Chapter 157 ‒ The Last Patch (The End)
Chapter 157 ‒ The Last Patch
For a moment, the world had stopped.
There was no sky, no ground — only light, and the still echo of a choice made.
Then, from the hush, a voice broke through. Familiar. Frustrated. Fiercely alive.
“Idiot, why did you have to be like this? Trying to play the hero?” Milo’s voice was a mix of exasperation and warmth. “You could’ve just asked for yourself to be sent back.”
Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He blinked back tears, unable to speak for a moment. “I’m sorry. I… I… did you resent me?”
Milo crossed his arms and stared at him, a faint smirk forming on his face.
“Of course I resented you, idiot,” Milo said. “You didn’t listen to me. You didn’t even try to live like I told you to. After I died, you became some gloomy little crybaby. Yeah, I hated you for that.”
Tyler winced, but there was no anger in his expression — just a deep sadness, a longing to fix everything, even the things he couldn’t.
“But I watched over you, you know,” Milo continued. “I told you I would, remember? Even if you didn’t see me, I saw everything. I never really left.”
Tyler swallowed hard, his throat tight.
[I do not intend to interrupt your reunion, but I must remind you that time is almost up. It is time to return to Earth, or your soul will become unstable.]
Tyler nodded slowly, his chest tightening. “Goodbye, Milo,” he whispered.
“What?! No! I’m not leaving you here!”
Tyler gave him a small, sad smile. “Please, take care of Mom and Dad. And… take care of yourself.”
“No, Tyler!” Milo’s form shimmered at the edges. The golden light clinging to his body began to unravel, like threads pulled from an old tapestry.
“No!” he shouted. “No, I’m not leaving you behind!”
He stepped forward, trying to resist whatever force was pulling him away, but his limbs were already dissolving. Fingers became dust. His voice cracked with frustration.
“Damn it, Tyler! Don’t do this! We’re supposed to go home together!”
Tyler could barely look. His vision blurred, heart hollow. He knew there was nothing he could do — the choice had already been made.
“Don’t pick fights at school,” Tyler said, his voice soft but certain. “And if possible… remember me.”
Milo’s eyes widened, shimmering with a thousand unspoken things. His mouth opened, a final protest—
“No, Tyler!”
And then he was gone.
Golden particles scattered like fireflies into the void, dissolving into starlight.
Tyler’s voice cracked. “Goodbye, Milo. I will miss you…”
The silence that followed was not peaceful.
It was heavy.
Tyler stood still, barely breathing, as if the space around him had swallowed even the concept of movement. The golden particles were gone now. Milo was gone.
But the echo of his voice still lingered — a phantom memory etched across the vast emptiness.
A dozen thoughts tried to surface, but Tyler could not shape them into words. His chest ached, not from pain, but from the finality of it all.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.
He simply stood in that aching quiet, and felt the shape of absence settle into him.
[Your wish has been granted. Milo has been sent back to Earth.]
Tyler let out a slow breath, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It felt like moments, but it could have been hours. Finally, he looked up to the Aether Dragon.
“Thank you,” Tyler said quietly. “Thank you for letting me see my brother… one last time.”
[I may not completely understand the emotions of humans, but I am not so heartless as to not let you have a final goodbye.]
[Remaining Time: 00:00:01]
[Remaining Time: 00:00:00]
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Tyler’s smile was faint, but it was there. As his body began to disintegrate, his heart swelled with gratitude, sadness, and a sense of fulfilment.
[Unfortunately, there is nothing more I can do for you, Tyler. I have exhausted my divine power. Now I must return to my slumber.]
Tyler’s body was beginning to break apart, each particle dissolving into the void as the world around him changed.
The Aether Dragon’s colossal form began to fold inward — its body ravelling into coils of light, then folding tighter, denser, until only a small object remained.
A pale cocoon of swirling energy hovered in the air — smooth, elliptical, glowing softly like the shell of a dormant sun. Tiny constellations danced across its surface, fading in and out like breath.
The white void around them began to shift, melting into shades of grey. Then darker. And darker still.
Until nothing remained but blackness — vast and infinite, like the depths of space.
In that hollow expanse, Tyler floated alone.
Weightless. Diminishing.
His limbs were vanishing — not with pain, but with an eerie, graceful silence. His fingertips curled inward before flickering into mist. His legs had already gone, swallowed without ceremony by the nothingness.
And through it all, his thoughts didn’t scream.
They wandered.
He remembered the wind on the cliffs of Windy Mountains.
The flickering warmth of firelight in the little house near Yandi.
Vitamin Ape’s terrible jokes. Kelmo’s quiet courage. The way Kragg always stood with his back to the sun.
He remembered the broken promises.
The ones he kept. The ones he couldn’t.
Was it all worth it? The question rose gently, but there was no room left for regret.
And then — he remembered the weight on his chest.
The last thing anchoring him.
His hand trembled as he brought the wooden medallion closer. It had been there for so long, always worn, always clinging to him through every battle. It had survived blood, fire, illusions, storms, and time itself.
The cord slipped through his fading fingers.
Even now, the letters had faded with age — dulled by sweat, scarred by heat — barely legible.
But he knew them by heart.
His chest rose one last time.
And then, as the disintegration reached his throat, his jaw, and began climbing toward his eyes —
A single tear welled up and fell.
It rolled gently down the curve of his fading cheek, shimmering faintly as it passed through the dissolving skin.
And then — it landed.
A soft drop.
A glimmer of gold.
It kissed the centre of the medallion and sank into the wood like sunlight into water.
The medallion flared.
Golden light spread across the carved surface, illuminating the faded inscription — not with fire, but with something deeper. Truer.
It glowed like a star — the only star — in the vast, black void.
And Tyler was gone.
His body, his presence, his thoughts — all scattered into mist.
But the medallion remained.
Suspended in darkness, turning slowly in the stillness of eternity.
At its heart, the tear-shaped glow pulsed once. Then steadied.
And across its surface, three lines shone:
You saved me and my dad.
Thank you.
Dumbass.
.
.
.
.
.
.
---
“DUMBASS!”
Tyler gasped.
His eyes flew open, lungs dragging in a sharp breath like he’d been underwater. The ceiling above him wasn’t white or endless. It was plastered, familiar — his bedroom ceiling. A faint crack ran across it, just like it always had.
His bedsheets were tangled around him. Sunlight spilled through the window. A breeze shifted the curtain.
“DUMBASS!” came the voice again — more insistent now, and painfully real.
Tyler jolted upright.
“Wake up, Tyler! How long are you planning to sleep?”
He turned toward the voice.
And there he was.
Milo.
Standing in the doorway, hands on his hips. Alive. Whole. Smirking, as if nothing had ever happened.
Tyler stared.
Was it real? Was this real?
Milo frowned. “What, you forget how to blink too?”
Without thinking, Tyler threw the covers aside and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his brother. He held him tight, as if letting go might tear open the world again.
“Whoa—what’s wrong with you?” Milo blinked, caught off-guard. “Did you hit your head?”
Tyler couldn’t speak. His throat burned, his heart raced. He held Milo tighter.
After a moment, Milo leaned back slightly, raising a brow. “Why’re you suddenly acting so clingy?”
“You don’t remember?” Tyler asked, voice hoarse. “The Aether Dragon. The wish. Everything we went through—”
Milo blinked at him. “Still dreaming, huh?” He gave a sigh that was more amused than annoyed. “That’s why Mom says not to game for twelve hours straight.”
He barely managed to get out of Tyler’s deadlock, who looked like he was not going to let go.
“Anyway, come down. Breakfast is ready. The new neighbours are here too — the ones who moved in yesterday. Their daughter’s kinda cute, so try not to act weird.”
He paused at the door. “And get dressed already. Don’t make us wait forever.”
Then he disappeared down the hall.
Tyler remained frozen, heart pounding, thoughts tangled.
Was it all just a dream? A hallucination?
He turned slowly toward the mirror. His body looked normal — no scars, no burns. No blood-soaked memories etched into skin. His reflection stared back with unknowing eyes.
“Status window,” he whispered.
Nothing.
He tried again — louder this time.
Still nothing.
“Are you playing games again?” His mother’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Come down quickly!”
“I’m coming…” Tyler replied, barely audible.
His eyes drifted to his desk.
There it was. His computer. Humming quietly. Just like always.
But everything felt… wrong.
Or maybe too right.
He sat down slowly, palms still shaking. The monitor flickered on. Desktop loaded.
Hybrid Animals.
Still installed.
Still there.
He double-clicked.
The game opened with its usual jingle, bright and whimsical — completely unbothered by any existential weight. The save files appeared.
There was only one.
[Species: Human-Human] [Level 1]
New. Blank.
He clicked.
A character appeared onscreen — the default model. No armour. No weapons.
But something hung around its neck.
Something round.
Wooden.
“No way…”
He opened the inventory.
Empty.
He leaned forward, trying to focus on the object, but it wasn’t legible. So, he took a snap. The textures were blurry. He squinted, adjusting the zoom, breath hitching.
It wasn’t a regular necklace.
It was a wooden medallion.
His heartbeat slowed.
“It can’t be.”
He zoomed in closer.
Letters. Barely distinct.
Familiar.
He leaned forward, trying to make them out, trying to read—
Knock knock.
A gentle knock on the door.
Tyler turned instinctively.
There, standing just outside his room, was a girl — maybe his age. Short brown hair. Soft eyes. A curious, gentle smile. Something about her — the shape of her face, the warmth in her voice — felt strangely, unreasonably familiar.
He blinked, staring in silence.
Behind him, the monitor’s screen shifted into full focus.
The image had stabilized.
Then she spoke.
“Hi! I’m Anne. We moved in just yesterday. Nice to meet you.”
Across the wooden surface — now unmistakable — etched in a line of golden light, were two simple words:
[THE END]