ROBIN PEEKED THROUGH an eye. The tall monster continued stalking toward them slowly, its hollow gaze fixed on where they huddled in the stone recess.

“Fuck.”

Next to him, Medea had all but given up, head hung low as she waited for the inevitable… which pissed him off for multiple reasons he didn’t have time to unravel. He let go of Medea’s hand and slipped his fingers under the gate, putting whatever strength he could muster into the lift. It didn’t give an inch.

“Robin.” Medea raised her head, grim determination etched on her face. “I have a plan. Get ready to run, and no matter what happens or what you hear… don’t look back.”

She tried to walk away, but Robin abandoned his futile effort to lift the gate and snatched her hand back. “Yeah, no. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m not letting you martyr yourself for me. Hell, you think I could run even if I wanted to? If anyone’s gonna be the distraction, let it be the cripple.”

“You’re not a—” Medea growled, frantically shaking her head. “You don’t understand. It has to be me! You can’t manipulate aether—”

Robin clamped down on her hand like a vice. “Is your survival a part of this plan?”

“Unhand me!” She struggled beneath his grip, trying to break free. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t say no. “There’s little time!”

He didn’t budge. “Answer the question.”

Her eyes pleaded with him, but silence was her only answer. Robin yanked back on her hand hard enough to push her into the gate, turning and using the weight of his body to pin her there, coming face to face with a stormy scowl and amethyst eyes. Her breath tickled his chin, and Robin was suddenly distinctly aware of her lips. Had they been this close before?

“Robin, please! There’s no need for us both mmphh—”

Medea’s lips were soft, and a little salty with sweat.

They may have lacked the passion he’d once longed for in times like these, but that was alright—he’d long since learned kissing wasn’t the fantastical, life altering thing he’d been sold when he was young. Why would the act of touching lips change anything? Still, she was gorgeous and kind and if he were being honest too good for him, so he took a moment to savor the first and last kiss they’d ever share.

Medea herself reacted about as he’d expected, all but frozen under his touch. She’d either never done this before, or was too shocked to function. When he pulled away, the scowl on her face had vanished. Pale fingers traced her lips as if she wasn’t sure what’d just happened, her distant gaze not truly seeing him anymore. Robin chuckled, amused enough not to be too disappointed his final moments weren’t anything to write home about.

Heavy footfalls thumped behind him, and Robin sighed, turning to face the music. He strode from the recess with the grim determination of a man about to dig his own grave, stopping a short distance from the tall, knife-wielding monster.

The pain in his side flared, only bearable by the strange new resolve he suspected was some sort of last-ditch effort from his body to keep him moving long enough to find a hospital. But damn the consequences, wounds were a future-Robin problem.

The fact that future-Robin was also a corpse was neither here nor there.

“Halt!” Robin gave an imperious wave of his hand.

The monster halted.

Robin raised a skeptical eyebrow, inspecting his hand for whatever secrets it contained. “I refuse to believe that was anything but a coincidence.”

The monster flicked the knife forward, the blade sinking into the dirt halfway between them, then crouched on powerful legs, lowering its center of gravity. A handicap given or a challenge issued—it didn’t matter. It was time to fight.

Despite Robin’s condition, a surge of adrenaline rushed through him. He almost shivered with giddiness, a familiar sensation he usually only felt when he was in way over his head. That was the thing about fighting though—it was hardly ever fair. There were a million factors to consider; strength, size, speed, adaptability, eyesight, coordination, and much more. Sure, those things could be analyzed and compared between fighters to facilitate the best match possible, but even in the pros it was never truly equal—the extenuating circumstances of someone’s life could never be replicated perfectly. Some people saw that as part of the allure.

But Robin was anything but a pro, and when someone was coming at him for blood, he’d wager just about the last thing on their mind was making sure he stood a chance. Dirty tricks and hidden weapons and ganging up were all fair game, and expecting some kind of honor duel was not only absurd, it was the fastest way to get a broken bottle in the eye or a knife in the gut. In all his years and numerous brawls, Robin had never been in a fair fight. Not once.

So despite the fact this monster was obviously about to crack his skull open like an egg, Robin couldn’t help but feel alive. There were times he’d dreamed of something like this; a ragged warrior fighting valiantly to his last against an impossible foe… he even had his very own damsel in distress. If he went down giving her a chance, well… it was a far better death than he’d ever expected to get.

“Alright, you big bastard.” Robin laughed, forcing his sluggish body into motion as he bounced on the balls of his feet. It was like wading through molasses, but intense focus pushed all the pain and the exhaustion and the fear away, until all that remained was the enemy standing before him.

Predictably, his enemy had nothing to say. Robin’s eyes tracked the beast’s every twitch, and it was only because of his intense scrutiny he caught the moment its body coiled like a spring, exploding into motion a split second later to close the distance between them almost faster than his addled mind could process. The fight would come to a very abrupt end if Robin allowed himself to be hit by that, so he had little choice but to scramble out of the way. The creature skidded to a stop as it passed him, whipping out with a backhanded fist that would’ve broken his face if it’d connected.

Robin ducked under it… and ran.

Because really, what the hell else was he gonna do?

Unarmed, there was little Robin could do to actually hurt the thing, all hulked out on zombie strength as it was. So began their game of cat and mouse, the creature pursuing him tirelessly through the clearing as he ran for dear life.

Unfortunately, as the moments passed it became ever clearer Robin would not be winning through attrition, each strike closer than the last and little more than a heartbeat behind shattering bones and rupturing organs. At some point, he passed the recessed gate where he’d huddled with Medea, sparing it a glance to find she was no longer there. Good—hopefully she’d listened to him this time and saved herself.

A freight train clipped his side, sending him spiraling through the air toward the gate as the air was forcefully expelled from his lungs. Robin stared up at the blue sky past the broken rampart above his head, wheezing for dear life. He tried to stand but his limbs were as paralyzed as his lungs, and he barely managed to rise enough to see the monster’s approach. It stopped before him, glaring down in what Robin could only imagine was disappointment.

If he could’ve, Robin would’ve laughed again. This thing had expected far too much of him, and now it would learn what everyone else already knew; he wasn’t worth the effort.

His head hit the dirt as the last of the fight fled him. Since the moment he’d woken up in this world, he’d known things would end this way. His failure to make something of himself wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. If he’d been smarter, if he’d been better, maybe he would’ve been able to take advantage of whatever fluke had brought him to Gaia, or learned magic… or something. But that wasn’t him. In the end, he was still the same old Robin, just as much of a fuckup in this life as he’d been in the last.

The creature shifted in the corner of his eye, tensing its muscles to finish the job, when a hint of purple flickered against the blue sky. Medea stood atop the ramparts directly above, a rock the size of a watermelon clutched in her hands. Robin’s eyes widened as he somehow found the energy to be amazed.

Time seemed to slow down as the madwoman leapt from her perch, dropping the distance in the blink of an eye and using the momentum of her fall to bash the rock against the creature’s skull. As the bone caved, Medea bounced off the monster’s broad shoulder and landed hard on the ground nearby. She went still, though whether she’d been winded or had busted her own skull, Robin couldn’t say.

The monster reeled from the attack and fell to one knee, clearly affected in some way but still very much alive. The undead at the tree line that’d been content to sit by and watch began closing the distance, some rasping with damaged lungs while others made unholy noises he couldn’t even describe, perhaps upset Medea had broken the zombie code of honor.

Robin wheezed and forced his body to move on the small amount of oxygen he’d been able to suck down through the straw that was his throat. The pain in his side where the thing’s fist had impacted was agonizing, though thankfully less than the pain of his melted flesh, but he swallowed that and more to crawl to Medea, noting with relief the shallow rising of her chest.

He gripped her shirt with a hand and pulled, roughly dragging her onto his lap and wrapping his arm around her ribcage and under her breasts. From there, he proceeded to shimmy and scoot backwards, dragging them both toward the gate in what he was certain would’ve been an embarrassing display to witness for anyone that wasn’t a zombie.

When he finally felt the cool iron press against his back, his lungs and every other muscle in his body struggled to maintain even basic function, and it was instantly clear he wouldn’t be moving from that spot any time soon. Medea stirred against his chest, groaning in pain from her abrupt reintroduction to the ground earlier, and past the tall beast still cradling its shattered skull, the horde of monsters continued their approach. It wouldn’t be long until the swarm was on them.

Amethyst eyes peered up at him through a curtain of violet hair, the strip holding Medea’s ponytail lost at some point during the chaos. “Robin… are you alright?” Medea asked.

Robin’s head thunked against the gate, and he couldn’t help the annoyance that seeped into his tone. “Been… better. You… should’ve run.”

She looked out at the clearing and their inevitable demise, face etched in stone. “I… do not apologize.”

Robin snorted, and after a few more moments finally got his breathing under control. “No guarantee they’d have let you go anyway…” He smirked. “Besides… that was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

Medea didn’t share his amusement, and looked into his eyes. “Let me free and I will attempt my first plan. It may give you a chance.”

“Wouldn’t work, and you know it. Look at me.”

“You are a stubborn, self-absorbed fool.”

Robin chuckled. “Not the first person to tell me that.”

She gave him one of her looks… but it was hollow, a half-hearted attempt at best. It physically hurt to see her bright eyes looking so defeated, so he was thankful when she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest.

Another few moments passed before she spoke again, her voice small—uncertain. “Why did you kiss me…?”

It didn’t seem important enough to spend their final moments on, but he supposed they didn’t have much else to talk about. “Wanted to, obviously.”

She gave a curious tilt of her head. “In general… or with me?”

“With you.”

“I… see.” Medea shrunk, hiding her face from him. “And…?”

Robin gave a lazy shrug. “Eh… I’ve had better.”

She whipped her head up, mouth hanging open. She was clearly affronted until she noticed his smile, and then buried her face in her hands. “You are insufferable. I don’t know why I asked.” After another moment, she said, “It was a first for me.”

“I know.”

She seemed surprised. “You do?”

“Eh, I guessed. You seemed a little lost.” At her wince, he continued. “Don’t worry about it. Just means they’ll greet you at the pearly gates with ninety-nine husbands or something.” Robin furrowed his brow in thought. “Or… maybe that was something else. Whatever. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It isn’t that,” Medea said, shaking her head. “You just speak of intimacy like it’s nothing.”

“Ah.”

Robin was quiet for a moment. “Yeah… my bad. I’m just the asshole who stole your first kiss—I’ve heard it’s a lot better with someone you actually like.” He hesitated before continuing. “Though in my defense—I didn’t think it’d be your first and I was expecting to die.”

The look Medea gave him was a strange one, but she eventually returned her head to his chest. “You really are a self-absorbed fool.”

He didn’t bother denying the accusation—it was true after all—and shifted around to get more comfortable. Medea wasn’t heavy in the slightest, but after awhile even the sturdiest laps needed a rest.

Come to think of it… they’d been leisurely awaiting their end for quite some time. Shouldn’t they be dead by now?

Robin tore his eyes from the captivating girl on his lap, and felt his heart seize in his chest. No more than a few feet away, just beyond the mouth of the recess where the stone became dirt, were the Blighted. Tens or hundreds of them staring straight at them with rune-carved eyes so similar and yet so different from Medea’s. The runes themselves were different of course, but hers were also filled with warmth while theirs brimmed only with the chill certainty of death.

…And yet death didn’t come. It waited, still and silent as the the grave.

“Medea…” Robin nudged her, and she lifted her head, first looking to him and then behind her. She tensed in his arms, and there was sudden sharp intake of air as she realized.

“What is this…?”

“I have no idea. But if they’re just gonna stand there…” He motioned for her to get off, and Medea slowly climbed to her feet, looking a little wobbly but also steady enough to help him up. “Let’s see if we can get this gate open...”

Of the two of them, Robin had it the worst by far. His feet were still aching from their jaunt through the wilderness, the flesh around his shoulder and chest was all but melted and it seemed only by some minor miracle that hadn’t killed him by now, and to top it all off, he’d recently been bludgeoned by a demon from hell who stood waiting nearby with several of his best buddies to finish the job.

Yeah, things were really starting to look up for him.

While he leaned against the recessed wall, warily eying the horde of Blighted waiting so close he could reach out and touch them, Medea searched around for anything they could use to open the gate—a hidden switch or catch of some kind, a magical touch pad, hell, a crowbar would be welcome at this point. Finally, they tried lifting the damned thing together, giving it a count of three before heaving with all their might.

The gate proved far sturdier than their arms, and Robin really did collapse after that, falling back against it with heavy breaths and a head swimming with fuzzy clouds. Medea joined him a moment later, similarly exhausted from the continuous threats to her life, if not quite on the same level. There was a nervous energy about her, and her eyes weren’t as dead as they’d been before.

It was a start.

With that thought in mind Robin felt the last of his energy fade away, and fell over, promptly passing out.