have this," Seraphina said, her voice filled with a sudden, new confidence. She walked to the table and placed her hand on the merged Runestone. Her eyes glowed. "I am the Oracle of the First War. I can read the truth. That's my weapon."
Jera sighed. It was a deeply human, deeply tired sound. "A weapon that can't stop a bullet."
He turned away from her and walked to a pile of multiplied, discarded loot. He rummaged through it. He pulled out a C-Rank [Mana-Weave Cloak] ($\times 24$ in his inventory) and a small, sleek D-Rank [Mana Pistol] ($\times 24$ in his inventory).
He tossed them to her. She fumbled, but caught them.
"The cloak... it has a low-level shield. It'll stop shrapnel. The pistol is... a pistol. It's better than nothing."
Seraphina looked at the items, then back at him. A small, cautious smile touched her lips. "So... we're going to Chicago?"
"We are," Jera said. He felt... strange. His heart was still hammering, the world was still ending, but... he wasn't alone in his fortress anymore. He wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
He activated his helmet. The "Cain Walker" mask was back in place. But as he looked at Seraphina, he knew it was a mask she could see right through.
"Stay close," his digital voice commanded, all of its old, cold authority gone, replaced by a new, thin, fragile layer of worry. "And... try not to get killed."