Time seems to slow down when you're burning alive. Or perhaps Alex's life really was flashing before his eyes—in licks of red, yellow, and orange. Excruciatingly slowly. He could see the assassin's silhouette through the flames, still standing patiently, knife to Gloomy's throat. He watched on dispassionately, as though he needed Alex's bones to melt before he could be certain he wouldn't renege on the deal. Gloomy was surely hurling insults at someone or something. Alex wouldn't know. His eyes went and it didn't take long for his ears to follow.

It hurt.

But not like fire should've. It was everything else that hurt most. He'd wasted the gifts he'd been given: A second life. A class with limitless potential. Memories of the past—or the future, as it were. Nychta. He'd wasted her potential, and with it, whatever hopes Lionheart or the Lost Souls had had for the two of them.

Now, he was dying. Too slowly. His skin was starting to char but the fire staunched his bleeding. He couldn't stop thinking about what he could've done differently.

Compromise.

Killing Anne could've been a one-year goal, if he could stomach living with that. He could've accepted the Constellation's patronage, even if it would eventually bite him. Without their aid there were still more immediately powerful classes he might've chosen if he'd only been able to give up on being a blacksmith.

Or if just his sister was enough… but no, he'd gone and decided she wasn't. Now, a quiet life with her, watching Earth fall from the safety of the stars, sounded almost appealing. Preferrable, even. To this.

'No more regrets', he'd told himself.

Yet in reaching for everything, he'd grasped absolutely nothing. When, if he'd just made the easiest compromise: if he'd been willing to dirty his hands even half as much as last time, he could have had it all. Later, he could've even done some good with these hands. For now, ruthlessness was just the name of the game: the axis the Third Scenario was spun around. Had his unwillingness to play it been a mistake?

He'd made so many mistakes; so many gambles. But no, that wasn't one of them. If anything, he just hadn't been ready. He'd had so little life left in him to give. Not enough for the prudence his path demanded of him. Not enough to withstand the insanity a second time. He'd opened his eyes, but he was only now starting to see: there was something integral to his being he was still missing.

And yet, now… now he could've… if he'd just had… one more…

It was too late. Time moved and outrage and agony tore Alex's throat. Fire felt like fire again as it burned him alive, all but his hands. He cradled his sword, sobbing with no eyes left to cry with. His mind glazed over in maddening, furious pain, yet he knew that the single thing he must not do was end himself. Not with her edge. Not ever.

Funnily, he'd been much more accepting of the end the first time he'd died—secretly hoped for it even—unpreventable nothingness, a release. A fate out of his hands. He'd been tired enough to accept such a thing… but when he'd been ready it hadn't come. And now look at him. In that life he'd defied fate—he'd rued the consequences ever after, but that was something. Here, he'd accomplished nothing.

What did he even have left to regret that he hadn't the first time he died? No, rather than regret it was the helplessness that burned. The fact that he could come back and still… just be so…

His scream turned into a roar.

Why make him care again just to take it away?! Why?!

Nychta thrummed with indignity, then with sorrow. She would pass when he did, and not just her. His thoughts went to Laura. It was hard to think of her as a living being while he was still bound by chains, but it was all too easy to remember her dying. Then to remember she wouldn't die if he wasn't there to end her. Would the assassin even kill her, or would Anne just…

Alex remembered the press of her lips at last and whimpered. Die or die trying—that had been his most egregious gamble of all. Yet one foot in front of the other had been all he could give at the time. It was all he'd remembered how to do.

But now! Now, if only he could…

Just one more chance, he prayed. Just one…

But no god answered his prayer. No miracle came.

Still, despite having no oxygen for breath, Alex breathed. In the pattern of an infinite spiral, his consciousness sank to darkness. As his flesh melted, as death approached, his soul made one last desperate reach for life.

The world erupted in blinding, divine light.

* * *

Alex opened his eyes, wincing. His pain was distant, and in all the wrong places. The sky was sunny out. The ground was scorched and arid but strewn with enough wooden rubble and patches of green that he knew this desert once must've been a forest. He looked around and saw himself lying on the bed of a military truck, bruised and bandaged—but better off than the others who lay around him. He recognized none of them. He knew at once that the faces he was searching for hadn't made it out.

"Yet I'm still here…" he muttered in delirium.

He spoke, except the words didn't seem to come from his mouth. He hovered like a spectre, removed from his body yet feeling things from its perspective. When he tried to rub his eyes, his arm separated from this wounded version of himself and his hand passed straight through his face.

This wasn't real.

But to him, at least, it was. Because it only took a second of recognition before he remembered this moment viscerally.

"This was after you lost them," A man said.

Alex stared across the bed of the truck. The engine thrummed and he jostled side to side as they went over a bump. The man hadn't been there before, but Alex knew who he was. It was himself. A different version of him, from one of the futures he'd glimpsed that never came to pass.

"Should've taken that deal," the man said. "Shitty as it was. But it was command's fault they died. You were just following orders, had no choice. The men wouldn't have blamed you if you'd just packed your bags and left after that. You did right by them. They were the ones who'd thrown their lives away to protect you."

His words stabbed like daggers though Alex's heart as memories of this campaign flooded in. They'd been the first in, the last out—though that was only on paper. His platoon were the only ones good enough, yet disposable enough for the task; the results were unavoidable. Still, Alex had tried to get his men out. His own men were the ones who thwarted him. From a whole company… to a platoon… to him waking up alone on the bed of a military truck.

That shitty deal flashed across his interface. It was a ticket off this planet, awarded to him for the achievements he'd wracked up this battle. He chuckled, and the man across from him did too, but it was a lifeless thing. He was old, older than Alex ever lived to. He smiled a rueful smile as his younger counterpart hit: decline.

The world around them changed and the old man faded with an echo.

"Should've just taken it…"

But Alex hadn't, and now he saw the result of that choice. Those bastards stuck him in charge of a battalion afterward, and this was where he learned he was not fit to lead one. Stuck with the rigidity of higher command, yet lacking the autonomy to act outside its bounds: he was prone to whatever idiocy passed down the chain. The scene playing out before him was not one of quiet aftermath like the one before; there were moans and screams and choked sobs, and he had few fresh wounds to show for it.

His men here—all of them strangers—looked on with ire or disappointment. Their eyes followed him as he went tent to tent, checking on the wounded. They'd expected the so-rumored devil of luck and Alex was nothing like they'd hoped for. Luck goes both ways, they learned; their battalion was fully wiped. He'd practically begged to be demoted after that.

Except he needn't have said a word. It was already decided he would be the one to take the fall.

As such, countless scenes flashed before Alex's eyes. They were key moments from his life: Times where he faced choices, then the places those choices he made led. He saw other versions of himself at the significant junctions, leading alternate lives that branched from the one he knew. They always faded once he'd made his choice. Sometimes with pity in their eyes. Sometimes, envy. Other times, they didn't appear at all.

The events didn't follow any particular sequence, but Alex was still surprised when he saw himself before the apocalypse. He wasn't shocked to find himself alone, as there was no version of him that would've chosen differently.

"Welcome home," the woman said, her cheeks wrinkling into a smile. "We're family now. Alex, Alyssa."

Alex, the boy he'd been, walked through the front door with Alyssa—only nine years old—clinging to his arm. The paperwork was finished, and they took a look around. It was suburban Los Angeles. The house was nicer than the others they'd lived at, but he wasn't so stoked. Whether it took weeks or months, problems would inevitably arise. Small ones at first; eventually, they'd grow to be bigger.

It only took a minute this time: the minute it took for their caseworker to walk to her car and peel off. The woman peeked through the blinds. Then she looked at him and he shivered. Her husband looked the same way at Alyssa. And the boy… reacted. Before he'd even known what that feeling meant, Alex was heaving for breath, his sister crying, and the man and woman lay sprawled beneath on the floor, beaten to a bloody pulp by his fists.

Aggravated assault. Unprovoked.

He was lucky he only got a year in juvie. He was luckier Alyssa's new family fared a little better than the last. He got out and he was able to see her sometimes. She was unhappy, but safe. Whereas his own situation… grew to be more unstable. He ran away at seventeen, intent on getting her back. Now, he recognized he'd just been running away. Surviving.

"Case dismissed," the judge said, slamming his gavel.

The world changed again and Alex took a sharp intake of breath as what would've been his worst memory unfolded before his eyes. Alyssa's… parents… stood in the other corner of the court room. Her "mother" wiped fake tears with a handkerchief and it was the first first time Alex—twenty at the time—had ever seen someone actually do that. Now, it wasn't at all what captured his attention.

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"What do you mean?" a suave voice asked. "You're the one who reached out for your fate. I'm just another you could've had."

A different Alex, in his late twenties, with a scar-less face and an ironed business suit, flashed him an easy smile.

I reached out for my fate? Is that what he'd done?

No, it didn't matter, and the rest was a blatant lie. Because just one look at this man was enough to tell he'd never seen a day of fighting in his life. The other Alex just shrugged, showing him a picture: him and Alyssa cooking together in an apartment kitchen. Alex felt the fire again as he took a heavy step toward the stranger.

"That's impossible."

Shrugging again, the man slipped the phone back into his pocket. "It is impossible," he admitted, "You're not wrong. I don't exist, and mine is a strand of fate so remote from your own, you frankly shouldn't even be seeing me here."

"The apocalypse—"

"Got delayed by a decade where I'm from, but that's not what's important. Look."

Alex looked, and now saw himself at a slot machine a year later. He could play decent blackjack, or unofficial poker, but that wasn't the point. There was no point.

"What am I looking at?"

"You're telling me you don't already know?"

"Of course I know!" Alex yelled.

He'd worked his ass off ticking all the necessary boxes to get custody over his sister. Alyssa desperately wanted it too. He'd got himself a lush sales job, had a fancy apartment lined up, and the married couple he'd assaulted ended up convicted on separate charges a year later, which helped his case. Or it would've, if Alyssa's new parents weren't rich, crooked, and utterly possessive over their brilliant daughter. Namely, if the system hadn't been against them from day one.

Alex never harmed his sister in any capacity—that restraining order couldn't have been filed in good faith! It eventually got thrown out of course, but it put him under intense scrutiny, and by that time, the damage was already done. Because frankly, the rest was all true.

"You didn't graduate with a degree in sales. You didn't attend high school either, and of course you never bothered forging a diploma for middle school. Your previous work experience? All fake. You weren't even the age your employers thought you were, and they were just the right amount of scummy to see how much they could wring you for it. Didn't matter that it was less than you made them, did it? It was the fraud that mattered. It bruised their egos. And it left a stain on your record that wasn't so easy to hide. By the time the restraining order passed, Alyssa stopped reaching out. Who knew what they'd whispered in her ear to turn her against you—that's what you were thinking, right—when you stopped reaching out, yourself? During the most turbulent time of her life, no le—"

"I'm literally burning to fucking death right now," Alex said.

This other version of him nodded, as if he could ever understand what that feels like. "So… we shouldn't talk about it then? It's meaningless—is that it? Your memories aren't meaningless and these ones actually happened. Not just to you. They happened to me, and to her, too."

As a spectre, Alex didn't even have the autonomy to grind his teeth.

"Look," the other Alex continued. "I made a mistake, I can admit that. The world was against us, but I drove that wedge between me and my sister, and it broke our relationship. And yet… do you know what choice it was I made, and you didn't, that brought us back together?"

The entire time this business-slick version of himself talked, his younger self stared lifelessly at the slot machine, hearing it crank and watching it spin its melody. Alex never felt so much like punching himself, and he'd never been so chagrined at the fact he was unable to. Someone at the machines the row behind him gasped in awe, then moaned in disappointment. This beaten down version of himself whose body he occupied just let out a soft snort as the 7's almost lined up.

"I'll give you a hint," the other Alex said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "The choice you face here is the same choice you face burning alive right now."

That…. was it.

"Shut up!" Alex snapped. "You didn't live through the apocalypse! You had time! Before I even had the chance to repair things I was mourning her death! And the death of my lover! And so, many, many things worse—far worse tha—"

"I was twenty-two."

Alex froze. Then before he could ask what he'd meant by that, the machine in front of him erupted into a cheerful jingle. The man he embodied hardly reacted in his zombified state, but his eyes did glint life-like for a second.

"Three-thousand dollars. You know what you did with that money right?"

"That wouldn't have been enough to rebuild," Alex said.

"You're right," the other Alex admitted. "Would've helped Cameron though, but who am I kidding. I didn't give it to him either. I gave it to Alyssa. I bought her into that programming course her parents wouldn't let her take. She took it in secret and we started talking again. She really is brilliant, but she's a child. She needs support and I gave it to her. I paid Cameron back too, eventually. I stopped gambling. I quit that horrid job at the call-center. And everything that I have and you don't all stems from one choice—and it is a choice, despite what you believe."

Alex grunted. The last time he'd been assaulted with such trivial matters they'd driven him to jump from a building. "What's your point?"

Already, the world was starting to fade to the next junction. He could feel his consciousness tugging away, good riddance… and yet, it bothered him. The look in this Alex's eyes carried far more than just pity.

"I was twenty-two when Alyssa moved in with me," he said. "She came to an arrangement with her parents, and got herself an early emancipation. That would've been before your apocalypse happened."

His words broke something inside Alex.

"Think on that…"

…And he did think about it. Cold thoughts. But they slipped into an endless torrent of cold thoughts as he recognized where he'd been brought next. It could all have only ever led to this. That's… what fate is, afterall.

This Alex was numb. He was the apathetic monster that Alex still feared to this day. He walked as though lost in a dream, through an Earth wasted by war and bloodshed, a planet that no longer looked worth fighting for. Corpses littered his path: The enemy's. His own. Years of wear in his gait, death in his eyes, and emptiness in his soul, he ambled, muttering to himself old names.

Alyssa. Nolan. Julia. Yara. Aashay. Kirin.

"...Laura."

He turned, hearing a dry croak in response to his voice. He was no Priestess of the Seven but he gave what mercy he could, and didn't bother reclaiming his sword from the body. He hadn't even checked what side they'd fought for. He simply wandered on without purpose or any sense of time. Until he found her. A dragon on death's door—Lys.

That's when things began to change. Up until now, his fate had been a weave of threads already decided, settled into a mythos.

Now, that weave unraveled.

Chaos. Entropy. The world flickered, glitched, but did not shatter. Because his senses told him that what he was seeing mattered, and not just in the way other things did. No, this moment, to beings far higher than Constellations, was real. And yet it was not a juncture, but a fissure.

No… this was a rift.

Alex's perception distorted. His head split; he was glitching back and forth. One moment he lay his head against the Wyvern Queen, the next his sword was stabbing through her eye: eyes like the aurora encapsulated in cloudy ice, they were strikingly beautiful.

Here, Alex appeared as himself. There were no other versions of him, because there was no choice. He'd chosen not. Yet in the same vein, this might've been the only choice he'd ever truly made. Time flowed unevenly.

Even as re-lived the moment, he experienced it disjointedly.

He saw himself testing the hardness of her scales with his sword and a fraction of a second later he was huddled on the grass beside her, talking.

"Before the Universe came, we used to worship God. H-he was li—like—"

"...ook all the Primordial Gods and put them into one guy…"

Alex's head hurt. He knew the rest of his past but this… he couldn't remember. He only remembered the feelings. The actual things he'd said, the truths in the stars he'd glimpsed—a mortal mind isn't meant to comprehend his fate—and these too, unraveled.

"God made the Earth by his power!" he suddenly shouted. "He-h-h—he—"

…founded the world by his wisdom and stretched out the heavens by his understanding. When he thunders, the waters in the heavens roar; he makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth. He sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouse.

Alex wished it wasn't so, but these words he knew by heart. For the first eleven years of his life, he'd been utterly terrified of God. Of that, his father made certain.

Time skipped by as Alex orated to the dragon verses he'd left untouched his entire life. Even only hearing broken pieces, Alex knew he retold them accurately. He could feel his expression falling. The man he occupied grew disheartened to still find such terror in God where he'd grown numb to the terrors of war.

"...so you see," he said finally with a quiver, "Next to such a powerful existence, how scary could the Constellations really be?"

Knowing what he knew now, Alex wanted to look away.

Instead, he was made to watch. Lys became enraptured by his ramblings and when he'd finished she asked for another tale. One where she got to fly again. He'd found himself in her. He'd found more than he bargained for. What she was asking for was a tale where they got to choose the ending.

At first he'd been confused. But once he understood, he just shook his head. "The Mythos of Fate has its protagonists and that's not us, Lys. We're fated t-t—to—"

He glitched again, back and forth—his hand on her snout, caressing—

His sword piercing through her eye with a— no, he was caressing her.

Her scales were as hard as diamond, unpierceable with his wounds. It was the reason he'd started talking. They'd both been meant to die here, but her death would have taken much longer than his own. It'd been weeks since he last talked but he just hadn't known how else to give her mercy.

Now, her scales seemed to soften under his touch. The things he'd just witnessed shouldn't be possible. They weren't possible.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked.

Lys closed her eyelids, no doubt dreaming of his words. No doubt flying once more, soaring above it all. The exact words Alex couldn't recall, but he pressed his head against hers, dreaming too.

"Then let's defy fate," he whispered.

Before he'd known it, the Constellations had started watching. All of them.

Except, they weren't now, none of them were—not across such a vast-stretching rift. Now, Alex only felt the gazes of those far more ancient. The Primordial Gods. Thankfully, he didn't have to re-live Lys's final moments. Because the instant he'd finished, fate stopped unraveling.

Fate… had been broken.

The rest became a sudden blur. No choice made after was its own, after all. Alex had already chosen. The fires of passion he'd felt forging her… to the terror he'd felt before The Betrayer, it all flashed by in an instant until he stood in the wake of ruined armies, witnessing the end of his world.

All choices have consequences.

His own Alex couldn't bear to witness. Each altered strand in fate creates ripples and its weavers play the game of butterflies. Alex had been as like a moth, blind and attracted to the glare of such chaos. But a moth burns itself flying into the fire—there was no way he could've known what it might cost. So he'd blocked everything from his mind, sealed the memories in a box and thrown away its key. Then, with the Lost Souls, he'd gone and opened that box. Remembering meant one day he'd be forced to confront…

Well, it didn't matter now, did it? He would die.

For now, scenes flit forth and by, indecipherable as the war reached its darkest hour and blood spilled like an ocean. Alex's memories only got coherent near the end. Zhao Yuxuan, appearing as the demon he'd always been in his nightmares—and the world on the precipice of Earth's death.

Then, being judged before the Constellations.

Alex remembered the curse after, but the actual event was a blur. This too would've passed by in a flash if something strange hadn't caught his attention.

The trial had taken place directly after the end, almost like an afterthought. And yet Orion, Taurus, Casseopia, Scorpius, and more—they'd all come personally, and there were no Ozullen priestesses. If Alex had been any bit cognizant, the radiance of their power would've driven him insane. Most of them were calling for his death. Of course, the system also sent its representative as well, as he had a right to, but he'd known by then that was a farce. He'd known it was over for him.

He'd been wrong.

Velrick sauntered in, yawning. The nature of Alex's death was being decided and he'd had the ghost of a not-so-bored smile on his face. Then he said something to the Constellations. It was something Alex had barely registered at the time, but now it struck him as very, very wrong.

"Sorry, but no."

With those words, the end Alex expected didn't come.

Instead, he'd been re-arranged with pieces of him missing and placed in Dykriest with an impossibly high indenture. Torture, he'd expected. Such a slow and cruel demise wasn't something he'd imagined at the time. Slowly the world around him inched forward until ten years passed. Ten years that Alex had spent toiling toward freedom, to all appearances. Accepting jobs, seeking forbidden knowledge, quitting drinking… after a time.

No, he'd only been going through the motions. He'd been missing something crucial, an integral piece that hadn't been taken because of his curse. It was gone simply because he hadn't made the choice—and it was a choice, like that spoiled version of himself had said. It was the same choice that allowed the Lost Souls to retain their sanity, it was the choice that kept Lionheart human—and after all this time, Alex still didn't have it.

Naturally, back then, he hadn't either.

"The Blacksmith, hmm?" Camilla tilted her head. "You're still alive? Good. That's good. Care to finish this for me?"

She trailed carelessly after the dying minotaur, toying with its life. The Demonic Core—at least, that's what he'd thought it was at the time—sat gray and lifeless in its chest. Alex ambled toward it, half dead. Hammer firmly in hand. The other version of himself, the one who'd chosen differently, lay back the direction he'd come from. He lay dead beside Lys's shattered remnant and Jordan's corpse.

Nobody wishes for death. They plead only for an end to their suffering. But for all that he'd suffered, there must have been a fragment still alive within him. Because in the end, Alex chose life.

* * *

Now, Alex was dying. One Truth told him this with certainty, and he could feel the fire burning closer than ever. So, in what capacity was it that he appeared here? Here, of all places? On a planet full of undead; in a town he'd never imagined would hold memories so near and dear to his heart… He couldn't even say his life was flashing before his eyes anymore. Because the memory was from this life.

He stood in a smithy. On the ground beside him were the pieces of armor that had come before Nychta. A melted down billet was attached to a bar and he gripped a hammer in his hand.

"Accept it," another Alex said.

This one haunted the corner of the smithy. He was the version of himself Alex had just seen: Burn-scarred and half-melded into his armor, the man who'd died by Jordan's side. He hovered, looking lost. It might just be that a lost soul was exactly what he was.

"He's got a point, you know," a new Alex said.

This one… wasn't so immediately recognizable, and there was something off about him. His features were all hazy, hard to make out. He had scars—some—but he stood confidently and was… handsome? Alex couldn't tell much else about him, but he knew he was handsome. It felt weird to say that about himself, but… well, it wasn't like Alex was born bad-looking, he'd just had… and to think this was the same town where it happened.

"You're trailing off," this Alex said. "Master your breathing. Don't think about stupid things or your consciousness will slip."

"Why does my consciousness matter if I'm just going to die," —felt like a stupid thing to say, let alone think. So Alex just nodded and went along with this weird, better version of himself. He re-aligned his breathing with the Fallen Feather of the Phoenix technique.

As he did, he recognized how tired the body he was in was. It had been him only a couple weeks earlier, but he could see it so clearly now. He was exhausted, and it wasn't just about his physical condition, or the sleep-deprived level his mind was functioning at. It wasn't even about resolve. He'd found his resolve. He was finding it with each strike he delivered to the oslumnen billet. With each motion he breathed new life into his sword as he hammered.

Then… What was it, exactly? How could he tell? It wasn't hindsight. Yet a simple look at himself was enough to see his fate written clearly. What was it he was missing?

The forging grew more intense. The death aura flared from the necromancer's core. Alex felt his exhausted body thrum in essence-overload as he fought to preserve the armor's fire. He laughed to himself, hammering with renewed vigor. Unbeknownst to the fact that his new life would end only a few harsh weeks later.

"A new life, huh. Is that what this is?"

It was the confident version who'd spoken, causing Alex to frown. "Yeah? What else would it be?"

"More of the same," dead Alex said. "Tireless struggle."

That made him wince. The sentiment was all too familiar. In the mists, Alex had likened himself to a lost soul at times, wondering what he was really doing here. But no, in this moment, he'd been far more than that. Doomed to fail? Perhaps. He had his flaws and he could tell the man before him wouldn't work through them in time, but he wasn't aimless. He'd found himself in this smithy. Just as he'd once found himself in Lys, he found himself again in Nychta. In her fire. A small, withered flame that had reached—same as he once had—for life.

No, not just life… she was reaching for something more. She had that same fragment alive within her that Alex did, and they were reaching for something better than being alive. Afterall, what worth was another life if he lived it in misery? What worth was life if Nychta failed again to protect her master?

Why does one swing a sword?

Something in his soul stirred at the thought. She… had found her answer. Sorrow, and deep determination rang resonated within him, its impact impossible to put into words. And Alex was reminded again that he was dying. Nearing the end, he felt the fire once more. Not even his breathing technique could take away all his pain. There was only one thing that could, yet killing himself was the one thing he couldn't do.

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"Accept it," said his dead counterpart.

"No… I can't!"

He couldn't let it end. That fragment within him was only cinder of a gone-out fire, but all these years it'd been waiting to be re-stoked. Even when his curse left him without warmth, that small piece was something he'd fought to protect. It was the purpose of his perseverance. He must not let it die!

"Then burn," said the other Alex.

Before Alex could deny him too, the man's hazy features blurred, then faded. Finally, as he disappeared, Alex recognized him. He… was himself. The new life he could've had. The future he'd glimpsed when he'd awakened his trait. And now, he was gone.

"You're still afraid," the corpse said. "Accept it."

"No…"

"Why cling to life?" he asked.

"I have to! So long as I'm alive, then…"

…then what?

"I can't die again," Alex finished weakly.

"Again…?" His dead self cocked his head and held his gaze with a glassy stare. "Did you ever accept your death, Alex?"

"My… death?" Alex halted. "I know I died."

But even as he said it, he understood the fault. Another thought followed.

"And yet I'm still here," the deadman echoed.

How many times had Alex muttered that exact phrase? After almost dying, or after seeing everyone around him suffer more unlikely fates. Eventually he'd even died… yet he was still here. Alive. Unkillable. Un-ending. When had he started to think of himself like he was immortal?

Maybe that was as much hint his other half could give, or maybe it was all Alex needed, because now he understood. The man who swung his hammer in this smithy was in denial. Here, as he shaped his new life, he still had yet to accept his death. Then… it couldn't really be a new life at all, could it? Just… more of the same. A continuation. Suffering without end. No matter how strong his resolve.

Alex found he had no words, but he didn't need them. The forge practically exploded with necromantic aura and purple flame and the man in the memory began muttering beneath his breath as he swung.

"...done with compromises…"

"…done with pacing myself…"

Frankly, Alex didn't know he talked to himself like that. He shot his mutilated corpse a quick glance, wondering whether he should be embarrassed but he didn't look like he gave a shit.

"The fallen feather of the phoenix sinks in an infinite spiral," the corpse said.

That might've been his way of reminding Alex not to think about stupid things. He was right, of course. And his consciousness was slipping. Fast. So he emptied his thoughts and let his mind sink ever deeper into the pattern of his breathing. He listened to the rhythmic clang of the hammer and the melody of the fire.

"It drifts by wind's currents, yet never finds its center."

"…What's the point," his past self muttered, "…if I don't live how I want?"

"It knows neither whence it has fallen nor what lies in its path."

"…Didn't I tell myself no regrets? Didn't I wish so desperately for that freedom?!"

Alex would've winced. It almost sounded like an accusation.

"Death is merely a construct to signify the end of existence," his otherself continued, "The feather does not exist. Yet still, she remembers."

"Then what do I want…?" he asked.

Alex could answer his past self's question. He'd wanted to save his sister.

"What else?"

He'd wanted to save everyone he failed. He'd wanted revenge. He'd wanted—

"Deeper than that…"

Alex didn't know what lay deeper than that, but he knew at once there was something there. A fragment. A desire. What was it he was missing? What lay at the core of his being—what did he need more than anything else?!

Sparks flew. Like the ones Alex would watch as a kid, flying from his father's hammer.

It brought an innocent sparkle to the smith's eyes, but now that feeling lay just out of reach. When had the fires of regret and the fires of desire become one and the same within him? When had he become so incapable of looking to the future?

Had it been when Earth fell? Had that fire died with Laura?

"Time is hollow," his corpse intoned. "Within the vortex, beginnings and ends are meaningless."

There was no specific turning point; it didn't matter when. Gradually, inevitably, Alex's fire had lost its reasons to burn. Through harsh nights he burned with whatever could keep those cinders from going cold. Regret, guilt, purpose.

"Guidance is offered in gravity without mass."

Here at least, he'd found things he wanted for himself; he'd thought that would be enough.

"The feather reaches no awareness, it commands no fate."

It wasn't.

"So what is it I really want?"

He raised his hammer, poised for one last strike.

Alex searched within himself, trying to remember what answer his past self had reached. It had flowed from his mind directly into his sword like a childish, intangible dream, forgotten for a time, but now he felt Nychta grasping for the same answer. Here in the place of her birth, where their voices first aligned… It was the cornerstone for her existence.

During the ritual, he'd experienced this moment again through her eyes. He felt the things she'd felt when she couldn't yet feel anything. When she hadn't yet existed, yet still remembered. What had it been?

Remember, The Lost souls had commanded.

The command startled Alex out of his trance. He was burning. The corpse turned to face him one last time.

"Accept death," were his last words.

Then dusk began to fall and the world started shifting back to reality. It was taking him to the end. The fallen feather sinks in an infinite spiral—but it was no longer so infinite now that Alex's life was not without end. He saw his death on the horizon and finally, he realized: Awareness and command is the infinite spiral. Command cannot come without awareness. Yet awareness itself has to be commanded. One before the other before the one, and at their center…

The origin of my will.

"Hope."

The hammer struck with a final clang. Then he was back in the flames. Burning, but it no longer hurt. At the end of the spiral was choice. This time, he didn't resist. After fifteen years of the apocalypse and two weeks more in Nightmare… Alex Smith's life finally came to an end. He died.

* * *

And in dying, the Fallen Feather of the Phoenix was complete. In his final moment he realized the words he'd mistaken for the next step's title was just the main technique itself. All else was only a prelude. Because after coming so far, those three words were the only instructions ever needed.

Thus, even as he died, his corpse rose from its knees to its feet. Even as his sockets hollowed, its eyes were beholden to all fates. Its charred lips opened, and even without oxygen for air a voice escaped. There was nothing left to burn, and yet it burned. A new fire arose within it and declared Alex's fate wrong.

A voice. A burn. A fire. Wrong.

Wrong, the feather should not know Darkness. Nor should it know Wrongness. A vortex has no center. Before and after do not exist in inexistence.

"Yet it knows dusk because it knew dawn," the corpse uttered. "It knows darkness… because it knew light. It knows beginning because it reached the end.

"It knows life… because it remembers death."

Alex… was not a moth to the flame. Nor was he a butterfly. But he found the string of fate that was his own and reached out with command. To those paying close attention, the ripples were felt clearly. To those already watching, so too was their source.

The Hunter sipped wine from a chalice, intrigued his prey proved a more challenging hunt. The Accursed Witness did as she wont to do, her messenger perched atop a burning tree. In a dark room, with popcorn strewn across carpet and the twilight trilogy playing on loop, a sleepless man dreamed. The Charioteer, Jörmungandr's Dusk and Dawn, Aurora, and countless other entities took notice. Not all the Constellations were watching. And not all who were watching were Constellations. But those with their eyes to fate, bore witness to the fires as they changed winds.

"The feather falls …and the phoenix rises."

From ashes, Alex was reborn.

System Anomaly has been Detected.

Resolved.

The Primordials bear witness.

The Mythos acknowledges your Divinity.

Your Bloodline Trait has Evolved.

[Heart of a Sun God (Divine)]

Your flesh is that of the sun itself, Fire is your warmth, and burns are your badges. You will not be harmed by its touch. It is yours to wield as you wish.

Fire. It was all around Alex. It arose from the depths of his soul, and the firestorm became only an echo of the one that raged within him. With that, the mystery of where the ritual's missing Essence went was partially answered. In his core it had lay in wait to be ignited: an amount that should tear a mortal body asunder, yet his didn't. Divine Fire started reforming Alex's body—reforging it—resonating in the center of his being like a new sun.

It was a new sun.

Essence has been consumed!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

You Have Leveled up!

Alert: You have entered a Supercharged state!

His skin regained color, tingling with electricity. The assassin still had his hostage, but he didn't yet know these flames burned for Alex now. Already his vitality began to rise as he got back to his feet. He had a slew of achievements but it was too much, he muted all notifications.

Amongst the noise, only one was important.

Weapon Mastery with Nychta has reached Rank Adept!

Weapon Arts with Nychta have been unlocked!

Channeling Spirit: Lionheart

Thanks to Lionheart's presence, Alex became empowered. Shrouding himself in fire and darkness, he burst into movement. His stealth was sensed only through the disquiet one feels as smoke wisps from wick with a hush when candle-flame is snuffed by ill winds. Before the Assassin was any the wiser, his arm was already severed. He'd dodged away in time to keep his head, but now Gloomy lay draped across Alex's arms as he carried her away.

She was barely conscious. Barely alive—she shouldn't be, even for a vampire. Just how long had she been burning? She wasn't regenerating anymore and her skin fared only a little better than Alex's from a few seconds ago. But her bleeding was staunched enough to keep her alive a few minutes longer. For better or for worse, that was all Alex really needed.

The assassin could do nothing but watch as he walked into the flames then set her down. "Do not touch her," he commanded, and the flames obeyed. He didn't know whether his dominion over the aspect would always be this strong or if his connection lay to the flames of his rebirth. It was a thought for another time.

For now, he had a vampire to—

Gloomy tugged his pant leg. Her hand trembled and her eyes burned with emotion—helplessness chief among the others. Her lips parted and it looked like she wanted to say something.

"Don't waste your breath."

Her hand tightened into a fist. Alex thought his words might've been a little cold, but pity wasn't what she wanted. He knelt, wincing at the texture as he clasped her hand tightly.

"You're crazy, Gloomy," he told her. "What you did was beyond stupid. But it was also one of the gnarliest things I've seen in my entire fucking life."

That seemed to ease her, and her hand fell to her side as he left her. The assassin glared through the flames from his cute little bubble of blood. He held his arm in his hand, limply re-attatching it. Alex rolled his own shoulder, circling predatorily. He gripped Nychta with both hands, just because he could, then entered stealth.

He was on fire, yet neither himself nor his clothes burned. It was Soul-fire. His flames were purple-hued but beneath, it carried a tint of golden-red. It was the color of Lionheart's Soul-flame, and it gave such lightness to Alex's heart and limbs that he couldn't help but laugh.

Weapon Art Ability: Infinite Reverence

Soul-fragments severed by Nychta can be ignited and joined with your Soul-Flame, imbuing your Swordsmanship with their abilities.

Channeling Spirit: Lionheart

Warning: This spirit cannot be summoned for an unjust cause.

Lionheart's Soul-Flame will grant your Weapon-Arts the following abilities:

[Heart of Gold]

If belief in your cause is firm, this spirit will lend his experience to your swordsmanship.

The firmer your belief, the more experience you may draw upon.

[Unwavering Blade]

When there is no reason to hesitate, your will blade will not hesitate either. You will not flinch from surprise attacks or unseen foes.

[Oath of Armor]

All Physical Stats are buffed by 50% when fighting to protect the life of another. When you actively place yourself between them and harm's way with full willingness to be their armor, Physical Stats will be buffed 100%

[Lion's Mane]

Your hair will become luscious and free-flowing.

Thankfully, the last buff was only a visage. As admirable as Lionheart's hair was, it would be a lot easier to grab atop a head two-feet shorter. But… somehow, Alex could just hear the man barking out laughter as Alex became a soul-less ginger. Nychta laughed too, and so did he.

Funny, wasn't it? He was facing down one of the monsters responsible for his lover's death and he was… happy. It was like a drug—and his supercharged state literally was—but this feeling was also much more than that. This was what it felt like when you fought beside a true friend: back to back with the person you trust most in the world. It was a feeling Alex hadn't felt in a long time and it was a feeling Nychta had never known… until now.

Alex burst from the flames to the assassin's rear, channeling Lion's Roar.

His visage in that moment appeared almost as intimidating as the spirit he channeled. With Lion's Roar, he expended an extraordinary 15% of his mana for a single feint. And while none of that mana actually flowed into his movements, the sense of power it effected did direct all attention away from them. He feinted high, and as he did even he almost believed that was his path. When in fact his real strike came from below to sever the assassin's sword-arm.

The assassin stumbled back as soon as he spotted the ruse, dropping down—trying to guard with his pommel of all things. It worked, but not like he'd probably hoped.

Glancing blow

The collision barely ignited a single spark as Alex re-directed Nychta, drawing a divot across the assassin's chest and collar bone. The fabric beneath caught fire. But it was immediately snuffed out through blood manipulation and the Assassin retaliated before even a wisp of steam had risen.

Before, this would've put Alex in an over-extended position, but he was not in the before-times anymore. Feather-foot carried him away. He was fast now—still not as fast as the assassin—but that didn't matter with a shield in his left hand. The assassin's sword glanced off his shield at an angle, and as the first spark flew, inspiration struck.

Glancing Blow

Alex bashed the assassin's face.

It didn't halt him. The assassin just bit the attack face-on, all the while arresting and re-directing his sword's momentum for a side-sweep. The yatagan wasn't feather-light like Nychta, but it was similarly capable of quick-maneuvering. Just, why would he have bothered when he could summon a knife to his other hand?

Unfortunately, that was the thing: Alex's two-armed advantage wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the assassin's. Alex could punch or slice, but not both at once; no amount of stats could make someone ambidextrous. But he did have two arms now.

Gods—he loved having two arms!

It made all the difference, too. As the assassin's sword drilled into him from his left, he braced Nychta against his upper left arm, managing only a pained grunt with Lion's Relent. The skill was always meant to be used in concert with a shield, and while Nychta staved off the attack, Alex snapped the back from the bastard's face to reinforce her.

He shouldn't have been shocked that Weapon Mastery adapted to it—after all, Nychta was learning the shield too.

Weapon Mastery with Nychta has increased.

Progress toward Rank Elite: 23%

With the shield relieving pressure, Alex was able to reverse Nychta's edge in a fraction of a second, then Lion's relent turned into Lion's Snare. Relent saw Nychta deflecting the attack downward but with Snare her tip coiled and hooked the yatagan, seizing its momentum when all the assassin wanted was to redirect it.

He tried for leverage at the bind, attempting to snake the tip around Alex's defence through brute force, but that wasn't going to fly anymore. The nastiest part about this skill combo was that it perfectly captured the advantage of gravity. Even now, Alex was out-matched in strength, but his shield sealed the gaps in his defense.

Meanwhile, the assassin's body was completely open for a vertical slice. And if Nychta was the snare, then the shield was the net—as in, there was no need for both once the catch was secure. Alex aligned her edge with the opening.

Then he abandoned the attack, slashing the assassin's arm instead of severing it. Because before he could, the assassin had un-summoned his sword and lunged in for a grab! Could Alex have severed the arm anyway? Maybe.

But even with his strength buffed and rising by the second, he wasn't about to try grappling with the assassin—not while he still had his blood-shadow. He dodged back instead, positioning himself so the assassin and shadow were both to his front.

He hadn't swapped with his shadow yet. They'd been playing a silent game of cat and mouse in the background—the assassin attempted to pincer Alex between him and his shadow and Alex was trying not to let that happen. And he was acting recklessly now because it had happened.

Well, if that's how you want to play things…

Alex smiled callously as he faded into his fire… free to restart his assault whenever he wanted. The assassin still had his shadow, but he hadn't swapped with it. Because he knew that once he did, Alex would hound him without rest. He was going to do that either way though.

He couldn't just let him burn. Gloomy was going to need health potions, and he needed the Essence. They both needed revenge. And even if none of that were true, the bloodmist assassin was far over-due for a taste of his own medicine.

Thus, Alex's assaults began. The fire gave reprieve from the mists. In them, his stealth actually had an effect. He had no mobility trick like his blood-shadows, so he wasn't as quick with his ambushes, but being able to decide the timing and angle already gave a huge advantage.

He launched an assault a few seconds later.

Pierce

The assassin was standing in the very center of the bloodmists, back to back with his shadow. Alex targeted the shadow but his blade's trajectory aligned with both. He'd noticed that once the shadow was created, it had to maneuver like the assassin would so it would either take the blow or it would step aside.

Or swap, but of course it stepped aside.

Now, the assassin was at an uncomfortable range to deal with Nychta. He took a gouge on his side as Alex transitioned into Lion's Whip. His blade whipped around a second before he even could, guarding the imaginary blow to his neck the shadow was poised for. When it didn't come, Alex took the brunt of the real assassin's attack head on with Lion's Relent as he retreated.

But for all intents and purposes, his assaults were relentless.

He attacked often, but not often enough to create a pattern. He riddled the assassin in wounds, and even severed his arm again when it'd been starting to re-attach. He wasn't so kind as to allow the assassin to tie it off into a sling, and while he suffered some wounds as well, his were nothing serious. Alex's HP was at 86%, and most of those wounds were ones he intentionally traded for. Like the scrape on his side for the arm he severed, or a bruised rib in exchange for almost taking the assassin's left eye.

Vampires still felt pain, but the assassin's tolerance was so uncanny that Alex focused deliberately on debilitating him. With his successes, it only became easier. His physical attributes were increasing by the second, and Lionheart's presence in his swordsmanship started to shine through boldly. He wasn't a master of the Shamshir by any means, but he was a master. More importantly he was an eight-foot tall hulking giant, and while his way of fighting should be at odds with Alex's own, it was the opposite.

Alex wasn't fighting a losing battle anymore. The assassin was faster and stronger, but the gap between them was not as vast as it had been before. Alex's instincts were geared toward non-confrontational swordplay—it'd been the entire reason he'd forged Nychta as a Shamshir.

Lionheart showed them it didn't have to be that way.

A new custom skill has been created!

RED BLAZING FURIOUS TRIUMPH!!

Lionheart's naming sense almost got Alex killed. He was holding in his laugh as he brought Nychta straight down over the assassin's head. The assassin, of course, blocked. The thought: 'Why would I make a strike that could be so easily blocked?', but then his path provided a painfully simple answer. Because he could throw an onslaught of them, obviously!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Of course, none of this made it past the assassin's defense. Alex also had to be cautious of the slippery bastard finding the right angle to use his boldness against him, but the key use to RED BLAZING FURIOUS TRIUMPH!! was the manner in which it pushed the assassin back. Nychta wasn't as brittle to impact like an oslumnen blade should be; she didn't even have the weak points most shamshir's did for that matter. The bloodmists were only the size of a room now, and by using Nychta as an unbreakable battering ram, he was able to push the assassin to the wall of flames in just three strikes.

On the fourth, danger screamed from behind… but it felt a little reticent, so on a dime Alex decided to ignore the blood-shadow's threat for once. What he couldn't ignore was how the assassin replaced his sword for a knife mid-swing—and that surprised him, but Unwavering Blade made him unflinching. This time, he had something particularly special planned, and he reached for two skills, and combined them.

RED BLAZING FURIOUS TRIUMPH LION'S ROAR!!

A tidal wave of mana erupted from Nychta—that was 20% of his replenished mana pool that went into Lion's Roar this time. His mana pool was also much bigger after the levels he gained, such a vast amount wouldn't be possible if Nychta wasn't pure mana-conductive oslumnen.

The assassin abandoned his action, hastily resummoning the yatagan to block. And who said Lion's Roar always had to be a feint? With Weapon Mastery, Alex was the one who decided that, and the strike connected, putting the assassin's backfoot into the flames.

Alex was a little disappointed it didn't burn—he'd coated himself in a layer of blood—but that was fine. This close, Alex tugged on the flames and they responded, piercing the wall of blood and creating a magnificent veil of flames.

Under these conditions,Stealth was effective for a second even within the bloodmists. Alex burst from the wall of flames, losing the blood-shadow completely and drawing Nychta across the assassin's back as he guarded his neck. He would've gone to sever a leg, but the leg was the one that went on the attack and from the amount of wind that soared overhead, Alex swore his head would've been ripped straight off if it connected.

It didn't though, and a quick glance as he rolled to safety severed a ham-string.

Alex looked up and wondered if he'd pushed it a little too far. The assassin towered over him, and he really was in a dangerous position now. He used Lion's Relent in a hurry and his wrist suffered for his positioning. The angling was bad for Glancing Blow. He'd have to force it anyway, or else the assassin's follow-up—

No. All weak thoughts fled his mind as a path appeared that seemed: "Believe in yourself, Alex."

And then Lionheart almost killed him again.

A new custom skill has been created!

Vermillion Delight

God-dammit!

Sparks were flying mere inches from Alex's face as the yatagan clashed with Nychta. He desperately needed to focus—yet he couldn't help spurting out laughter. He growled in annoyance.

Vermillion Delight functioned similarly to Glancing Blow in a way. But instead of creating distance and trying to change Nychta's alignment for a slash, Alex kept her alignment the same and stepped into the assassin's range. Vermillion Delight—for all its fancy font—was a ruthlessly simple skill. Alex jutted out Nychta's pommel and crushed the assassin's left eye into his socket.

Then he quickly escaped into the fire, half out of fear that the absurd humor would cause him to slip up in battle.

Funny, Nychta said.

No, it isn't Nychta. Stop doing that!

Alex knew it was Lionheart's idea, but Lionheart had to have brought Nychta on board with his shenanigans since she was the only one other than Alex himself who could name his combat skills. Hence why it was all Lion-themed. Nychta was at a very impressionable stage in her development, so Alex needed to impress upon her just how dangerous it can be to get distracted in a fight.

Begrudging… agreement, she communicated.

Sorrow.

That was… a little too much sorrow. It was probably his own fault she still hadn't learned how do a simple 'sorry'.

"You too Lionheart," Alex muttered.

A wind passed and he got the sense Lionheart was also feeling a bit apologetic. In a 'Sorry, sorry—won't happen again, but you gotta admit—that was kinda funny' kinda way. He was definitely not sorry enough.

Alex sighed. Then he took a deep breath, refocusing. He could breathe now, in fire. The smoke didn't hurt his lungs, that was something. But right, focus. He reached back to tie his hair in a—oh right, it's not real.

Ugh.

Somehow, Alex managed to find his focus again anyway. That's when he felt a new emotion from Nychta. This one was just: Fun. And you know what? He couldn't blame her for her antics too much. She'd wanted nothing more than to fight by Lionheart's side for a long, long time, and her joy that it was finally happening now could fill a million oceans. That brought a smile to his face.

It's always fun when you're winning.

He didn't know how much subtlety she really picked up on, but he decidedly didn't mention that things weren't always going to be this way. They weren't this way just a little earlier. They'd died. Yet now was not the time to rain on her parade. Because joyful fun already wasn't the only thing she felt right now. Beneath that, there was enough sorrow to make a person empty, but she chose to fill that space with joy instead and she was strong for that. Her strength gave him strength, and focus. Gloomy was dying. He needed to press the assassin while his hamstring was still plucked. So Alex got back to it.

And… it was fun. The bloodmist assassin, in his sealed-in, rapidly-deteriorating condition was the perfect amount of challenge for Alex. He had his deficiencies as a swordsman but Lionheart was helping fill those in and Alex was learning. The assassin was already a master with his blade, but Alex was becoming something of a master with Nychta in his own right. The result was a battle fought on multiple fronts: the moves they actually made and moves they telegraphed to each-other. Alex rarely if ever got to engage with an opponent on such a viscerally pure level.

That didn't mean he was without anger. No matter how electrifying he felt being supercharged with Essence; regardless of Nychta's joy or the lengths Lionheart went to make Alex laugh, he didn't forget that this vampire had a hand in Laura's death. And maybe if he was before Anne he'd be screaming in rage, but the assassin was different. Vampires were all soul-less monsters, but his expression having his eye gouged was the same expression he'd worn tearing off Alex's arm.

He had to wonder if there was a mind in there at all, because for all that Alex had compared him to an insurmountable wall, it felt like he was fighting a brick wall instead. Even though he was a master, and even though he was learning too, beyond technique there was no conversation between their swords. Alex was getting the sense he didn't have a reason to swing his sword, he just did, leaving no outlet for Alex's hatred.

So be it. Revenge was not why he swung his sword. Ultimately, he wasn't here to have fun either. At some point, as Nychta well knew, the fun… had to come to an end. Their time was short. Alex was fighting a Nightmare and he was winning. Now, it was time to win.

So when Alex finished his next skirmish—a quickie resulting in no wounds—he didn't bother going into stealth. He entered the fire and just stood there, waiting to see the assassin's reaction. Throughout the fight, a few paths leading to victory had actually already opened for Alex, yet he hadn't taken them because they involved significant risk. Through minor wounds, he'd mitigated that risk as much as he could, and he'd used the time to make some important observations.

Most notably, he'd noticed that the assassin's wounds had stopped healing. Only it wasn't true about all the assassin's wounds, just the new ones Alex inflicted. The ones suffered before he'd died were still healing, even his sepsis wound. It was bizarre, but Alex's first idea was that maybe that stuff about the sun god was more literal than he assumed. Perhaps he'd been reborn as the ultimate vampire bane or something?

But no, that didn't line up with what he knew. Plus, he'd noticed there was one other, older wound that also hadn't healed: A messy, gnawed-open rupture in his neck that had to have been from when Gloomy lost herself, except he remembered her inflicting more damage than that. And that had been the final key observation that made the pieces click:

The wounds he suffers while his blood-shadow is active can't be healed.

That was why he guarded its secret so rigorously. And it was also why he had such rigid rules for how and when to use it. Alex wasn't an expert on archaic magic or anything, but when vampires do weird shit it usually has something to do with Lifeblood. All vampires have a sense for it. Given Gloomy's also a witch, she was likely the last person he wanted to use it around. Until he had no choice, at least. After he'd summoned the shadow, but before he cast the switch was probably when he sustained that wound. Which most importantly, meant… that there was a lag.

Alex couldn't hundred-percent confirm that part, unfortunately. He hadn't been aware of his surroundings while he was enchanting, but he was confident in his theory overall. Additionally, he felt like he noticed a change in the blood shadow's killing intent. The more the blood-mists shrunk, the more the assassin seemed to be using it for positional leverage only, as though he were scared of it getting too close to Alex for sustained periods of time. It gave him a strong inkling that something bad might happen if the shadow sustained damage before he could cut the connection. A plan was starting to come together.

Maybe. The plan kind of hinged on the assassin doing more than just stare back at Alex while the flames encroached. "You wanna just burn to death in there? Is that it?" he yelled.

Even through the flames, he could see the assassin's silhouette cock his head.

"I'm done playing around with you! You want a piece of me, you're going to have to come out here! Or don't! I was hoping to kill you myself, but I'm happy enough watching you burn to death, I guess!"

He didn't respond.

"Or what, you telling me you're scared? Gloomy lasted minutes in these flames, isn't your regeneration supposed to be better or something?!"

A few more seconds passed in silence. Alex muttered curses under his breath. The fact that the assassin was willing to suffer all those unhealable wounds just to keep his blood shadow active spoke volumes of where things stood between them. Alex would defeat him and they both knew it. But the assassin was stalling; it was taking Alex longer than he thought it would to ensure a safe victory. At this rate it wouldn't happen before Gloomy died.

On the other hand, if rushing this to save her meant accepting a sixty-fourty chance of life or death, he wasn't sure he'd be willing. It was scary; he really wasn't sure. She'd protected him when it mattered, but that was just pragmatism, right? The Lionheart and Nychta parts of him were making him confused on where his priorities lay.

He grit his teeth. "Seriously?! I thought you were supposed to be an assassin or something! Don't you have any pride in your profession?!"

But of course not, why would the assassin have any pride?

"Well, that's just too bad! I was hoping your head would be recognizable when I threw it at Anne's feet! Don't know how much she'd care, though! You really are just a tool to her, aren't you?! Well, that's alright! You can rest easy knowing your bitch of a master will be the next—"

Suddenly, the assassin's killing intent spiked. It was the first time Alex sensed even a tinge of something personal in it. Really? That was what did the trick? He really was the perfect tool, wasn't he?

Alex watched as his aura-enforced walls of blood warped. Then all of the remaining bloodmists gathered into his blood-shadow as the assassin himself caught flame. The skin beneath his stitched face warbled like there were things traveling beneath. His eyes went wide.

"...To…oo… danger…ous," he rasped. "Y-you… are—"

That was all the assassin managed to get out before he attacked. Except, he didn't charge for Alex. He was heading in the direction of Gloomy.

"Shit!" Alex cursed.

He made sure his surprise was loud and vocal, but he half-expected this.

What actually surprise him, was that when it was put to the test his answer was: Yes, he would risk his life for her. Because for today at least, he was well and truly done with regret. Regrets were not why he swung his sword. So with incredible speed, he launched forward to protect Gloomy from the assassin.

Conditions for [Oath of Armor] have been met.

Your Physical stats have been buffed by 100%

Burning trees blurred as his strength stat doubled. He pushed his legs, his muscles even further, eking out every ounce of Strength he could from his supercharged state. It rose by two stat points, then a third.

He still wasn't going to make it in time. But he was close enough, and with Lionheart's buff, his body was tough enough now to endure this. So he reached for a familiar. It was the last attack he'd used in his first life. And it was his first time using it with Nychta.

Energy flooded his veins. His relatively lower Arcane stat and Nychta's mana-conductivity made her unstable, and electricity seemed to crackle from tip to hilt. His vitality still wasn't where he'd like it to be for this and pain jolted through him, but he controlled the energy build up. Then, aligning his tip in sight of the blood-shadow, Alex shot forward.

Energy Pierce

In a mere second he flashed across several meters. And in that mere second, he realized he'd been played. He'd set Gloomy up to be taken hostage, but that wasn't what the assassin was doing. He was the one baiting Alex. He didn't even cut his connection with the blood-shadow—he probably didn't have time to at the speed Alex was going. He didn't swap either.

Instead, showing more twisted emotion than Alex had ever seen on his face, the assassin lunged toward Alex, stabbing his blade straight through his own blood-shadow. Unwavering Blade allowed Alex to keep up with all that was happening, but there was no time for thinking.

Their blades conversed.

The assassin's drilled a deep gouge in Alex's abdomen.

Alex's own only nicked his chest when he'd originally been going for his heart. But his attack wasn't done yet. Nychta didn't want it to be done. It had been so much fun, and she'd only just gotten to see Lionheart again. But all things must come to an end.

Nychta had failed as armor. Now she was a sword. And Alex was her true master.

Energized Lion's Whip

Tears in his eyes, Alex whipped back around with electrifying speed. He was faster than him now—a nightmare—and his blade stabbed straight through the bloodmist assassin's heart, severing his soul.

But when he looked again, it was not the assassin he'd impaled. Alex was not in the burning forest, and he was not in Nightmare. He was on the cliffs of Thule, facing the endless stretch of ocean on the horizon. And on the end of his blade was a hulking giant with a gentle expression, and a heart too good for his world's fate. He had no final words. He'd already said everything he'd wanted to say. He simply faded with a smile. This time, Alex was certain he was cleansed for good.

Joy, Nychta communicated.

Alex wiped his tear away. "Yes, joy."

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew by and he whirled around to behold the site. He was shocked to find his inner-world was no longer the burnt field it had been, but a meadow of flowers in full bloom. He smiled and he couldn't stop the tears this time. The two most beautiful people in the world sat out-stretched on a picnic blanket. Alyssa twined a perfect crown of flowers and Laura lowered her head to be crowned. They laughed and upon noticing his gawking, waved for Alex to come join them.

They were alive. Someday, he would.

Alex's inner-world soon fell away, to Nightmare. The Bloodmist Assassin lay impaled on his sword, afire with purple flames. He slid Nychta free,

The Armor protects by placing itself in harm's way. The Sword sees to it that threats never get that close.

In that moment, Alex could fully imagine killing Anne.

He would.

Congratulations! You have slain a Level 69 Vampire!

For now, Alex had a girl to save, so he quickly knelt down, rifling through the assassin's inventory. He found a health potion… but he could already tell that wasn't going to be enough. Good thing he was already bleeding.

He sighed, then administered Gloomy's care. She was out cold, and that was probably for the better. He was still charged, and the part of the fight he'd spent charged didn't provide nearly enough training for him to properly convert all his Essence into stats. It wouldn't go to waste, though. Not at all. He had a lot to meditate on.

But the sooner the better, so as soon as Gloomy was in stable enough condition, he scooped her back up in his arms and started back toward their path. The flames parted for him, but there was fire for as far as he could see. The world was burning down around them. He'd probably just caused a lot of confusion and chaos to those in the stars.

In Nightmare, he'd probably just started a war. He was looking forward to it.

New Achievement: Rising Phoenix

Like a phoenix you have risen from ash, defying death. Creatures of fire, holy magic, and those who have a connection to death will see you as kin.

New Achievement: Forged in Nightmare

You've done something no other could, and used the fire from your soul to reforge yourself anew. Your flesh, now forged in soul flames, carries the remnants of a divine core.

New Achievement: Nascent Divinity

You have created a body suitable for a divine core. Forged by soul flames, and blessed by the sun. You walk the path to divinity, but will you make it to the end?

Alert: You've reached a rank up threshold. Complete the Trial to Rank Adept to level up further. Select your trial from the System Guardian.

Proceed to Sanctum?

Yes/No

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