Chapter 456: Episode 454: This is all I can do.

The massive, arched windows of the downtown public library let in long, pale shafts of terrestrial sunlight, but Roxy did not feel the warmth.

She sat hunched over a heavy oak table in the deepest, most secluded corner of the restricted reference section. Before her was a mountain of heavy textbooks, ancient mythological encyclopedias, and dense academic journals detailing the bleeding edge of theoretical quantum physics.

She had been there since the massive glass doors unlocked at dawn. She had been there the day before, and the day before that.

Roxy was operating on a dangerous, manic desperation. She had completely stopped looking at the clock. She had completely stopped listening to her body.

Her finger dragged rapidly down a page detailing the mathematical probability of parallel dimensional strings, her eyes frantic and bloodshot. If the universe possessed a seam that had allowed her to slip through to the Beastworld, there had to be a way to pry that seam back open. There had to be a frequency, a resonance, or a physical anomaly that she could exploit. She just needed the right theory.

"Come on," Roxy whispered to herself, her voice cracked and dry. "There has to be something. A bridge. A gate. Anything."

She flipped the page so violently it nearly tore from the binding.

The physical reality of her terrestrial body was screaming at her to stop. She hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days, surviving entirely on bitter black coffee and stale crackers from the library vending machines. More critically, her body was still in the raw, brutal aftermath of active labor. Her pelvis ached with a deep, pulsing agony every time she shifted in the hard wooden chair. Her skin was a terrifying, ashen gray, entirely stripped of its vitality.

But every time the exhaustion threatened to pull her under, her mind violently flooded with the image of her Warlords dropping to their knees in the hallway. She heard her newborn daughter’s demanding cry echoing in the silence of her apartment.

She could not stop. If she stopped researching, she would have to acknowledge that she was completely, irrevocably alone.

Roxy reached across the table, grabbing a massive, leather-bound book on ancient Celtic portal myths. As she pulled it toward her, a sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit her.

The harsh fluorescent lights above her flickered. The neat, printed words on the pages suddenly blurred, twisting into incomprehensible black shapes. A high-pitched, ringing sound violently pierced her eardrums, entirely drowning out the quiet hum of the library.

Roxy blinked rapidly, trying to force her vision to clear. She rubbed her temples with her trembling hands.

"Just a headache," she muttered, gritting her teeth. "Just keep reading."

She leaned back over the textbook.

Plop.

A single, heavy drop of bright crimson blood landed directly on the crisp white page, completely smearing the text.

Roxy stared at it in confusion.

Plop. Plop.

Two more drops hit the table. Roxy raised her shaking hand, touching her upper lip. It came away entirely covered in blood. A heavy, relentless nosebleed had broken out, the dark blood flowing freely down her chin.

She tried to push her chair back, intending to quickly walk to the restroom to clean herself up.

But the absolute second she tried to stand, the room violently tilted on its axis. The remaining strength in her legs completely, catastrophically vanished. The massive bookshelves seemed to rush toward her, the ceiling spinning wildly out of control.

Roxy didn’t even have the breath to scream. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed entirely, her body hitting the carpeted floor of the library aisle with a heavy, sickening thud. The world instantly faded into absolute, crushing darkness.

***

Beep... Beep... Beep...

The rhythmic, mechanical sound cut through the suffocating dark, dragging Roxy back to consciousness.

She opened her eyes, immediately wincing as a blinding, harsh white light assaulted her vision. She smelled the sharp, unmistakable scent of bleach and sterile alcohol. She felt the stiff, scratchy sheets tucked tightly around her waist, and the dull, throbbing pinch of an IV needle taped securely to the back of her hand.

Roxy turned her head slowly, her neck feeling incredibly stiff.

She was in a hospital room.

The walls were completely bare and white. A small television was mounted in the corner, playing the local news on mute. It was the exact, terrifying kind of room she had spent the darkest days of her life in before the Beastworld. A violent shudder ripped through her body, a primal, terrestrial panic threatening to completely suffocate her.

Before she could reach out and rip the IV from her hand, the heavy wooden door to the room swung open.

A tall, older doctor in a crisp white coat walked in, holding a metal clipboard. He had kind eyes, but his expression was incredibly stern and laced with deep, professional concern.

He walked up to the side of her bed, looking down at her pale, exhausted face.

"You are awake," the doctor said, his voice low and serious. "You gave the librarians quite a scare, Mrs. Roxann. You collapsed in the reference section. You have been unconscious for almost fourteen hours."

Roxy tried to sit up, instantly regretting it as a sharp, agonizing pull in her lower abdomen forced her back against the pillows.

"I need to go," Roxy choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "I have to finish... I have to find it."

The doctor gently placed his hand on her shoulder, pressing her firmly back down.

"You are not going anywhere," the doctor stated, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. He looked down at his clipboard, his brow furrowing deeply. "Mrs. Roxann, your blood work is terrifying. You are severely malnourished, intensely dehydrated, and operating on what appears to be absolutely zero sleep."

He paused, looking at her with a mixture of medical disbelief and profound pity.

"Furthermore," the doctor continued, lowering his voice, "the physical examination revealed the obvious. Your body is in a state of severe postpartum trauma. You gave birth mere days ago. You should be on strict bed rest, receiving constant care, not haunting the aisles of a public library until your body completely shuts down."

Roxy closed her eyes, turning her face away from him. The clinical, detached way he spoke about the most agonizing, beautiful, and catastrophic moment of her life made her feel violently sick to her stomach.

"I’m fine," she whispered to the wall.

"You are not fine," the doctor countered gently. He pulled up a small plastic chair and sat beside her bed. He sighed, resting the clipboard on his knee. "Ms. Roxann, we cannot release you in this condition. You are a danger to yourself. The physical exertion you have put your body through so soon after labor could have caused massive internal hemorrhaging."

He leaned forward, his voice softening slightly as he tried to offer a lifeline.

"Where is the baby?" he asked gently. "Where is your family? We need to contact someone. Where is your husband to help you through this?"

The question was meant to be standard protocol. It was meant to be helpful.

But it hit Roxy like a physical, devastating blow to the chest.

Where is your husband?

She had five husbands. Five invincible, universe-conquering Kings who would burn this entire hospital to ash just to hold her hand.

And they were all entirely, impossibly out of her reach.

The dam completely broke.

Roxy let out a ragged, agonizing sob that tore from the very bottom of her soul. She brought her trembling hands up to cover her face as she burst into violent, uncontrollable tears. Her entire body shook with the sheer magnitude of her grief. She cried for the baby she couldn’t hold, the Kings she couldn’t touch, and the magnificent empire she was never meant to rule.

The doctor physically recoiled, clearly unprepared for the absolute, raw devastation of her reaction. He had expected standard postpartum depression, but the sheer, apocalyptic grief radiating from the woman in the bed was entirely overwhelming.

He stood up quickly, incredibly uncomfortable and deeply pitying the broken woman before him. He did not know how to fix a soul that was entirely shattered.

He gently patted the edge of the mattress, offering a small, helpless sigh.

"You must stay here for two weeks to physically recover," the doctor said softly, avoiding her tear-streaked face. He stepped backward toward the door. "I will prescribe you fluids and rest. But..."

He paused in the doorway, his hand resting on the handle.

"This is how far I can help you, Mrs. Roxann."