˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗

The battlefield reeked of desperation. The air crackled with unstable energy, the ground beneath him shifting like the very code of the world was breaking apart. Shedletsky moved forward, sword in hand, the weight of countless battles pressing against his bones.

Then—movement.

Not ahead. Behind.

He caught it in the steel. A fleeting reflection, faint and desperate—you.

His grip tightened. The silver of his blade mirrored the scene in perfect, damning clarity: your form stumbling, the specter of 1x1x1x1 closing in. The embodiment of his own hatred, creeping toward you like a predator savoring the inevitable.

Shedletsky didn’t think.

He turned.

Steel flashed as he stepped between you and the corrupted being, the light catching the edge of his blade in a gleam that sent a ripple through the digital air. 1x1x1x1 halted, head twitching unnaturally as if the very presence of its creator disrupted its malice.

A hollow, glitched voice slithered out. "You. Again."

Shedletsky exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. His sword hovered just above the ground, steady. Unshaken. "Still acting like you’re more than just a bad decision I made?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it—sharper than the weapon in his hands.

1x1x1x1’s form flickered, distorting into something jagged and grotesque. "You can’t keep saving them. You can’t even save yourself."

Shedletsky chuckled, low and humorless. "Oh, that’s rich. You’re literally made of every mistake I’ve ever had."

He took a slow step forward, sword angled slightly—enough to show confidence, not enough to strike. Not yet. "You’re right about one thing, though." His voice dropped slightly, a quiet admission. "I probably can’t save myself."

The thought gnawed at him, somewhere deep, buried beneath years of arrogance and bravado. But this? This moment?

He could choose.

He could step forward instead of back.

And he did.

With a sudden burst of movement, Shedletsky surged forward. 1x1x1x1 recoiled, its form fracturing at the edges as his sword.