After the tenth death, there was a cold egg in my arms.
The manual reads: "Congratulations on becoming the breeder of Endgame! Daily tasks: Feed the paradox, sort out the law of cause and effect, and watch the world annihilate with it."
I sneered and kicked the egg away like a ball: "Who wants to raise the world-destroying boss?"
The eggshell cracked open, revealing wet eyes: "Hungry..."
Later, when the final cubs chew up the time loop and turn their pursuers into bricks.
I flipped through the torn-out rules on the last page of the "Feeding Guide" and broke out in a cold sweat——
"Final warning: Breeders are absolutely prohibited from falling in love with the Endgame."
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