Cycle of Despair

From the periphery of his vision, Erel finally managed to catch a glimpse of them. The kins. They moved in a way that set them apart from the other abominations, their hulking figures towering over the rest. There were quite a few of them, maybe a few dozen, each one different from the next. One of them looked almost seven feet tall, a massive humanoid with thick, grey plates protruding from its skin. Its arms split at the elbows into two forearms, each one ending in a blade of bone. Right beside it was a bulky, hunched creature, its throat bulging with a sac and four muscled arms ending in fists that looked more like clubs. Its skin was covered in oozing boils, indicating that it hid acid within.
There were also tall, thin, dried-up looking humanoids, their skin cracked like old earth, eyes empty and glowing, with tattered robes clinging to their bodies. Each one of these monsters radiated a deadly presence that made it clear to the battered soldiers around them that the war was lost. Weapons slipped from their numb fingers as their faces paled. They could all feel it; the battle was already lost, and they were all going to die.
The kins though seemed to be here for one reason only: to kill the commanders, the ones leading the army, the ones radiating the flux of an Adept.
Erel’s body was already worn out, but he kept fighting, a tiny spark of hope still burning in his chest. But after he saw the abomination with the throat sac barreling toward Rena, he finally understood how hopeless it all was. The pressure radiating from that thing was worse than anything he’d felt from the kin in the Piper plane, the one that had almost killed him. This one was easily a peak Kin.
He forced his sluggish arms to decapitate another direwolf next to him and looked over to see how Rena was doing. Her eyes were tired now, and fear was there too; her earlier confidence was completely gone as the kin charged her way.
She readied her broadsword, gathering her flux, and a shining coat of water covered her like armour, looking almost impenetrable. But then the kin was on her, smashing toward her with its massive body. She tried to dodge, but it moved too fast, even for her. She was thrown back, crashing into a pile of irregulars with a sickening thud.
Erel didn’t hesitate. He knew she was the only one who could stand up to that kin. He dove into the irregulars swarming Rena, moving with desperate purpose, letting momentum and instinct drive his blade. He cut down anything in his way, each swing carving a bloody path.
Rena, seeing what he was trying to do, forced herself up, spitting blood as she managed a nod in his direction. By the time she braced herself, the kin was almost on top of her, its throat sac contracting as its head jerked and spit a spray of acidic liquid all over where Rena stood.
She countered with a stream of water, trying to block the acid, but the water just fizzled away under the onslaught. Drops of acid splattered through, hitting her arm and burning straight through the flesh.
She dropped to her knees, shrieking in pain as her arm let go of the broadsword. It hit the blood-soaked ground, the hilt sinking deep into the mud.
‘Fuck nooo…’
Erel tried to push through the swarm, but he was trapped, forced to watch as the creature spat another wave of acid. This time it drenched Rena completely. Her howls echoed across the field, her body dissolving in the corrosive spray, leaving behind only bloodied chunks of what used to be her.
With Rena gone, the kin’s eyes locked on Erel. He felt the weight of its gaze, goosebumps rising all over his skin. His legs almost buckled under the pressure.
He knew the attack was coming. He tried to move, tried to break through the mass of irregulars, but they swarmed him from every side. He hacked and slashed, but he was too slow. The kin spit a puddle of acid that splattered all around him. Drops hit his body, his arms, and the pain was instant and blinding. It wasn’t just burns; the acid ate through his flesh, then his muscles, burning deeper and deeper, destroying everything in its path.
Even the irregulars weren’t spared; anything caught in the puddle died, bodies falling all around him. Erel fell to his knees, the agony so sharp he couldn’t even scream. His vision dimmed, his mind slipping away, and for a moment, losing consciousness felt like relief. The last thing he saw was Torik, bloodied and battered, still fighting in the distance before the darkness took him.
***
‘Christ…’
Erel jerked upright, gasping for breath, his lungs burning as he tried to fill them. His vision was blurry at the edges, blinded by the sudden light.
He heard it again, the blaring sound of the battle bugle, the same one from when he’d first woken up in this trial.
‘Cycle of rebirth… No, this death had felt different; that was not a vision.’
He looked around, saw the bare tent, the two bedrolls, the sword in the corner. The same shuffling and shouting outside, people getting ready for another hopeless battle.
‘Without a doubt, I am back at the beginning.’
At first, he thought it was just his ability, cycle of rebirth. But something was off. Usually, his ability only triggered if he made a choice that led to death, then he’d get the vision. But this time, he hadn’t chosen anything. He hadn’t even had a chance. And his flux, it was still full, just like before. If this was his ability, his reserves should have been drained.
‘No, this was something different.’
Before he could think any longer, the tent flap was thrown open and Rena stomped inside, exactly like before.
“Didn’t you hear the horn, soldier? On your feet, now!” she snapped, glaring at him.
Snapping out of his daze, Erel scrambled to grab his sword and followed her out. The scar on her face brought back the image of her death, her screams as the acid burned through her. Just remembering it made his whole body go cold.
He stepped outside, seeing the same chaos as last time, soldiers running, grabbing weapons, rushing to form ranks. In no time, he was back in formation, standing with Rena’s battalion, just like before. Torik was next to him, same frightened look on his face, barely able to hold his sword steady.
Noticing Erel’s stare, Torik glanced at him, eyes wide with confusion.
“H-hi… I’m Torik,” he stuttered.
“Erel,” he replied.
Torik looked away, mumbling the exact words Erel remembered as his gaze seemed to stumble on something far away. “Do you think we’ll survive today?”
Erel didn’t even try repeating what he’d said last time.
“Nah, we won’t.” He replied in cold certainty.
Torik nodded, face pale, trying to steady himself.
Everything played out exactly as before. The monsters attacked, crashing through the front lines, slaughtering everyone in their path. Soon it reached Erel’s battalion, the crawlers, the direwolves, all the same enemies, attacking in all the same ways. But this time, something was different. Every enemy he killed felt easier, and every swing of his sword came smoother. He was faster, more precise, more efficient. The swordwork Lyra had drilled into him started to slip away, replaced by something more natural, something that actually fit him.
His footwork shifted, becoming more aggressive, all about momentum. His blade stopped making careful, contained strikes and started slashing through the air with a kind of brutal, liquid grace, almost like a serpent that seemed to slither through the air.
It was a weird feeling; he could feel it. Every time he swung his sword, he could feel his mind drowning deeper into the strange attacks. Rather than simply fighting, it turned almost into a dance, with the only thing his focus remained on was to keep killing, to keep his footwork, to maintain the momentum, and as he did, the blade just followed effortlessly and gracefully, the serpent gliding through the air reaping any entity that came in its way.
He wasn’t just surviving; he was cutting down irregulars left and right, trying to make a difference, trying to save as many of his battalion as possible. But no matter how many he saved, it was useless. The same fate awaited them all. All around him, similar sights from his previous death followed as whole battalions were wiped out; nothing had changed.
Yet, he kept fighting, losing himself to the frenzy of slaughtering the entities as a maniacal smile crept on his face, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t matter. And he was right.
The kins arrived. Their presence was unmistakable, radiating across the whole field. The same creature as before, the one that killed him, rushed toward Rena. But this time, Erel didn’t just stand back. Covered in blood, his blade dripping, he moved. Not because he was stronger, but because he already knew what it would do.
He gambled, and he was right. Before the creature could reach Rena, he intercepted it, swinging his sword in a clean arc meant to slice through its overgrown limbs. For the first time, the serpent coiled around his blade met resistance. The edge barely managed to graze the kin’s tough skin before Erel was thrown back, skidding through the mud. His arms rattled from the impact, his heart pounding, but a crazy smile stretched across his face, blood on his teeth. The kin had been stopped, its balance broken, tumbling in the blood-soaked mud.
He’d bought Rena the time she needed. She understood immediately, coating her broadsword in blue flux until it shone like a star. The kin was still struggling to stand when she leapt through the air, her blade pulsing with energy, and brought it down in a single, perfect arc. This time, her blade didn’t stop; it cut clear through, the kin’s head flying through the air, body collapsing a second later.
They had done it. They’d killed a kin.
Erel tried to stand, but he was spent. His arms wouldn’t hold the sword, the hilt slipping from his bloody fingers. He forced himself to move, but his legs barely responded.
Then he saw it, the massive seven-foot abomination with split blades for hands barrelling toward him, eyes gleaming with hunger. Erel knew right away he was done for. He couldn’t move, not with a kin that size coming at him.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the end. But instead of death, he heard steel clashing beside him. Rena, again, had stepped in, blocking the kin’s attack with her broadsword, holding back those deadly talons.
Erel tried to move, forcing his body up, but all he could do was slump against his sword. Then a voice called out behind him.
“Erel… Hurry, we need to go, come fast…”
Torik. Erel was dazed, barely able to think as Torik looped an arm around his shoulder, dragging him away from the battle. They stumbled through the mud, bodies everywhere, blood and guts slicking the ground. The smell of iron was thick, almost suffocating.
They kept going, but Erel could feel it, Rena’s imaginarium in the distance, flickering out. She was dead. Soon, they would be too.
He didn’t even need the burning tattoo on his arm to know. There was a horde of irregulars converging on them. Torik refused to leave him, pushing through with desperate grunts, trying to save them both. But it wasn’t enough.
Erel heard it first, a crawler yanked him out of Torik’s grasp. Limbs wrapped around his body, pinning him down, dragging him away. His body remained powerless under the assault as he couldn’t even lift a finger. Next thing he knew, the crawler’s jaws sank into his torso, its limbs tearing him apart from the inside.
The last thing he heard was Torik yelling his name, the sound of his sword clashing with monsters, and then everything faded to black again.

Chapter end