Judine and Pallad both woke up at the same moment within the carriage. Judine lets out a sigh, and Pallad now knows the truth. They are both stuck in a loop and whenever one of the two dies, they are sent back to this moment.

  Of course, it’s still just a theory. Therefore this loop went the same way. Judine was just more careful this time, but there was simply another blast aimed at Pallad, killing him instantly. The two continued this again, and again. The running forward felt more like just something pointless.

  But they knew that despite the amount of times they fell, if they stood back up, they’d inevitably win. The tower would never throw something truly impossible. It took hundreds of attempts, the pain slowly subsiding each route, every time they had lost mere limbs they died seconds later.

  But the pattern of firing was the same every time, even if the two were in completely different positions. They began to dodge before the attack had even fired, the gray sky turning dimmer as they went faster and faster.

  They inevitably reached the mages, and Pallad simply subdued them. Knocked one out and made the other kneel. Judine sealed a few of the others abilities with her odd magic. She’d only gained more skills that locked people’s power away during that time frame.

  Pallad ensured the two couldn’t betray him, but also didn’t kill them. Death is too permanent a solution, and too easy of one. He ensured they were punished as he aimed his sword directly towards the general.

  They were almost as tall as him, as they just raised their hands in surrender. The cigarette still neatly placed between their lips. The simplistic camouflage uniform is pushed down by the flat of the blade.

  One platoon down out of 15. And they didn’t spill a single person’s blood. They had surrendered from the war, and the inciting platoon with General Fion was subdued. The rest of the soldiers are still ordered to purge the city.

  Just bought some more time, but it matters not. There were 14 other platoons ready to fire upon the city of civilians. The two marched on, the desolate desert surrounding them zooming past, the rocks mere blurs as they rush towards the next group.

  Or at least, Pallad would’ve loved if all the previous loops had just been figuring out the pattern. The other loops had been Pallad learning the rules of the resetting. Or his own strength. One loop had him accidentally crush the skull in of the first soldier. Then they woke up just outside the carriage. It seemed that after hundreds or thousands of times of jumping out the carriage, they stopped being forced back inside.

  The time continued folding in on itself over and over. One attempt Judine accidentally tightened her chains of justice a bit too tightly, another left Pallad accidentally pushing down a bit too tight.

  They were being subjected to the same moment constantly, because if anyone died, they were sent back to the beginning. One time they took their time after clearing out the first platoon, and they began their siege.

  And then they were sent right back to the start. Over and over again. It was miserable, especially since these guys had weapons designed to kill even gods they would presume against their own hundreds of times being sent straight to wherever the hell the afterlife is.

  Finally they got through the second, maybe the third. They felt something tug at their souls, and they finally thought they could take a break. And they were right for about 50 minutes or so, looking onwards to the city.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Then a blast from somewhere destroyed one of the taller buildings, and they woke back up shortly after the third platoon surrounded. This was just getting old. Really fast. The two had to work constantly, with it being the same over and over again.

  The exact same loop, just different faces, and the generals seemed slightly higher up as they finally reached the General. It was a shorter man, with a long beard. And a sword on their hip. The same uniform as everyone else, just different in the small runic circle upon their shoulder.

  “Well, took you long enough.” The rest of his platoon was already surrendering, getting in their carriages to get back home.

  “Oh yeah? And when would you rather us arrive?” Judine spoke up, her voice sharp in silent rage.

  “Ha! I just want a battle now.” He draws his sword, a blade designed perfectly straight. “The people down there are far too weak.”

  That singular line felt Pallad’s heart with pure rage. A stinging pain, that had Pallad draw his own Slaughterer’s Sword. The pain was searing, with Pallad sort of being blinded to the rage, until he felt someone’s arm against his chest.

  It was Judine’s, “Stop,” she had begun, “we’ll beat this guy together. We don’t have to kill them.”

  “Ahaha! Is that your sign of a motivational speech? Who do you think set this all up?”

  The laughter rang out as he began to describe something gut wrenching. Something horrible. That he was in charge of the terrible fate the two had been subjected to. And he was all aware of it. His short, wavy, black hair stood strong, and it was obvious he hadn’t been in battle in ages.

  But he managed to send the two into a time loop, and was well aware of their situation. And whether that was true wasn’t too obvious, but he stated some of the loops actions.

  “I never thought how easy it would be to send you two back so many times. I don’t even know the conditions myself!” His admittance felt too easy. Felt fake. As though he was a mere puppet.

  And Pallad’s mood shifted just as fast. The rage was still deep in his heart, but he knew this man did not deserve to die. He was just a faux person, made entirely to torment the two. He still hated this man, but he would not kill them.

  And based off the look of determination in Judine’s eyes, she felt the exact same. The two stepped forward and the General stepped back. Judine simply sealed his movement and abilities, and he looked at the two with… a mix of fear and perseverance.

  “Surrender now, and we’ll not hurt you.” Pallad states towards him, just staring right through their soul.

  “Ha! You’ll never force me to surrender peacefully! You’ll have to kill me!” Pallad continues staring. But Judine steps forward, placing her own blade against the Generals throat.

  “Kill me already.” Judine obliges, slashing outwards. The two weren’t looped backwards, to Pallad’s nice surprise after opening the eyes he closed as she killed him.

  “It’s the lesson of restraint. Not that killing should never occur.” Judine’s words were dripping with knowledge, and exhaustion.

  “You need to quit pushing yourself like this.” Pallad speaks up, seeing now the way Judine was holding herself up. Her shoulders were tense despite her arms looking more relaxed.

  “Like you’re one to talk.” Judine cuts back, her eyes scanning everywhere. “Let’s relax.”

  The two were left sitting in the middle of the desert for a little while. The wind was quiet, and warm. The sun was blistering, and the two were absolutely not dressed for this weather. Pallad lay down, allowing sleep to take him.

  The dream ended shortly, just him drinking with the five of them. Bariton playing tunes, Shammus silently watching the other four, Clara drinking in sorrow, and Judine sipping whiskey from a shot glass.

  And Pallad was simply drinking for fun, a nice cup of ale. He counts everyone, and then wonders where Sornid is. There the dream shifts towards a field, with something blurry. Someone wearing all white, with red all over the floor.

  When Pallad wakes up, he realizes there’s a road leading back into the forest.

  The two begin to walk, the desert passing them by far far slower than before, and just so quiet.