“Pathetic.”
My blade swings.
“Are you sure, sir?”
It cleaves through apparitions.
“…I’ll have your head.”
Madness carved into flesh.
The voices of previous loops plague me.
Gnawing.
Whispering.
Laughing.
Disturbing my peace.
Scratching a shadowy pit in my sanity.
Not for much longer.
Through sheer grit, I’ve clawed my way to the sixth dream. And with it—a chance.
A chance to reap what’s due.
The time for endless suffering is over.
The time has come for my freedom.
I stand panting in the ruins of my training grounds—broken beyond repair.
The fruits of my labor.
Blade in hand, sweat rolling down my skin.
Hair still damp, eyes glowing with golden fury in the darkness before sunup.
I’m ready.
For this morning, I have perfected my being.
Shaped my human shell into a weapon.
A weapon to cleave, to shatter, to free me from this repetitive hell.
Sanity traded for power.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been stuck in this loop—a year, maybe two. It could’ve been a decade. Each dawn blurs into the next. One morning I wake to flame. Another to rain. Another to the sound of my own death—and others still echoing in my ears.
They all melt together.
Countless mornings spent cutting the same air, bleeding on the same dirt, training against shadows that were never there.
The sun rises, the sun falls, and I can’t tell if it’s the same one mocking me or a thousand different ones.
But it doesn’t matter.
All I have left is the will to kill whoever dares kill me.
***
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Riegt steps out of the roaring blaze.
White cloak, white tunic and trousers. Pristine gray leather boots, silver suns embroidered across the fabric — spotless in fire.
His face is plain now, the blur gone. Disdain bleeds from his gaze, pride carved deep, eyes that see the world as something beneath him. Handsome features, well-kept, almost soft — at odds with the muscle stacked on his frame, nearly twice my size. Silver hair. Silver eyes. His brother mirrors the same mold.
Now that brother lies headless at his feet.
Riegt lifts a palm. Erases. His stare hardens, disdain sharpening further — not for blood lost, but for me. For daring to stand in his way. For daring to have a will of my own. A will set against his.
He doesn’t walk over like always. Today is different. I’ve breached the sixth dream.
Around me, control leaks outward — a force not unlike his own. For the first time, I can see it.
The air is thick with it, our wills colliding, borders grinding for more ground.
Riegt still underestimates me. It’s his nature. But not as much.
His mental grip is blocked — the result of endless effort — and the foul taste of it shows on his face.
“What, can’t get in my head?”
My words drip with contempt.
A lunatic’s grin stretches across my face. I’m finally going to kill him. It won’t be easy. I don’t want it easy.
He clicks his tongue in displeasure.
He isn’t budging. Maybe he isn’t underestimating me after all.
“Wow. Look at you — you’re terrified.”
I spit the words, chuckling under my breath.
His silver eyes narrow.
The ground between us splits.
Control bleeds from us both, colliding, breaking the air itself.
My liberation begins.
Our domains of ambient mana clash, blue sparks flying mad, cracking the ground, throwing up dust.
The sky is choked with smoke. The only light is the furnace of the jungle, casting its orange glow across the valley.
We’ve reached an equilibrium. Our grips press so hard against each other they almost solidify.
My blade flares, blue-hot with lightning molding around it.
I sink lower, ready to launch.
If he won’t come, I’ll go.
Riegt drops into a stance to receive me.
Lightning boils in and around me, folding inward, condensing until it floods me whole. I look less like a man and more like a storm wrapped in flesh.
My limbs empowered.
My blade empowered.
My mind impenetrable.
The world falls still. Anticipation weighs heavy, sound stripped away as if creation itself holds its breath.
Our domains flare within.
My heels dig deep, knees bending, one arm braced against the ground.
The world holds still. Then I launch.
Earth craters, dirt flings upward, and a blue haze of my afterimage lingers behind.
The silence only grows louder. I travel faster than I ever have.
My blade arcs overhead, chasing Riegt’s skull.
I swing down with everything I have.
The strike crashes against him. His blue ward snaps solid, cracks webbing out but refusing to shatter. A thunderclap tears through the air, shaking the earth. My lightning screeches, metal grinding against his ward, the sound joining the thunder and filling the silence.
He lifts his palm to erase me — fast, but not fast enough. I ride my blade’s momentum, pivoting past him.
Air collapses beside me as I slip behind.
I turn to cleave him — he’s gone. Vanished.
My control flares, searching.
The sphere is mostly useless now, replaced by the sixth dream.
There— I spin, my blade chasing to meet him.
My blade flares, crashing downward.
Shreeek!
Steel meets his palm raised — but his angle’s wrong. I catch him off guard.
His ward flares, my zweihander biting in, denting it inward.
Mana churns in his palm, pulling tight.
I should dodge — but at this angle, the wound would be shallow. Not worth it.
I channel more power instead. Lightning snaps outward as I drive down harder.
Air tears in at my side. Flesh vanishes — an inch gone, maybe more. Doesn’t matter.
My blade cuts through. His ward flares, then shatters for the first time.
He twists his will, air forming to knock my blade off course.
It crashes through anyway, skewed just enough — meant for his arm, it takes only his hand.
The severed hand hits the ground, sizzling.
I leap back as his other palm rises, tilted at a lethal angle. Air collapses as I dodge, nearly tearing into me.
All of it in moments. Me being just one cut faster made the difference.
We circle, looking for openings. His hand is gone, but it doesn’t matter — he doesn’t need limbs the way Riez did. He’s more like me.
Mana knots tight through his veins, sealing the stump. My blade seared it shut for him too — generous, I know.
For the first time, Riegt looks enraged.
“Shit—sorry. Thought you’d block.”
I jab at him for his loss.
“Bug!” he growls.
His control slips — just a fraction. But enough.
They all anger the same. Too easy.
I vanish in a blue haze, tearing toward him. The ground splits and burns underfoot. My blade pulls back, set to skewer.
I reach him in a breath. He slams a wall of wind into place, his size and shape. I plant my feet. Power coils to a point. My blade drives forward, denting the wall, forcing it inward until it locks hard.
I let one hand slip free. A bolt forms.
It blares, crashing toward the gap between wall and ground. Lightning arcs through, exploding outward, crawling across the dirt and into him. His personal ward flares. The wall shatters. Lightning breaks over his defenses — nothing.
My blade spears forward. He lifts his palm, ready to erase it. I release the blade, hurl myself upward with a burst of wind. His palm follows, tracing me. I form a blade of lightning in midair — weaker, but sharp.
He counters. Spears of wind take shape, faster and stronger than Riez’s. They streak toward me. I block one, land on another, weaving between them, turning his weapons into footholds.
All the while, Riegt builds something greater.
The barrage dies off. Behind it, a giant blade of wind rises in his grip, aimed straight for me.
It crashes down. I meet it with my lightning blade, flaring against the enormous strike.
With no foothold left, I plummet. His blade chases me earthward.
I hit hard, cratering the ground, dust exploding upward. Riegt’s eyes can’t pierce the haze — but his control can.
I vanish. Stealth, perfected in the quiet mornings.
His blade cleaves only dust. For the first time, it’s him searching, not me.
