Last Time: A Hololive Story

After countless attempts, Gura stared into the desert void, reviewing every turn in her mind like the final pages of a worn battle manual. Each failure had taught her something critical—where to step, where to strike, and how to counter the unexpected. This time, she wasn't improvising. Every detail of her strategy was polished to a razor's edge.

She stood silently in the glowing blue hub of AMESS's transfer zone, a liminal space between worlds. The faint hum of machinery was the only sound. Gura pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heart, stronger now than in her first doomed run.

"Turn 39," she whispered to herself, her voice steady but taut. "This is it. No more mistakes." She clenched her fists, determination burning in her eyes. "Let's finish this."

Behind her, AMESS's holographic form flickered into view, leaning lazily against the glowing console. The AI's expression was one of smug amusement, as usual, but there was a faint undercurrent of admiration. "Well, I'd say there's a 91.534% chance of success," AMESS quipped. "But hey, who doesn't love those odds? Oh, and do try not to 'pop' yourself like last time, Kernel Shark." A grin tugged at her holographic lips.

Gura rolled her eyes but smiled faintly despite herself. "Thanks for the reminder," she muttered dryly. She took a deep breath, centering herself. "Okay, AMESS. Transfer me to Bookmark 1."

"Alright, Stinky," AMESS replied, her tone softer, almost encouraging. "Break a leg—not literally, though."

With a deep rumble, the cogwheels of the transfer mechanism spun to life. Blue light enveloped Gura, and in a blink, she was back on the sands of the desert, crouched behind a familiar rock.

Back to the Present

The camp stretched before her, its guards patrolling in predictable patterns she had studied exhaustively. This time, Gura moved like a ghost, every step calculated and precise. Her breathing was steady, her muscles loose but ready to strike.

The first target stood near the eastern entrance, a guard idly pacing with his crossbow slung over his shoulder. Gura crept closer, her steps muffled by the soft sand, and sprang into action. Her dagger slid between the gaps in his armor with surgical precision, his body slumping soundlessly to the ground.

One by one, the guards fell, each encounter a testament to Gura's mastery of stealth. She used every shadow and crevice to her advantage, timing her movements to the rhythm of the camp's patrols.

As she reached the heart of the camp, she planted her first explosive near a weapons cache. The small, compact device was set to detonate at the perfect moment, throwing the camp into chaos. She moved quickly to plant two more, her heart racing but her mind sharp.

When the first bomb went off, it was like watching a domino chain collapse. The explosion ripped through the camp, sending flames and debris skyward. Guards shouted in panic, scrambling to organize, but Gura's calculated placement of the explosives ensured maximum confusion.

Amid the chaos, the Masked Woman emerged, her dark armor gleaming in the firelight. She barked orders to her remaining soldiers, her commanding presence momentarily restoring order. But Gura had anticipated this, and she used the cover of the flames to close in.

The Masked Woman turned just as Gura approached, her blade flashing in the fiery glow. "So, you're back," she said, her voice as sharp as the blade in her hand. "Persistent little brat, aren't you?"

Gura smirked, twirling her spear. "I've got lots of practice. Now let's see how this one ends."

Their blades met in a clash of sparks and steel. The Masked Woman was a formidable opponent, her movements precise and deadly, but Gura's determination and honed instincts gave her the edge. She sidestepped a powerful swing and countered with a thrust of her spear, aiming for a vulnerable joint in the armor.

The fight was a blur of motion, each strike and counterstrike testing the limits of Gura's endurance. But this time, she wasn't fighting recklessly. She was fighting smart, exploiting every opening and remembering every lesson her past selves had learned.

Finally, she saw her chance. With a feint to the left, she drew the Masked Woman into an overextended swing. Gura pivoted, driving her dagger into the exposed gap in her opponent's armor.

The Masked Woman staggered, dropping to her knees. "You've… won," she rasped, her voice tinged with both pain and respect.

Gura stood over her, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her brow. "It's about time," she said, her voice soft but resolute.

As the camp smoldered around her, Gura allowed herself to sit down on a nearby crate, her body finally relaxing. The desert wind carried the scent of smoke and sand, a bittersweet reminder of her victory.

Memories flooded her mind—every failure, every death, every agonizing restart. She remembered the sting of defeat, the frustration of near-misses, and the quiet resolve that had carried her through.

Turn 35, when she'd fallen to her own explosive, a miscalculation that left her disoriented and trapped. Turn 16, when overconfidence left her cornered and overwhelmed. Each failure was a scar she carried—not as a burden, but as proof she had survived and learned.

"I did it," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile.

AMESS's voice crackled in the corner. "Well, congratulations, Stinky. I guess the 91.534% wasn't too far off."

Gura chuckled softly. "Guess not."

She stood, her body aching but her spirit lighter than it had been in ages. As she turned to leave the camp behind, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn't the end of her journey—far from it. But it was a victory worth savoring, a hard-fought triumph that proved she was stronger than the cycle that had tried to break her.

With the rising sun at her back, Gura walked forward, ready for whatever came next.