Chapter Text
He's done this once. Twice. Maybe seven times, or a millennia.
It always starts with his bedroom, a week before the apocalypse begins. Everything goes according to the script—he makes the lunches, he cleans the trash, his best friend grumbles about his diet, and they go dashing before they're late. Jim would feel the need to take the passage under the bridge, and they'd stumble upon a pile of rocks which held the world's—Jim's—impending doom. If it wasn't the first time, it would be Toby instead who finds that gods-damned amulet, keep his mouth shut for a few days, before spilling.
Yeah. It always started off like that. Jim could practically recite the scenarios in his sleep, repeating and repeating and repeating his ordeal. He should've died by now. He should've been in college, or in Detroit, or in Claire's bed with his little ones. But he's here, stuck in the same past he spat on, opening his eyes to the ceiling that would crumble from his weight. (Would it? Or did it already crumble? Gods, time-traveling was confusing.)
James Lake Jr. doesn't know what went wrong. What went downhill after Tobes wielded Daylight in front of him.
At first, he thought shit would definitely change since Toby was now the Trollhunter, that all he needed to do was comply to whatever happened from then on, with the knowledge of him only remembering. Even though it hurt to see his beloved Claire not recognize him, even though it hurt to see his older brother Douxie address him politely—there was nothing he could do but shove it away. To keep the past, in the past.
Now... now he wonders if that change involved the world turning to ash. Not by Bellroc's hands, not even by Gunmar's. But by the universe's verdict.
Only the Trollhunter will know, Nari had once told him. That knowing exactly how the future went, it could stop all the disasters from happening. That in using the Krohnisfere, it would make things right. Jim believed her, believed that turning back in time would help him—Toby—bring the greater good. People wouldn't die, wouldn't perish—they'd live to see the trolls and the changelings and accept them as one of their own. Toby would fist-bump him and say "We did it", Blinky would be proud, Aaarrrgghh would pull him to his arms, Claire would kiss him, and--
And--
...It just seemed like a lifetime ago since he felt that thread of hope. Since he gave his full trust to Toby. Since he pictured that moment.
Nothing had gone the way he imagined. It always failed, always ended with destruct—always ended with Toby Domzalski's death. The amulet should've prevented it. The amulet should've protected him from Bellroc's hit. The only reason why Jim told his best friend to go to the canals that day was so he wouldn't have to meet his doom any sooner. Had it been Jim who instead met that fate, should it not cost anything, everything would've been fine.
Jim would not protest if he died. He would absolutely not wish he could live long enough to feel victory. His goal may be to defeat the demigods Skrael and Bellroc to bring back the ever-forgotten peace of the world, but most importantly, it was for no one to die.
Even if he had to give away his life for it. That's what heroes do, right? That's what Douxie would praise him for, right?
Jim didn't know. Not anymore.
Everything repeats. Everything goes back to the beginning again. The gun on his hand trembles each time it meets his temple, because god knows he's gonna open his eyes and redo it. There was no knowing when it'll end, there was no knowing when the universe will finally relent and let him rest. This was like the, what, 38th time he's done this? 40th? 50th? The 100th?
How long had he been doing this? How long should he be doing this? Jim wanted to keep track, he really did. Tally after tally of each time loop was etched on his wall, as some sort of evidence. But the more he went back—the more he witnessed the life draining from Toby's eyes—the more his confusion and dread and anxiety doubled. He was just sixteen, for fuck's sake. What did he do to deserve this?
What did he do to lose Toby not once, not twice, but for as long as he could keep track of?
Was he meant for this? Was it because he killed them all?
He took a breath. Another.
Stretching out his shaky hands, trying to remember how his Claire had done it, he pushes the magic to the tip of his fingers. That surge of power he stowed away from shame pulses with life, seeping into his every vein, a discovery Jim wished never happened. Douxie's sweet coaxes for him to love and embrace it had only done so little—Jim could literally list reasons of why sorcery didn't suit him.
He was the Trollhunter. Well, former. But, since the moment he realized what it meant to wield Excalibur, Jim wouldn't want any more. Protecting the world and becoming their king should have been enough. It should have been. Nimue's crown most definitely wasn't on his head for no reason, and he wasn't her successor just for fun. His burden was his friends' woes and problems, and whether the world would survive or not. That's it. That's what Douxie told him.
So just why did he have to be a wizard? Why did he have to possess a power that no one else has?
A portal forms. Jim bites his tongue.
The tear in reality hummed the same language his dread presented itself as, so blue and deep and shallow like every fibre of Jim's being. He could feel the crackle of cerulean energy, the voices that tempted him—she had always told him the vortex was one with him, and he was one with it. Claire's portal was more like the void, cold and dark, a true epitome of dark magic. Jim's? It was raw and it was a primal force that didn't know how to stop.
It chanted his name.
He contemplates. Summons his dagger. Shifts the blade to his neck. Jim needed to kill himself for this, needed his blood to do everything again.
Toby needed to survive. Draal, too. Nomura, Strickler, and everyone he's lost. They were... no, Jim was the Trollhunter and he has always been. If the universe deemed his best friend not worthy of the position, then so be it.
There's not gonna be any Trollhunters, from now on. Just Jim and his amulet and the burden of preventing the world from crumbling. The burden of preventing his world from dying.
The steel felt cold against the skin of his throat, a stark contrast to the burning despair that consumed him. He wasn't afraid, wasn't even shaking in his boots. When you've done it once or twice, pusillanimous feelings like those have long been buried. Jim pressed hard. A thin line of crimson bloomed. Why was he hesitating? Why was he shaking?
With a final, shuddering breath, Jim drew the blade across his flesh. This time, there was no pause. The cut was deep and swift, severing the delicate structures beneath. A torrent of crimson erupted, staining his skin and clothes. It burned and it stung, but it was just how he liked it. The dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor as his body slumped, the light fading from his eyes.
Silence descended, broken only by the soft gurgle of a final breath.
He falls right through the portal.
"Toby, didn't Jim come with you?"
He clicked his locker shut, a grim expression plastered on his face. Toby sighed, "Locked in his room again. Wouldn't come out, despite Douxie's attempts."
A frown tugged at Claire's lips, eyes distant from thought. A beat of silence, then, "You didn't even try? I mean, he's your best friend. I'm sure he'd listen to you."
Her voice was thick and heavy, just like the white sweep of her hair, but Toby's known his man's girl for a long time to not notice the fine tremble. He was worried, too. Everyone was. They just tried to hide it more often than not, hoping the facade wouldn't be another burden for their king. "I did, Claire, believe me. But it's kinda impossible when you know he's as stubborn as a rock."
They pushed through the sea of students, taking their sweet time since Ms. Janeth wasn't about to have their heads. Toby fished out a Nougat Nummy, turning it about as a memory resurfaced, a brief flash of a writing that only him and his best buddy knew. Mentally, he chuckled at that short, silly moment of theirs, back when Toby's greatest concern was getting Jim out of the Darklands.
He missed his best friend. More than ever.
"Toby?" Claire nudged him, brows furrowed. From over her shoulder, he could see Aja and Krel heading their way. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he squeaked, cringing at his meekness. "I'm totally fine. It's not like my best friend's being stressy depressy again, so, yeah. 'M fine."
He didn't wait for Claire's response, or if she even had one at all, and instead shoved the whole sweet treat into his mouth in one go, clearly ignoring the Akiridions' expressions. They followed him as he made a turn, glancing briefly at the clock and relaxed at the remaining five minutes. At least they'd made it in time, Toby was most definitely not in the mood for another of Ms. Janeth's lectures at tardiness. That cranky lady needed to chill.
Or keep it crispy. He gulped, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Students then began filling the room, chittering and chattering like there was not a single care to the world. Eli and Steve waved at Toby (to which he ignored, again), making a bee-line to their seats, before settling. Pointedly, he looked away when Seamus and his dark-skinned minion cast an disdainful glance at him, opting to push aside whatever happened before Jim stopped coming to school.
His gaze flickered to the seat next to him, almost missing the presence of the lanky boy who saved the world from demigods. On days like this, of course he'd be missing his best friend more than usual, but... but this wasn't like the Darklands or the Grit-Shaka. Jim was not here, on purpose, so Toby didn't really have a reason to be feeling like something bad's blooming. There really wasn't.
Right?
Oh, goodness. He needed to stop thinking like this. Jim is fine, maybe a bit bed-ridden and sick and all, but he wasn't being harmed or anything. Gunmar did not have his neck at the moment, nor did the Gumms-Gumms or Bular, for that matter. Their plan on how to save the world seemed practically flawless, and besides, his best buddy was still the Trollhunter.
The amulet was going to protect him. It always did.
"Mr. Domzalski!"
Jolting up straight, Toby blinked away his thoughts, as his focus zeroed on the loud silence and the echoes of Ms. Janeth's booming voice. Fuck, had he been zoning out? But his teacher didn't seem mad at him, glancing at somewhere and then back. He looked over his shoulder to see Claire's worried-but-relieved face, the Akiridions smiling softly, and wondered what caught their attention.
Toby swiveled in his seat, eyes widening as he saw a slender man with blue jeans and jacket that was all too familiar with him. Recognition dawned over his once-stricken face, his lips stretching to a wide grin. Jim, with a small smile and awfully pale skin, ushers him to move over so he could sit, like this was any other day.
"Dude, why'd you come late? I thought you were going to stay home all day." He stage-whispered, making all sorts of gestures to show how distressed he had been.
Jim chuckled. "Sorry, Tobes." A wince, a frown, then back to a smile. Huh.
Whatever. At least Jim was here, that's what's more important. Ms. Janeth's gaze lingered on them for a while, before going back to explaining the Pythagorean Theorem, to which he gladly shut out. "No worries, dude, just treat me to some burritos at Stuart's later."
"Seriously? That's all it takes?"
"I mean, what did you want me to do? Make you take my spot at gym class later, which I would do if I wasn't so worried about you? I'm a better friend than that, Jimbo." Toby paused, searching for the next words, but Jim beat him to the punch.
"That's... I would prefer that, Tobes. Ghosting you for a week was definitely not the move, but--"
"Mr. Lake, Mr. Domzalski. Do you mind? We're having a class at the moment. You," Ms. Janeth pointed at Jim, "come up here and solve this. Calling in sick and then having a change of heart does not excuse you from these mathematical problems."
Toby threw a sympathetic look at Jim when he groaned, disregarding the collective snickers of the class.
It was like yesterday and earlier never happened.
Jim had never felt so sick.
Sure, there were a couple dozen times when he felt really under weather to call in sick, which was, by the way, one of the things he hated to do. So upon waking up to a splitting migraine and a throat as dry as a desert, he wasn't sure he'd be able to make it to class. And that was a week ago. A week since he touched his beloved pans and pots and made breakfasts and lunches for them. A week since he last saw Claire, and his best friend.
It wasn't intentional, really, the painkillers and tablets just hadn't been enough for the sickness to go away. Jim made his friends worried, his mom and Douxie concerned, and he really hated that. Hated becoming a burden. Hated being sick. Hated feeling so useless and helpless for no reason--
"Earth to Jimbooo!"
He blinked, turning over to see Toby waving his hand, staring at him with brows furrowed. Concern. Jim didn't like that. "What?"
It must've been harsher than expected because Toby tensed, taking a step back like Jim was a monster.
The trembling ground went to the back of his head.
Jim's eyes widened and he hurried to apologized. "I- I'm sorry, Tobes, I didn't mean to. It's just... everything's a little too overwhelming for me right now, and I--"
"Forget that, Jimbo! Look at what's behind you!"
Just as he spun, the ground buckled. One moment there was solid earth, the next, a gaping maw of jagged teeth and shadow erupted from below, tearing the world open. It wasn't so much born into the world as imposed upon it, an alien presence that defied understanding. A cold dread washed over everything, silencing the birds and chilling both their souls.
Notes:
Originally, this was supposed to be a time-travel fix-it where I would add some ocs and force them to be one with the toa characters and maybe try to make it a notch better than ROTT bc man, the ending sucked. If you've noticed, there were a couple of headcannons that I borrowed from Sakon76's work, like Nimue's crown for Jim and Douxie being his older brother. I would really recommend you read that before this, to understand the backstory of the headcannons I place in this fic.
That being said, Jim's character shifts from time to time, either filling out the role of being a hero or an anti-hero who just wants everything to go back to normal (which is, unfortunately, impossible, my boy). How he acts is based solely on what time loops can do to you, and how the constant repeats can and will change someone's perspective of themselves. I really didn't want to say this, but since I know a fellow character who goes through time loops (which are called regressions in his world), I wanted Jim to act like him, without being too angry and silent half of the time. So, if you ever wonder why Jim behaves so much like a bastard who has not a care to the world, despite having self-sacrificial tendencies, well. Try to understand him, yeah?
Now... Jim having magic is literally on my mind 24/7 and is a headcannon I really wanted to put to life. Like, I get it, possessing the amulet (all three vers) is already proof he's got magic, but I wanted him to be able to actually showcase it, instead of it being more like telekinesis and just a magic in the head and of the armor. You get what I'm sayin'? That's why I planned to call his kind 'arcane mages', because, as I've written in here, not only can he create portals that aren't exactly like Claire's, but he can also do everything that not every wizard and witch can do. It's like those kinds of mages are sort of versatile in a sense, but still have a limit. For example, Douxie's a bardic mage, right? There's no way he could've defeated Morgana with that lute of his if he didn't have any connection with it. And because there aren't as many bardic mages as expected, in said inspired work, and because it was lost after the downfall of Atlantis - that is going to be number one of an arcane mage's limit. I still have more in store, but I just wanted to let you all know that Jim has mastered that four basic elements (fire, earth, water, air) and a few other side ones. So! I'm just gonna confirm with you all that if Douxie is one with his good ol' lute, then Jim is one with his dagger.
I might just dig deeper into that if y'all want, but these were just the main points of this fic (not entirely, actually, I've still two or three up my sleeve). Again, I am not copying Sakon76's work, this is just heavily inspired by that. Updates may or may not take long, depending on my motivation or my sched. Just hope all of you enjoyed this despite this being, well, four years late. But! This is also a Christmas special. Merry Christmas to all of you out there and have a wonderful year!
Chapter 2: Lad, Home Was Always Hell
Summary:
Home had once been there. Home was where the apocalypse will stand.
Notes:
Did I write all this knowing damn well my parents were on edge with each other that it affected the whole family? Yes, I did. And do I regret it? No, I do not. But this pretending of being happy and fine with each other has been grating on my nerves lately, so my words will definitely get longer with each chapter. As a way to vent because none should know except me and my readers.
Anyway, hope you enjoy this one! Not that lengthy but it took me five overnights to finish this and I am still not satisfied. Oh, well.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In just minutes, the entirety of Arcadia Oaks was swallowed by the raging conflagration.
It undulated to every crevice of the place, tearing and melting down whatever it saw. People screamed and ran and thrashed around, a futile scramble to save their pitying lives. But the monster didn't care, didn't even seem like it realized the massacre it had caused. Bodies were squashed beneath its fungus-ridden feet, and it threw around its tail to swat away the tanks and helicopters that somehow came along faster than expected.
The air was definitely thicker than before. Flicks of ember and motes of dust floated around, adding up to the fog of ash that hung stiffly above.
It had always been like this, hadn't it? So rotten and morbid, none of what the town appeared like in the photos.
The sight was hilarious to Jim's eyes—familiar, even. They didn't know that this was just the start. No one was going to save them, not even the government. Heck, it wasn't even that deadly yet.
There was more to this macabre show.
How strange it was, all this happened in just an hour.
A hand shook his shoulder. Jim glared at the person, then softened only a notch. Barbara was shaking, terribly so. But it wasn't like this was the first time, so he knew how to make it go away. Building a makeshift cave from scraps and pillars was... well, something he learned from Douxie after the wizard chastised him for thinking fire was more than enough to consider shelter.
And it really had been. A log or the ground was immediately called a bed in his time. Even if it resulted to an aching back.
Saving his mom—and the old lady he was ready to leave behind—had been simple. Building collapses weren't so hard to get through, especially when experience has been embedded deep in you, it's practically just instinct. He'd survive a crumbling construction once, maybe twice if he counted this one. And to be fair, it isn't as worse as being eaten alive.
Flesh by flesh, and layer by layer, being picked about and boiled from a corrosive acid. Not a striking memory, really, if his scarred back that looked like it was in the process of melting has anything to say about that.
Yeah. He wasn't going to explore that part for now.
"What... what was that out there, Jim?" His mom asked meekly, as though even making the slightest sounds would attract the beast.
Jim decided to ignore her, pulling out his 'bag of necessities'. Water, canned foods, a travel log, and clothes that were probably just useful for the winter was all that was inside it. He didn't want to go through this unprepared. "Take this. And... give some to the old lady."
Accepting the water bottle, Barbara bit down her lower lip, glancing not-so-subtly at the old lady. She sighed, "Did this happen in the first timeline, as you have told me a few days ago?"
"No and yes."
"What does that--"
"Mom, are you alright?" Jim shot her a quick look, before wildly gesturing at the old lady to hide beneath the crude timbers. He really didn't like having to help the elderly.
Barbara stared at him, surprised, then answered, "Yeah, I think so. You?"
He didn't answer, silently observing the raining globule of pure fire. Had Toby gotten to safety? Or was he still idly cowering in an abandoned building? These balls of flame really irked him the first time, and he knew how dangerous they were. Whatever. That was his business. As long as he hasn't died, Jim had no reason to be resetting everything. "Did you bring your phone?"
It took his mom a while to realize he was addressing her, busy offering some 'comfort' to the old lady. "Oh. Uhm, I do have it here. I'm surprised it still works even in this chaos. What do you plan to do with it?"
Jim glanced at her, then the phone, and back at his mom again. "Just shoot everyone a quick text of how they're doing."
As he left his mom to do her thing, Jim ran out of the pseudo-cave to begin step one of surviving the end of the world. They can defend themselves—so long as they don't bother coming out. Or provoking the Pyralis, 'cause that would definitely be a nightmare. He didn't trust the old lady, and despite his benevolence that have since been washed away, it would really be for the best that his mom leaves her behind.
She was just a hassle to him. A hassle to all of them.
He pulled out a journal that appeared to have seen far more better days.
Sometime after finding a stable shelter and peace despite the popularity of the prowlers and gremlins growing, a sudden discovery of a deserted journal had led him into writing the ways to pull through an apocalypse. He named it "Jim's Mastery of the World's Limit", and it was very questionable in his state and for a book. But he didn't let it bother him—as long as it was a guide in case he had to go all over again, there was no place for repulsion.
Were the steps reasonable, though? Not even to a retarded man, no. However, did it help him? Yes, if Jim outliving almost every one of his friends in some timelines was proof. Jim swore that by the grace of Deya—Callista—Blinky would be fumbling with his words the moment it is in his hands. Not that he planned on doing, but if possible, well. It'd be a ridiculous sight to behold.
Jim tried to stop himself from snickering. Total failure.
Taking a sharp turn, while swiftly outrunning a flying fireball, Jim thought about the possibilities of step one being completed without anyone dying. Sure, he could always reset everything by either poisoning himself or impaling a dagger in him. But he very much would like to not die early for once, even when the chance was less likely than it was to die.
The Pyralis arrived earlier than I thought, he mused, Maybe it is just a day too soon, but even the slightest changes can mean something big.
And he was right. The butterfly effect worked the strongest when it came to these large-scale catastrophes, and it was real threatening. Even for a somewhat-omniscient Jim. It didn't matter if he could relive the events again and again to find a way to thwart the disasters—destruction was bound to happen whether he liked it or not.
He picked up the pace.
"Okay. Everyone from the Ninth Configuration, except me, remembers what happened solely on the first timeline, so I'm on my own again." Jim thought out loud, bolting down the street he used to call home.
"And the rest that have no memory are basically just extras now. What I need to do after I gather all of them is find those three, and form an alliance with them again. And," he faltered in his step, but pushed through, "learn the remaining spells from her." His voice was now tiny, like uttering her name broke something in him.
The weight of the past was still latching onto him, even when it seemed lifetimes ago.
Jim didn't forget easily. He couldn't.
He stopped running.
The place was practically smoldered beyond recognition, now a monochrome expanse of ash and twisted metal. Nothing remained to hint at its former identity. An oppressive heat still radiated from the ground, a ghostly reminder of the inferno that had consumed everything. The smell of burnt plastic and flesh lingered in the air. It would really be a surprised that people had lived here before.
Every step he took, glass would crunch under his sneakers. There were footprints so large it could fit a human body. And the embers still flicked around, like it was still hot and burning. His face had to twist at the terrible stench that wafted through the entire neighborhood. All of this died in just a moment because of disasters that would soon meet its downfall.
All of these were wiped out in less than an hour because of creatures that even the Arcane Order couldn't compete to.
No matter how hard his team tried, no matter how hard he tried.
He had to close his eyes and calm his tingling nerves. Jim's legs threatened to buckle if he took a step further, but he couldn't stand here and wallow in the regret of not saving those who probably didn't deserve it. Somehow, to him, every loss just had to be his fault. Every life that was taken just had to be because of him. 'Cause where else would the guilt go?
He didn't even know where to place it, or how to make it go away.
Toby—silly, charming Toby—hadn't deserved to die. But his life was stripped away from him.
Draal—cheeky, competitive Draal—hadn't deserved to turn into stone. But he pushed Jim aside, anyway.
Nomura hadn't deserved that, too. So did Strickler. But they had looked at their existence with disdain and made a silent vow to put it on the line for a friend or an ally.
Jim could've stopped it from happening. James Lake Jr. was the Trollhunter, and look at where that got him. Look at where the change got him, how the change changed no one but him.
He glanced at the bridge two teenagers used to cross on their bikes. He glanced at the canals where a tale of adventure was left unfinished. From his peripheral vision, Jim descried a bunch of teenagers, a nine-hundred-nineteen-year-old wizard and his dragon-cat, trolls and beings from another planet—and wondered, was it truly that simple to get rid of all that?
Were those moments really just ephemeral?
Culpability is stressing, he thought sourly, scanning the area for any remnants of 'home'. He shook away the depressing feelings—a habit he caught on—masking an aloof expression, before sprinting to a certain direction. Douxie could still be out here in the ruins, with Archie, searching for Barbara or Jim. Or he could be at the ruined bookstore helping out with victims or... fending off the prowlers by himself.
Oh, would that be ten times more stressful.
Jim neared the curb, eyes still flickering for any signs of a wispy blue light. Nothing. A glance at his watch made him realize just how delayed the events were—by now, they should've been curled up in the sewers or something. Not the most ideal place to be, but if training and surviving and fighting all the creatures off still works, Jim wouldn't have it either way.
Now, just where would Hisirdoux Casperan be at this moment...?
A sudden rustle from the woods made him stop dead in his tracks. He strained his ears to listen, to be alert and watch out for what might be behind it. Was it a prowler? A chitterling?
Curiosity getting the better of him, he crept closer and closer, each step cautious but nevertheless ready. The susurration grew louder, as though something was trying to unattach itself from the branches. Jim called out, "Hey, you okay? I can--"
"Oh, for--"
Huh. That voice sounded familiar. Rich and smooth. Refined and articulate, befitting a somewhat snobbish and intellectual personality. The distinct British accent had Jim raising his brows in amusement. If it is who he thinks it is, his search of Douxie and the others just might be easier.
"Archie? Is that you?" A beat of silence went by before a cat leaped out of the bush with such elegance no cat should have. Yellows eyes flashed at him, its white eyebrows lifting as it stood on its two feet. Had someone else been looking at this right now, they would've freaked out.
"Jim. Fancy seeing you here amidst the wreckage." He spat the last word, disdain and irritation clear in his tone.
Jim smiled.
Crouching to the dragon-cat's level, he gestured Archie to do the same so he could pet him. And he delightfully did so, relaxing under his caresses, even if he wasn't his familiar. Still, Jim felt the tension that rested on his shoulders. "Is Douxie with you? I've been looking for him."
"Over here, Jim!" A voice rang out from the wild, too cheerful and stretched. "I am... in a bit of a situation, but it is nothing to worry about!"
As he and Archie exchanged glances—one exasperated and one amused—the wizard's lanky silhouette emerged out of the shadows, skimming through the spells of his vambrace. Behind him, a sound Jim was very accustomed to growled in hunger, and chased Douxie until a pungent odor hovered above them.
It was a faint, almost imperceptible metallic tang in the air, like the scent of iron filings or the inside of an old toolbox. Subtle, begrudgingly so, easily dismissed as just another layer in the city's grime. Yet, it clung to the back of your throat, a indistinct chemical whisper that hinted at the metal powders within.
His breath hitched, a shallow intake of air that tasted vaguely... wrong. Before he could even manage a coherent thought, his muscles tensed, coiling like a spring ready to unravel.
Oh.
Oh.
The early signs of a thermite bomb, the former Trollhunter realized belatedly, as a crippling fear wrapped around him. His head whipped around to say something, heart pounding harder and harder by the minute, a cold dread settling like ice in his stomach. But the words and the horror died before it had the chance to be out, choked by the acrid smell of burning metal already filling the air.
There was no warning. No time to move out of the way.
The world erupted in white. Not a clean, pure white, but a searing, blinding white that burned directly into the retinas. A silent pressure wave slammed into him, stealing his breath and forcing the air from his lungs. Then came the heat, an instantaneous, all-consuming inferno that felt like every nerve ending in his body had simultaneously ignited.
Sparks, like miniature stars, began to drift lazily downwards, each one capable of igniting anything it touched. It was a moment of terrifying beauty, a slow-motion ballet of destruction played out in excruciating detail.
For a heartbeat, he was suspended, weightless, before the brutal physics of the explosion took hold. He became a ragdoll, limbs flailing uselessly as he was hurled skyward.
Then, the inevitable return.
The ground rushed up to meet him with unforgiving force. There was no grace, no controlled landing, just a sickening thud as his body slammed into the earth.
Jim tasted blood, felt the raw, exposed nerves screaming in protest, and knew, with a grim certainty, that this was going to be a particularly unpleasant resurrection.
But beneath the terror, a strange sense of detachment settled in. He'd been here before, felt this searing agony, faced this oblivion. It always ended the same way: a slow, agonizing return. As the darkness swallowed him whole, a wry smile touched his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the cosmic joke. Jim would be back, patched up, good as new (or at least, as good as he could be, given the circumstances).
Whether the other two were alright, he couldn't bother to know. The edges of his vision began to fade, and the sounds of the burning world receding into the distance. If he still had the strength, he'd be chuckling at the absurdity of it all—the endless cycle of death and rebirth.
Not exactly the most ideal way to die, but... it could be worse. Jim closed his eyes, surrendering to the flames, knowing that this wasn't the end, just a temporary, fiery inconvenience.
And in that final, silent moment, as his existence flickered and died, he thought with a sardonic grin: Well, that's going to leave a mark... or not, I guess.
Darkness.
Silence.
Then, a jarring jolt, like being ripped from a dream.
Consciousness returned in jagged shards, like broken glass piecing itself back together. It was no gentle awakening, no gradual return to the world. Just a sudden, brutal surge of awareness that slammed into him like another explosion.
Pain.
It was the first sensation, a symphony of agony played out across every nerve ending. His head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that threatened to split his skull open. His lungs burned with each shallow breath, as if filled with hot sand. And his limbs... they felt distant, disconnected, like foreign objects attached to his body.
Jim tried to move, to push himself up, but his muscles refused to cooperate. They were weak, unresponsive, as if they had forgotten how to function. A groan escaped his lips, a raw, animalistic sound that echoed in the silence. Something inside him ached so badly, which couldn't be right.
Where the fuck was he? Did he die? Was he back at home again?
His ears were ringing, high-pitched and insistent that it did nothing to ease the throbbing. Maybe he was mistaken, or he was too disoriented but the world was spinning so hard. Bile rose up to his throat, and he did all he could to not throw up. The bed he laid on tipped to one side, then the other, like he was on a boat.
Eyes parting, the first thing he sees is nothing but the flickering firelight that casted long, dancing shadows across the ruined cityscape. It brought an image to mind. He shoved it away. Jim blinked blearily at it, feeling the laughter bubbling from his gullet. How funny. Just moments ago, it charred his entire being. A glance down forced a grimace on his tattered lips. What he laid on wasn't a plushy bed, but a threadbare camp bag, the rough canvas scratching against his burned skin.
How lovely.
Above him, a familiar face hovered, etched with a mixture of relief and concern. Red hair, gentle baby blue eyes, and a warmth that he didn't bother to look for anymore. "Easy, honey," the woman said, her voice tight with worry. "You've just woken up. And being a doctor at the moment, I don't want you to be making any moves. How're you feeling?"
Alive. The thought echoed in his mind, a dissonant chord in the symphony of pain. He remembered the white-hot flash, the searing heat, the feeling of his skin melting, his lungs dissolving. He remembered dying. Or at least, he thought he did.
Was this a prank? Explosions weren't something that had him breathing until the end. It must've been sheer luck, maybe, or the stupidity of someone who thought Jim was worth saving. But... he really couldn't complain. If he wanted to finish this, he'd better get out of it alive.
"How...?" he croaked, his voice a rasp. "How did I survive?"
Douxie stumbled into the camp, looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a rabid dog. His vambrace was missing, a part of him whispered. Archie limped beside him, his fur singed and matted. "I managed a shield at the very last minute. Saved all our butts. We're alive." the wizard announced, stating the obvious. "Barely," he added, collapsing onto a crate.
He tried to sit up, to get a better look at the devastation, but a wave of dizziness slammed him back against the camp bag. Bandages, scavenged and repurposed, swathed his body. Tight and constricting, each breath a painful reminder of his scorched lungs. I should be dead, he thought, a chilling realization that sent a shiver down his spine despite the burning pain. I felt myself die.
But the feeling flickered out faster than the need to sink in the panic.
The lump in his throat grew larger, as a sense of familiarity washed over him, drowning the confusion he felt with numbness. Thermite bombs were... something, all right, if he had to give away what he experienced. Harsh and chilling to the bone for an explosion, but frankly, any other death could've been worse than that.
So I'm alive, he thought, ironically, the same old cycle of pain, recovery, and continuous struggle stretching out before him.
That should've been expected, of course. There was no way the wizard would let them die like that. And death, as cruel as it could be, wasn't about to give him away that soon. A few prowlers and a Pyralis or Terrax ambush from now might just make it satisfied, but not now. Not yet.
When the fuck is it actually going to take me for real?
"Yeah. Alive. Yippie," he muttered, his voice rough and devoid of emotion.
Barbara frowned, brows knitting together, clearly disapproving of his lack of sentimentality. "Don't you have anything to say besides that?"
Jim shrugged, feeling a flicker of annoyance. 'What do you want me to say? I thought I was dead. Turns out I'm not. Surprise, surprise."
He shut his eyes, exhaustion pulling him back towards the darkness. The bomb, the near-death experience, the relief of survival… it all felt distant, irrelevant. Jim was tired, bone-tired, and all he wanted was to sleep. But he knew he couldn't.
A pregnant period settled between the four of them, and Jim could feel the eyes that bore onto him. Another image came into view, sharper and distinctive than the other, but he compelled it out of his head. Not ready to face it, was his reassurance. It was only a little something he'd come to every now and then in every timeline and in every life.
But--
"Jim, is there something you're not telling us? You're way too... placid about this whole situation." Douxie's voice came closer, suspicion evident even with the concern of an older brother. Maybe he was sitting crossed-legs beside him, or crouched with a hand on his mother—Jim didn't care. "This goes beyond our knowledge. The apocalypse arriving earlier than it should? We're practically roasted meat at this point. I'm not even sure what happened to the others, no one else replied besides me and the trolls."
"Barbara told us that you left her and an elderly to fend for themselves for the last two days. Said you looked way too calm. That's why we're dubious, because even if you knew something, you would not do such thing." added Archie.
Yeah. As if Archibald actually knew him.
Was that really something to worry about, though? The end of the world had just begun, it wasn't even that deadly yet. Perhaps not until a few months, but he planned on getting them—his mom—after they've settled and made their way beneath the canals and--
And Jim froze. Opened his eyes once again and stared at the two of them, puzzled. Loads of thoughts begun running through his head, too fast for him to articulate. The silence thickened and suddenly everything felt so out of place. Not because they've noticed. Not because the others' states were unknown. But because it had been two days.
A wave of nausea washed over him. Strangling him. Preventing him from taking another inhale. His fingers twitched, longing to grasp onto a certain blade. Longing to just draw crimson from a surface. Two days. He'd been lying here, useless, for two days? Toby could've been found by now, and Claire, and everyone else.
They should be under the sewers right now. They should've found the geodes. He should be forming an alliance with them. What the fuck was he doing the whole time? Why the fuck did he have to be out for so long?
"It's been two days," echoed Jim, frustration clinging to the edges of his words.
Did he need to restart? To back to the beginning and make things right? Time was very crucial, and fate did not like having mistakes in its flow. Missing out for a mere two days may seem trivial to some, but Jim knew better than to brush it off like that.
Ugh.
"Yeah. Mam and I have been busy trying to set this camp up amidst the chaos, and going on shifts to take of you because suddenly food and water isn't something you'll get often. It's a relief she found us, otherwise we would have been one with the cinder heap." Douxie studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to look for a crack.
But he just sighed and looked away. Archie leapt to his arms, offering some sort of comfort, before whispering something to him. The light went back to his brother's the wizard's eyes, like a little child told to share what they had drawn. His words weren't registered, though, going past Jim's ears because as cute as it was, he had not the time for sentiment and familial bullshit.
So amidst Douxie's animated gestures and Archie's occasional quoting and correcting, he quietly relented to his headspace, where he could think of another way to fix everything without having to kill.
Let's just not cry over spilt milk; I hadn't known this was going to happen, so there was no way to avoid it. It's definitely not another one of time's invariants, meaning I don't have to worry about it occurring in the next timeline. Now, I need to figure a way to make up for the lost days. Considering how it's still midday, I've got all the time I need to find the rest of them.
Seeking for certain people in the ruins might seem quite impossible and could take months or years—but not for Jim. There may have been a setback in his plan, however, it was minor. And despite it resulting to more scars, that was to be forgotten. It wouldn't take too long until they come around, and surely, it isn't a hindrance to them if most haven't settled yet.
Great. The plan was simple: go on a search for them, with or without Douxie and Archie, avoid any prowlers or chitterlings, and have the trolls build a efficient camp underneath the canals. Whether they know about the end of the world, or not, is definitely not his problem. But first, they need to get out of here.
"--and he really drove the squires crazy!"
"Yes, yes, I believe that rascal did so." The dragon-cat glanced at Jim, raised a inquiring brow, and asked, "Did you listen to a word my familiar here said? Or, were too deep in your head to notice?"
Jeez. He's too keen for his own good. "Always keeping an eye out, eh, Arch?"
"I'm afraid we're not close enough for that, but, yes. Quite the observant, you see."
Stupid cat.
"Anyways," he got up and glanced around the camp, "I'm out of here. I don't know about you two, but the rest aren't going to make it here on their own, so I need to do something about it." At Douxie's imperceptible noise of confusion, Jim chuckled. "'M not going to stay, Doux, it'll get me killed. Who knows what's out there, waiting for us to come out of this hole and eat us up? I'm not risking it."
The wizard gave him a once-over, stood levelly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jim almost wanted to yank it away. "Jim, I... don't know what's gotten into you, however, whatever choice you make, it is mine to follow."
That sounded oddly familiar. His hand unconsciously went up to his forehead, and he sighed when there wasn't anything on top of it. Made it seem like it never happened. Maybe it didn't.
"And with that being said, if the first thing you seek is the house you grew up in, that unfortunately was burnt along with the other houses. So, it's not really a choice, but--"
"Douxie," Jim cut in before the fumbling wizard, not-so-gently prying the fingers off his shoulder. "I know. Trust me, I know that better than anyone. And I'm not sad, or angry, or anything, really. That home... isn't a home, anymore. I've come to terms with that, so therefore, you should, too. Or not."
"Jim..."
"Point is, those kinds of things aren't important to me now, and they are not my priority at the moment. So you want to let me know my house's gone? Sure. You want me to realize you're blaming yourself for that? I already do. But it's not your fault, Douxie, and it never is. No one's blaming you, not even me. Just... let it go, alright? Focus on what's important now."
Another silence ensued.
He didn't try to fix it. Didn't even pay no mind to it. Just picked up his amulet from the table, gave it a turn, stuffed it in his pocket, and shrugged on his backpack.
"Are you going to be back?" Douxie finally asked, his eyes more sharper than ever, like something struck through him and gave him a wake-up call.
"I will," He answered half-heartedly, the lie coming out smooth and with ease. "I will come back." He thought for a moment, then, "Uhm, tell that to mom for me? Make sure she doesn't freak out because, well, this won't be the first time."
"Won't be the first time you do what?"
Notes:
Half of my dialogues probably don't make sense to y'all 'cause I do not know how to hold a conversation with someone for the life of me. I am so annoyingly awkward around (ooh, cool alliteration) people, that it's gotten to the point where it reflects on my writings. Especially when it comes to characters who have such a sophisticated vocabulary. Which is why I hate when I have to make two people talk to each other; it is a MASSIVE pain in the ass. I'd rather describe a cocoon than force words out of these people's mouths, 'cause fuck I suck at this.
Also, I just wanted to confirm a few things. It has been a week since Jim did his 54th time loop (which he doesn't know, of course), so those who have read the inspired work from start to finish should know that not all of them remember and most of the events that happened there is not going to happen. "But why are the Akiridions there if it's only been a week? Shouldn't they have come a few months later?" You are absolutely right, and I most definitely was in a trance when I wrote the first chapter so I accidentally included them. But not to worry, I'll provide explanation (and lore) in a few chapters from now because this cannot afford to have that big of a plot hole.
Sakon76 on Chapter 1 Fri 26 Dec 2025 04:20PM UTC
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