Akitsu Shouga stepped forward, chest tight, grip firm on the katana he had carried through countless deaths. The air of the ethereal void pressed against him, heavy and suffocating, and yet familiar. The black water rippled faintly with red petals—now more than he could count—and doors floated lazily on its surface.

  He had already learned one thing: each door led to a different reality, a different timeline, sometimes changing only the subtlest details. Some doors brought him closer to victory, some to despair. All of them led to death if he faltered.

  But he did not falter.

  He chose a red door—one deeper in hue than the rest, its wood faintly warm under his fingers—and opened it.

  The world shifted.

  Akitsu opened his eyes to the soft, glowing lights of the Firefly Swamp. Mist curled around twisted trees, and luminescent insects flickered like scattered stars. The air was thick, humid, almost suffocating, carrying the scent of mud and wet stone.

  He looked around. The time was uncertain—twilight perhaps, or just after rain. Shadows clung to the trees, and the still waters reflected the ghostly green glimmer of the swamp.

  “Again,” he whispered, drawing his katana.

  Movement in the shadows.

  “Not today,” he muttered.

  A figure lunged—a masked villager. Akitsu spun, blade slicing clean through the attacker. But others came from every side: two, then three, then five.

  Steel clashed, blood flew, but eventually a blade found his neck.

  Darkness.

  He woke again, this time kneeling inside the shrine near the swamp. The altar before him was soaked in rain and partially illuminated by pale blue lanterns. His katana lay across his lap, yet he felt weak, beaten down, as if the very air had burned him in the night.

  “Akitsu…” a voice whispered. He turned. Ayaka’s face appeared, pale, eyes wide with fear.

  “Where…?” he stammered.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, a shadow fell across the doorway. The auroras of the shrine pulsed unnaturally.

  A spear struck his chest, driving him into the stone floor.

  Pain bloomed everywhere. He tried to move, to cut, to fight, but it was hopeless. Ayaka screamed, and then silence.

  Red petals drifted again in the black water of the ethereal void as Akitsu rose once more.

  The humanoid demon hovered nearby, grinning as always.

  “You’re persistent,” it said softly, voice smooth and insidious.

  “I’m not listening,” Akitsu replied flatly.

  The demon floated closer. “I can make it easier. I can guide you to the correct door every single time. Every choice, every death, every step—you will never fail again. You only need to give me… your whole soul.”

  Akitsu’s hand tightened around his katana. “No. I won’t. I am not yours. I never will be.”

  The demon tilted its head. “Foolish… and brave. Very well. But understand—your path will be far more… difficult.”

  Akitsu ignored it and chose a door.

  He awoke inside the swamp again, this time with Kael Ardent and Seraphine Orion beside him. The mist hung thickly, obscuring movement. The sound of rushing water came from somewhere unseen.

  “Akitsu, careful!” Kael shouted, diving aside as a glowing spear flew past.

  The fight was relentless. The villagers came from every direction, as if spawned from the swamp itself. Akitsu swung his katana, Seraphine moved fluidly, Ayaka cast protective wards—but no matter what they did, death was inevitable.

  A masked figure threw a net around Akitsu’s legs. He fell, struggling. Kael tried to help, but a spear drove him to the ground.

  Akitsu screamed. “No!”

  The auroras above shimmered and twisted, light flaring across the swamp. The villagers pressed forward, overwhelming them.

  Steel pierced, arrows struck, and Akitsu felt life drain from him.

  “…Impossible,” he gasped, seeing Kael fall. Seraphine crumpled beside him. Ayaka’s scream echoed in his ears… then nothing.

  Darkness again.

  Red petals multiplied on the black water, swirling violently. The demon hovered silently, its grin never fading.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “You see?” it said. “It is impossible to kill her. Impossible to stop Aurora. You cannot succeed.”

  Akitsu’s jaw clenched. “I’ll die trying anyway.”

  The demon tilted its head. “You’re stubborn… admirable. But you will never win. Do you wish to try my offer now?”

  “Never,” Akitsu spat.

  He opened another red door.

  This time, he awoke back in the shrine, the night outside deep and silent. Rain splattered against the roof. Lanterns flickered with unnatural light. He was alone.

  The faint smell of blood lingered in the air.

  He heard whispers—soft, distant. Villagers moving in the darkness. His grip on the katana tightened.

  Movement in the shadows—three masked figures emerging, weapons drawn.

  Akitsu struck first. Blades collided. He fought with every ounce of precision and memory. Every death before this was etched into his body, guiding his movements.

  Still, one figure bypassed his guard and plunged a blade through his side.

  The world blurred. His vision darkened. His strength failed.

  He fell.

  The ethereal void greeted him again. Another petal appeared on the black water, floating silently among the others.

  “You see,” the demon murmured, voice smooth as oil, “I told you. It is impossible. Aurora cannot be slain.”

  Akitsu ignored the demon entirely. He had learned this before: listening to it meant nothing. Guidance from it was worthless, tainted.

  He turned and chose a door.

  He woke on the edge of the Firefly Swamp again. The light of bioluminescent insects painted the mist in faint, shifting colors. Water lapped at his boots. His clothes were soaked, his body bruised from repeated death.

  “Not this time,” Akitsu whispered. He tightened his grip on the katana.

  From the shadows, the villagers moved—silent, patient, relentless. Some carried spears, others wielded nets. A masked one lunged with a dagger.

  Akitsu’s blade flashed. He moved faster, cleaner, slicing through one attacker after another. Yet, for every figure he felled, another seemed to appear from nowhere.

  Kael and the others were absent this time. Only he remained. He could feel Aurora’s presence, more suffocating than ever, though she had not revealed herself.

  A massive shadow fell over him—a spectral sword shimmering in aurora light. Akitsu spun, slashing and dodging, but a spear caught him in the shoulder. He gritted his teeth, swinging again, but a second spear drove into his abdomen.

  He fell to his knees. Pain bloomed like wildfire.

  “…I… won’t stop…” he whispered, voice ragged. “…Not yet…”

  The auroras above the swamp shimmered violently. A strange, humming energy filled the air. Every insect’s glow seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  Akitsu’s vision blurred. The last thing he saw before succumbing to darkness was the swirl of colors—rainbow light, green mist, pale blue lanterns, and the faint shimmer of something impossibly large moving beyond the trees.

  The black water of the ethereal void welcomed him once more.

  Another red petal floated silently. Akitsu counted them with a grim expression. Seven deaths in this sequence. Seven failures. Seven reminders of Aurora’s power and the futility of resistance.

  The demon hovered nearby, grinning. “Seven times. Each attempt ends the same way.”

  Akitsu ignored it. He could hear it whispering even now: Your resistance is futile. Give me your soul. I will make it easy.

  He gritted his teeth. “I will never give you my soul. I will choose my own path.”

  The demon’s grin widened, voice turning silky and menacing. “Foolish mortal. She cannot be defeated. You cannot escape her.”

  Akitsu stepped toward the next red door. “We’ll see about that.”

  And with that, he opened it, stepping forward into another uncertain reality.

  The auroras pulsed overhead, and the black water rippled beneath him, carrying the weight of countless petals, countless deaths, and the promise of countless more.

  But Akitsu Shouga kept moving.

  No matter the darkness. No matter the power of the Witch. No matter the impossible odds.

  He kept moving.