"⚠️ Content Warning: Contains graphic violence, death, and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised."
Toki remained motionless in front of the inn door. The weathered wood, slightly tilted from the wear of time, was familiar yet... foreign. Warm light spilled through the dirty windows. Inside, life pulsed quietly — laughter, the clink of glasses, people enjoying an ordinary evening, unaware of the danger lurking.
The world continued, as if nothing had ever happened.
But he knew.
His gaze, once serene, was now narrowed, stained by the shadows of memories. A chill ran down his spine. He knew what was coming. He had already lived through his death. He could still feel it in his ribs, in his hands stained with blood. But now... everything was back to the beginning.
A world that no longer knew him. A world that didn't know what had been.
A woman with yellow eyes passed by him, giving him a slight nudge in the shoulder. He flinched. He stopped, but didn't say anything. He didn't recognize her face, but he knew... in less than an hour, that woman would be one of those pierced by the deadly wires.
"There's no time left…"
For a moment, he felt the urge to run. To let everything burn, just as it had burned before. But he couldn't. Not again.
"How could it happen so quickly?" he thought. "It hasn't even been ten minutes since we entered the inn..."
Utsuki, who had been walking a little behind him, noticed. He had stopped in front of the door, silent, with a lost look in his eyes.
"Toki?" she called him softly. "You froze in front of the door... What happened?"
Her voice was warm, but uneasy. He turned to her with a weak, forced smile. His lips trembled, but his eyes remained empty.
"I'm just trying to pick… a soup that won't kill me with the first spoonful," he said, almost jokingly.
Utsuki laughed briefly, unsure. A cough caught in her throat, and then she looked at him more closely.
"Toki... your eyes... You're not yourself. Something is... different."
For a second, Toki hesitated. Should he tell her? That this world was a loop, that she... had already died? That this wasn't his first time here?
But what was the point?
"Maybe I'm just... tired," he said softly, avoiding her gaze.
He opened the door.
A wave of warm air, scented with roasted meat and beer, hit him in the face. A bard's voice echoed from the corner of the room. The music was faint but cheerful. Everything seemed... normal. Far too normal.
The tavern keeper greeted them with a wide smile.
"Welcome! Take a seat wherever you like!"
No one recognized him. Not even the old man. Not even Tora. Toki felt his stomach tighten. He had been here. He had saved them. He had risked his life. But for them... everything was just beginning.
Utsuki sat down, and Tora — a dreamy little girl with wide eyes and fear in her gaze — timidly waved at them. Toki gave her a brief smile, but something inside him was collapsing. He could feel time mocking him.
Tora quickly turned away, embarrassed.
"She doesn't know you yet," Utsuki whispered.
"No one knows me anymore," Toki said, more to himself.
They sat down. The table creaked under their weight. The noise was too normal. The calm before the storm. Toki kept his hands under the table. They were trembling.
Every sense was sharpened. The smell of meat pie. The popping of a wine cork. The old man's breath. Footsteps. Outside.
Those footsteps...
Utsuki noticed again. The tension in him was impossible to ignore.
"Toki...?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He didn't answer immediately. He looked at the door. His eyes narrowed.
The footsteps were approaching. Slowly. Calculated.
It wasn't a servant. Not a traveler. It was... her.
And she had come faster than before.
Toki stood up suddenly. The chair fell behind him with a sharp sound. Silence fell like a wet blanket over the room. People stared at him, stunned.
The air thickened. It charged. He could feel the mana vibrating around him, like an invisible web.
"EVERYONE TO THE GROUND!" he shouted.
Toki threw himself over the old man, slamming him to the floor just as two daggers embedded themselves in the thick wooden wall, only inches above their heads. The inn door burst open violently, and a woman with yellow eyes stepped inside with a sadistic grace.
— "Ah... you were faster than I expected," she said, smiling devilishly.
Everyone stared at her in astonishment, but the most frightened was Tora, who couldn't understand how Toki knew what was about to happen.
The old man slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. His gaze locked with Toki's.
— "Stay back and protect the girls," Toki told him, rising as well.
— "No," the old man replied with a firm voice. "I've lived enough. You're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you. You protect them."
With an unexpectedly swift motion, the old man pushed Toki back, placing himself between him and the assassin. He drew his sword, the metal gleaming in the inn's dim light.
— "In my youth, I was a true monster," he said. "Today, I'll prove I can still fight."
The assassin looked at him with interest.
— "Impressive, old man. Let's see what you've got."
The old man struck with lightning speed, and with incredible force, shattered one of the assassin's daggers, slightly grazing her cheek. Blood dripped from the wound, but she smiled.
— "Nice start. But let's see how long you last."
The battle raged on, every move a blend of the old man's experience and determination against the assassin's agility and cruelty. Utsuki tried to assist with magic, but her energy was limited.
"Don't let Tora get involved," the old man told Toki, locking eyes with him.
Toki nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.
The assassin slowly brought her hand to the cut on her cheek, and her fingers sank into a thin trail of warm blood. The cut wasn't deep, but it ran from her cheekbone almost to the corner of her mouth. She didn't seem bothered. She didn't scream, curse, or retreat. On the contrary — a slow smile spread across her face, one that wasn't from pain, but from some dark, animalistic pleasure. Her yellow eyes gleamed in the flickering light of the oil lamps on the ceiling, and every reflection in her iris seemed to pulse with something inhuman. She looked at the old man with disturbing attention, like a child eyeing a new toy, but one who already knew exactly how to break it into pieces.
— "Nice start," she said, her voice a blend of honey and poison. "You actually managed to touch me... Not many succeed at that."
From behind her, the inn's door still swayed on its hinges, slammed by the wind and her violent entrance. A cold breeze crept inside, mixing with the heat of the fire in the hearth and the smell of roasted meat that had lingered in the air only moments before. Now, everything seemed frozen in a twisted present — the patrons sat motionless, their eyes wide open, unable to fully comprehend what they were seeing, but instinctively feeling that something terrible had just begun.
The old man, despite his age, still stood tall, the sword in his hand trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from the extreme tension of a prepared stance. His breath was heavy but controlled. His eyes, still clear, didn't blink. They tracked every movement of the woman — every shift of her shoulder, every subtle transfer of weight from one foot to the other. He had been a fighter in his youth. A good one. Perhaps not the fastest now, but certainly one who knew when death was coming — and, more importantly, how to keep it at bay for a few extra seconds.
Toki, still by the table where they had taken shelter, had his heart pounding in his ears. Each beat felt like a sword to living flesh. He knew what was coming. He had lived this moment too many times. He had seen the old man die — most of the time needlessly, sometimes with a bit of gain. But nothing ever stayed. It all reset. And every time, the wound inside him reopened deeper. He clenched his fingers under the table, gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles turned white. He felt powerless. Once again.
— "Don't move," he whispered to Utsuki, who had leaned slightly toward him. "And don't let Tora get up, no matter what happens."
Utsuki shot him a brief, but serious look. She was trembling. Not from fear for her life, but for the little girl behind them, who was huddled beneath the bench, her hands clutched to her ears, as if she didn't want to hear the end. Utsuki's skin had begun to glow faintly, mana starting to respond, but Toki knew she wasn't ready. Not yet. And if she made a mistake in casting, she could end up doing more harm than good.
On the floor, the old man took a lateral step. Just one. A wolf's step, circling, without haste. The assassin tracked him with her gaze, but her body remained still. Only the dagger still danced between her fingers, with that soft sound of metal on metal that began to fray everyone's nerves. It was like a torture song — a high, repetitive note that seemed to say: "Not yet. But soon."
— "Got a name, girl?" asked the old man, with a kind of genuine curiosity. It wasn't bravado. It was something else. Perhaps just a desire to know who would send him beyond.
The assassin laughed. Not a human laugh. The sound was short, dry, almost birdlike.
— "Names don't matter, old man. But if you want, you can call me Your Death."
— "That's what the last one who tried to kill me told me," the old man replied calmly. "He died with a knife in his ribs. At least you'll be colleagues."
Toki felt a strange impulse — a corner of his soul ignited for a moment. He wasn't laughing. But he wasn't without hope either.
The assassin moved.
It all happened in a flash. First, she was just a shadow in the air. Then the sound of the table smashing. Then sparks — real sparks, metal on metal, the dagger striking the sword with a force that betrayed a clear intention to shatter, not just to cut. The old man blocked the blow with both hands on the sword, but the impact made him slide his feet on the floor, squeaking on the greasy, wine-stained wood. He managed to regain his balance just in time and responded with a quick, sideways cut — a classic move, designed to force distance. But the woman didn't retreat. She followed him like a shadow, almost spinning on the spot, bringing the dagger down toward his side with a speed that didn't seem human.
A missed strike — for a fraction of a second. The old man raised his knee and pushed her back. But not enough. The dagger scratched his left arm, and a streak of red began to widen across the sleeve of his thick coat. He made no sound. He only inhaled sharply through his teeth and took a step back.
The old man took a step back, but his gaze remained fixed, unwavering. His arm was bleeding, yet his hand held the sword with a strength that betrayed not only experience but also a will that could not be easily defeated. Toki felt a chill run through his chest — it was not just respect for the old man, but also a dull fear: he knew that no matter how hard they fought, time was against them. The assassin was learning. Every movement, every reaction, was being archived in her cold mind. With the next strike, she would come with something new.
Utsuki, behind him, trembled. Not from fear, but from an intense inner agitation. Her skin seemed to glow faintly, a bluish-green radiance pulsing with her breath. Mana responded, but it felt chaotic, unstable. She was not a researcher. She was not a fighter. She was a seeker, a delicate spirit — but in that moment, her gaze changed. Tora whimpered softly under the bench. Utsuki squeezed her hand without looking, but her eyes locked on the assassin with yellow eyes.
— "Enough," she whispered.
Toki heard her. It was a voice that didn't sound like Utsuki at all.
She raised her hands slightly, and the air around them grew suddenly cold, like autumn falling unexpectedly over summer. Mana gathered between her palms, forming a trembling liquid sphere. Inside the sphere, bluish shapes formed chaotically — fragments of arcane symbols, signs of an ancient, perhaps even forbidden, school of magic.
— "Utsuki! Not yet!" Toki hissed, trying to stop her. "You're not trained—"
— "Tora's here, Toki. I have no choice."
The assassin burst into laughter as she made a sideways leap, avoiding the old man's latest attempt to catch her with a circular arc.
— "What do we have here?" the woman said, observing the magical light. "A little girl playing at being a witch?"
Utsuki didn't answer. She breathed deeply. There was no fear in her eyes now, but a dangerous determination — one that came not from courage, but from love. The next words came from her mouth with a ritualistic tone:
— "Oiran suren mika, vaelis-tunaar."
The sphere exploded in a bluish flash, and from it shot a curved beam of light, like a spear of ice that spiraled toward the assassin.
She hadn't expected this. She dodged with a leap, but the ice spear grazed her shoulder, tearing her cloak. She screamed. Not from pain, but from pure fury. The dagger in her hand embedded itself in the wall when she landed, losing the moment. The old man took advantage.
— "NOW!" he shouted, and lunged forward, the sword tracing a glowing semicircle in the air.
The strike hit the air like thunder. The assassin barely avoided it, but for the first time, she seemed hesitant. Blood dripped from two wounds, and her smile was no longer complete. It was tense. Calculated.
— "Little one," she spat at Utsuki. "Next time, I'll break your neck before you even raise your hands."
— "Come and try," Utsuki said coldly, already beginning to form the next sigil for her incantation.
Toki could no longer stand aside. His heart was screaming. He knew how it ends. Every time. And yet — something had changed. Utsuki had never intervened before. Never. Each cycle left her passive. But now... she had gotten involved. That girl, the little one, Tora, was the reason. Or maybe... it was him?
— "If we can hurt her, we can defeat her," he told himself.
He rose.
— "Toki, no!" Utsuki shouted, but it was too late.
Toki grabbed a butcher's knife from the table — heavy and thick — and threw it with all his strength. He wasn't a perfect fighter, but in that moment, his hand was guided not by instinct, but by something deeper: desperation.
The assassin raised her arm to defend, and the knife embedded itself in her forearm. She screamed — a torn, visceral sound. She cursed under her breath and dropped to one knee. The old man was already approaching. His sword came down for a final strike.
But the assassin lifted her gaze. In her eyes, there was no more play. There was hate.
The assassin shook her head with disdain and yanked the knife out of her arm, throwing it on the floor. Blood ran down her forearm in thin streams, but her smile returned — crooked, dark.
— "I see you're not completely helpless," she said, rising from her knee. "Very well. I tried to be elegant. Now... it doesn't matter."
Without warning, she lunged at the old man with a speed that seemed impossible for a human body. She moved like a blade in a dream — cutting through the air with precision and fury. The first strike took him by surprise. The short blade sliced through his chest along the ribs, drawing a cry of pain. The second came quickly, a deep cut into his left shoulder.
The old man staggered, but didn't fall. Instead, he gritted his teeth and yelled — not in pain, but in challenge.
— "Do you think a wound will stop me? I've died ten times in my soul before today, woman!" he shouted, trying to block her arm.
The assassin chuckled, her voice cold as ice, and countered with a quick elbow to his ribs. The old man collapsed to one knee, coughing up blood.
Toki wanted to leap forward, but he knew — if he got closer, he'd lose the old man right then. He waited. He searched for an opening. Then his gaze turned to Utsuki.
She had already started a new incantation. Her hands moved in circles, tracing a network of glowing symbols in the air. The words came out in bursts, almost whispered.
— "…nivas serian… tark'el venra…"
A sphere of pulsating silver light formed in her palm. She raised her hand and threw it. A flash of light shot toward the assassin, but she, as if sensing it beforehand, turned and struck the magical projectile with her long blade. The magic dispersed in sparks.
— "Seriously?" the assassin chuckled. "Is that all you can do?"
Utsuki was stunned. She looked at her palms. The mana had dissipated. Something was wrong. The symbols weren't connecting. A cold panic gripped her.
— "Toki, it's not working! The mana in the room is... it's unstable!" she said, looking around.
— "It's her aura," Toki said through clenched teeth. "She's corrupted the space around her. She's weaving her own repulsion field!"
— "Then what do we do?" Utsuki asked, already beginning to create a new circle.
— "We get closer," Toki said. "We have to get out of her sphere. Either we take her outside, or we trap her here. But not from a distance."
Meanwhile, the old man tried to rise again, but his knee buckled. He was breathing heavily, blood running down his neck and the torn sleeve. His sword fell for a second, but he caught it before it hit the floor.
The assassin approached him with slow, dancing steps.
— "Your last words, old man?" she asked, raising her long dagger.
The old man smiled, blood at the corner of his mouth.
— "Go to hell."
And he raised his sword for a final strike.