Chapter Text
Glass splattered throughout the room. Caenis jumped up, a cigar falling to the scarlet floor. Smoke hangs heavily, clinging to every corner of the room.
Her ‘customers’ flee the scene, as she scrambles for a safe in the corner of the room. “Guards!” Ten armored soldiers flood the room.
They charge at him, with no sense of teamwork. Pathetic, the lot that Phainon encountered were much more uniform and coordinated.
He kicked the poker table at two, slashed three at the legs. Using the hilt of his sword slammed it into the neck of another. Cards fluttered throughout the room. The chips clatter to the floor.
He was sweating, the quick movements made the once soft fabric cling unnecessary to his skin. Ducking under a soldier who had wriggled free from the table. Chess pieces clattering to the ground.
He jumped on a couch before kneeing them straight in the skull. A loud crack echoes throughout the room. He swings his sword at a coat hanger before kicking the sharp end at his opponent.
It misses a guard by an ear. As they recover, they continue to press. He drives his blade into the wall, it sinks in deep, missing the guard.
“Hah hah..” Phainon rasped under the mask. As a blade cuts his wrist. He yanks the guard closer to chop his neck with his other hand.
He turned over ready to swarm Caenis, however, one guard snuck behind him, driving a blade into his side.
Pain pulsed through his side, blood soaking in the charcoal cloth. Dripping down his leg.
“It's over for you Flame Reaver!” She snickered, before Phainon kicked her off of him. “Ack!”
He groaned under the mask as three overpowered him. As he dives for his sword, wrenching it out like king aruther.
As their blades clashed in sparks of fury, from the corner of his eye, Cainis was retreating. Shallow slashes nicked the fabric and painted his skin in red.
He slid down, sweeping a leg from under two of them, before kneeing one in the stomach. He lunges for the monster. Dropping his sword before pulling out the knife out his side and slicing straight for her throat.
Phainon brandished the knife as a pool of blood bloomed from Caenis’ corpse. “Ugh..” He groaned, as he held his side to keep it from bleeding. “One..monster down, one to go..” He hisses.
Adrenaline wearing down, as he went to the guards before tying them to a very broken table. He bent down, swiping the documents that fell to the ground.
“Gambling for children…” Disgusting. He plops the files down on a clear table, right where anyone can see when they walk in.
He hobbed out of the lavish and gaudy room, with far too much excess wealth pouring out of the walls. If only Caenis used that for good, it seemed enough to feed an entire orphanage for a year at the very least.
He leans on the walls, heading down to the cold dungeon stairs he winces in pain for every couple of steps he takes. Two guards notice his approach as they charge. Under his shallow breath he mutters, “Just great.”
A spear strikes for his head, “Flame Reaver… You shall not pass!” Phainon used his blade to parry.
Twang! Shhing! Crack!
The spear head chipped his mask, grazing Phainon’s skin from underneath. The other then circled in ready to swipe him, Phainon ducked down, away from the slash, he pushed off of the ground to slam the hilt into that guard.
His movements are now sloppy, and weak. After dealing with the ten with Caenis, and the journey here. Sweat slid down his face as he regained his stance.
“You!” The first stared at his unconscious colleague. He made his advance headbutting Phainon, as he stepped back, Phainon grabbed the body and rotated his body to use the momentum to hit the first. “Ack!”
They were slammed to the wall, Phainon then leaped over, and kneed the recovering man straight in the stomach. He keels over flopping over the other.
The wound in Phainon’s side twitched as the adrenaline finally wore off.
Kicking them over, Phainon harvested the keys off the bodies. He continued down, yanking a torch off the wall. A small cage awaited. Like something you would put an animal in.
He peered in, 3 children shivering and huddled up.
Large waxy eyes tearing up at the sight of him. Phainon would have scoffed if he weren’t in pain. Two guards for three kids who look barely over 5. “W-Who are you?” A kid demanded.
At least she had the energy to defend her and her siblings. He stabbed a key inside of the lock, before swinging open the cage. “What- what do you want with us?” The fiery kid yelped.
“Are you letting us go?” A hopeful voice peeped up. She blinked at him with her matching blue eyes, just like the fiery kid.
“Trib- sister, he wants a prophecy.” A voice sighs from deeper into the cage. Her faded red hair brushed over her face, yet cleaner than her sisters’.
He slid them a paper as he stood up. The markings of a map, and safer spaces for them all written on there, along with pictures, in case they didn’t know how to read.
They all curiously stare up at him, warily, they stare at him as they climb out of the cage.
All three of them scramble to the light. Never looking back. When they leave his sight, immediately he crumbles to the ground. Hoisting himself to lean on a wall.
He wouldn’t want to scare them anymore.
He takes out a scuffed notebook, and with a trail of his blood, crosses out Caenis’ name. Surely, that's it, right? His hands trail to his blade, before kissing it to his neck.
Even under layers of cloth, he’s done this so many times he can still feel that cold aching metal. He takes a deep breath as he holds it close. One swift fluid motion.
Just as practiced, it won’t hurt if he does it this way.
His hand trembles, and his mind swirls. His breathing becomes more ragged as he pants. Tears blot at his eyes, as his vision turns fuzzy.
At least the pain seemed duller. Right?
The blade clatters to the ground as footsteps echo across the room.
“So, you’re the Flamereaver.” A deep voice comments. The sound of paper shuffles, another note of sound.
Proof he wasn’t gone yet.
Phainon’s eyes flick up toward the man. The light reflected into his teary eyes made it hard to see. Large blocky shapes of red and gold only covered his vision.
He coughs up blood, for a short response. “So it seems.” The blood felt sticky and warm as it caught under his mask.
The red and gold man knelt down closer to him. But Phainon only caught the silhouette.
“Never thought I’d meet this empire’s most wanted criminal.” The man talks regally, like someone important. Also somewhat brash. But, not that important if Phainon can't tell whose voice it belongs to.
“A gloryless corpse, but what a coward deserves.”
“Villain.” Phainon rasps.
The man pauses as if he was contemplating, or even calculating. “Pardon?”
“I prefer to be called villain.” Phainon can hear the man hum his agreement. “Could I ask for a favor?”
“Bold request, villain.”
“Thanatos already has laid their eyes on me. Won’t you put me out of my misery and speed up my visit?" Phainon conjures up the last bit of his strength to reach for his knife. Surprising even him.
Icy fingers lightly touch the blade as it digs into his skin. Bits of blood beads on the cuts. He holds the blade to the stranger. “Won’t you take the honor?"
The man takes the handle. “You're a strange villain.” Phainon can hear the man stand up, metal armor, and cloth clinking together.
“Farewell." But Phainon only caught flickers, as his hearing was drowning out in the silence.
“See… ya.”
Then, it all goes dark.
The same repetitive drip echoes in the musky damp room. The same smell of mold, and the dim lighting creeping in though pale marky windows.
Phainon awoke in a room he had become so accustomed to. Sore limbs, bruises under his rag of a shirt. A sharp pang of hunger.
All back again. He eased off of the bed, a faint phantom pain cursing in his side where metal pierced through.
He went to a loose floor board. Where his notebook lies.
“Back here once again…” He mutters darkly. He drags a hand down as he wrenches the floor board free
His one and only companion, where ink and blood still stains the paper even though all of his resets.
The same notebook with all of his collected lives in the margins. Same smear of blood on the pages, torn seam, and cheap covering.
“Back again, huh partner?” He lightly pets the book.
A loud knocking pounds against the door, and Phainon quickly hides the book under the floor. “Brat! You’re late for training!” He creaks open the door.
A woman in a maid uniform stomps her foot like a rabbit. The “acting” headmaid. “Hurry it up mutt.”
“Yes ma'am." He keeps his head down.
He speed walks through the door past her, never looking up until he is to be at the training grounds. The journey there was blurry. Faded until he reached his destination.
The instructor shoved a splintered sword into his arms.
“You won’t leave until noon. I want you to cut every blade of grass with this sword.” He clicked his tongue as he stormed off.
Phainon waits until the instructor shuts the door. When the wind bristles the tall grass, he starts to sweep his flimsy twig of a weapon against the overgrown lawn.
The weeds taller than his knees, he sawed at one thick thorn vine before throwing it to the pavement.
He didn’t fight it. The world wouldn’t even care anyway. And it would have resulted in another reset.
Each death had felt like he was dunked in cold water, taking away all sensation over time. But if he were to remember one thing.
The first death was the most painful.
It was a cold new year's eve as Phainon stood at the doors of his new apartment. Luggage in hand, and a check.
The moment he was accepted to college, Phainon had packed his bags. To get out. They had even said that since tomorrow was his birthday, Phainon would be a fully fledged adult.
As a bonus, they had even kicked him out the moment Cyrene had left. The moment that their favorite, and only person who really cared for him left, they had discarded him as if they were nothing more than a wrapper.
(Not that he really cared).
He excitedly walked into his studio room. It wasn’t the nicest, but it was his. A new beginning! A new life away from that suffocating household.
No more stiff dinners with him scraping up the scraps, no more huddling up under cold covers when Cyrene was away.
“I think it’s time to celebrate a new beginning with the last chapter!” He cheered, pulling up his novel. The Hand of Shadow was a web novel that helped him through childhood.
Phainon’s favorite character was the protagonist, Castorice, she was so kind, believing that everyone has good in them. Granting every one of them a second chance. Phainon wished that he could be that same as her.
It was slightly corny, but Phainon eats those stories up every time!
If he was granted another chance, would use any second chance he gets for good. He’d surely make improvements as a thank you for their kindness. Live every life to the fullest.
…
…
…
“What the hell is this?!” Phainon stared at the screen. “Castorice! Cipher! Mydeimos! Nooooo!” He sobbed. Those darn villains! Castorice gave you a second chance! What kind of end even is this?
All the villains ganging up to murder the main character and her friend and lover?
He reread the passage over and over.
[Castorice eyes shifted to Cipher crumpled to the ground, and as Mydei slid off the blade of the Flame Reaver. Castorice scrambled to her lover as she held her dearest close to her heart.
“Hah…hah… HAHAHHAHA” A chilling laugh spiraled out of her. Sending a shiver down the Reaver’s spine. Castorice gave the Reaver an ominous glare. “How could you? I believed you could change. All of you could!”
Tears ran down her face, along with the rain that washed the blood from the ground. A wicked smile plastered on her face.
The monsters stepped away, taken aback from the reaction of the gentle Death Maiden. Only the Flame Reaver stood tall.
“No matter what I do…it always leads to death.” Castortice murmured darkly. “All of you, shall perish.”
As those words left her mouth, a rift cracked open, flowers from the sea of souls bloomed, dark hands of shadow reached out dragging them into the abyss.
Her hands flew to her scythe. The Reaver pushed forward, unsheathing his sword, as a clean slash at the saint’s neck decapitates her.
The flowers began to decay, as vines of darkness overtook the scene.
The monsters that refused a second chance ran around panicking, reaching a bloody ending. Flame Reaver moved Cipher, Mydei, and Castorice’s bodies together.
He looked up at the world around him.
As darkness and decay enshrouded the world, death being the salvation, purifying this tainted world.
Only a sword of tribute lays against the battlefield for the three heroes.
The end.]
Stupid author! “I could totally write a better ending than this!” He growled, almost throwing his phone at the wall.
Almost. He couldn’t afford paying for a repair. After all, he was going to leave his dump after college, and Phainon will probably need every penny imaginable. The clock hit midnight.
Fireworks popped, the thin walls barely making a difference if he were outside.
Happy New Year, and Happy Birthday Phainon. He murmured to himself. “It’s a new life from here on.”
He drifted into a sweet slumber.
Blissly unaware. He couldn’t sleep for that long anyway, the mattress springs felt uneven and hard. He should invest in an actual bed.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water? This place has a leak too? Phainon turned away. He was also going to repair that too. That leak would cause some serious damage.
Shivering as the cold crept up at him, Phainon also vowed to buy a cover, and maybe a pillow if his budget allowed him.
Or a mattress. It really hurts to sleep here, it's no better than the floor!
He jolted awake at the sound of banging at his door. Were the landlords already demanding rent? And that was then he noticed the room. This wasn’t his.
Medieval, if he were to call it. Far from the modern room.
No rusty stove, or beat up fridge. The smell of mold even more pungent, more so than his apartment. And vegetation literally inhabited this place like a mini jungle.
Old torn up and dusty paintings, a broken desk, and a shattered mirror. Nothing like the room he was just in.
He pushed off the dusty floor onto his hands and knees.
“Where am I?” He paused. Why was his voice so squeaky? He eyed his limbs. “I’m tiny?!” Phainon scrambled to the puddle of water, looking at his reflection.
The same exact face when he was adopted. He was 12? Where did his 8 years go? The banging sped up, just like that fbi meme that was kind of overused. (But still funny to him).
Phainon crept open the door, a tall lady in a long maid uniform scowled at him. Her long brown pulled up tightly, and braided up into a bun, looking like someone of importance.
It was as if she was mimicking someone with dignity. However her matted hair with tangles and loose ends disrupted the illusion.
Along with rough hands that told a story of years of hard work.
His cheek burned, as Phainon reached up to touch the sting pain, he looked up at the woman. She dusted her hand off. “Damn mutt, ignoring and disrespecting me.”
Her eyes narrowed down at him. “Punishment is in order.” She grabbed him by his collar and shoved him to the left. “Go to your instructor.” He nodded, feeling dazed as he walked down the hall.
He was turned and pushed around the maze of a run down house? Area? Pushed around with other maids, workers, and a butler.(?) Until he reached the backyard. A man looked down at him. Striking Phainon a second time of the day. “You're late.”
“I-I I’m sorry?” Phainon tried, giving a gentle smile. But this seemed to make the man get even more angry.
“Since you clearly have energy for smiling, it's ten times the amount of training today.” He snickers.
At the end of the day, Phainon was winded. Arms jelly, legs mush. His hands collapsed and splintered. Where the hell was he? Old grand places, knight training, and clear child abuse.
He bumped into the maid on that way back to the room he had started in. She pulled out a very thin looking stick.”Bare your ankles to me.”
Confused, he did so. His very first mistake. A painful whip, slashing at him. He yelped in pain. A red slash marked painfully on his ankle.
Seems like training wasn’t the punishment this lady demanded.
That night, Phainon laid in bed. Clutching his bleeding ankles. He could feel the sting laced though his bones.
Phainon writhed in pain, for the whole night, and next day. Red soaking the rag on the floor. Maggots chewed through the flesh, as flies landed and flew around.
He tried to shoo them off, but that action only resulted in opening his wounds even further. The smell of rot mixed with the mold. Or in other words, sickness.
The headmaid, the woman who had punished him earlier, decided that the smell was unbearable, and ordered to stuff the room with cheap incense.
The smoke made his eyes hurt, and it was hard to breathe. Phainon found himself gasping for air to no avail. The sheer amount of incense made the room heavy with sandalwood and lavender.
Not like they could hire a doctor or anything. Phainon tried his best crawling and trying to stop the bleeding by wrapping his legs with cloth and the vegetation that covered his room.
It didn’t help. In fact, it might have made things worse.
Fading in and out of consciousness, Phainon had died.
When he awoke from the bad dream., three drops of water splashed next to the floor, then, loud banging on the door.
And he was here again.
Phainon doesn’t know how many times, how many changes, yet the same fate always awaits him. Death. No comfort, just hurt.
He had gotten farther on his second try, sucking up to the headmaid, trainer, and he had sucked up to the master, Lygus. He was even introduced to high society!
Lygus was…weird. Always looking at him. Never mentioned in the novel, and why adopt Phainon if he didn’t take care of him in the first place?
“What name do you want?” Lygus had asked him.
“Phainon.” He had answered.
“Phainon…. What a lovely name.” Lygus had said, “A lovely name for a beautiful boy.”
It made his skin crawl.
Lygus also never agreed to take Phainon anywhere, only until he got some letter he allowed it.
Wandering around the halls, he had met his heroes! Catsorice looked so beautiful, grateful, and truly the embodiment of a saint! (Shame that Cipher and Mydei weren't there.)
Then, after a week of finally being adopted, he was poisoned. Burning seized his throat, constricting breathing, then, he was gone.
On his fifth try, he died to angry nobles (Again) trying to take revenge on Lygus. After working up to be adopted by that guy.
He had even found that the room had a secret compartment with a diary. So he had read the contents on his sixth life.
But the diary was blank. So he decided to use it.
Then, on the seventh try, he found that what he wrote from his last life was still recorded.
Maybe it was his twentieth try, of trying to change and alter each loop. Where he had died to the Crown Prince after being framed and accused of treason.
He was blindfolded, tied up, and thrown into a dungeon before a demanding presence swooped the room.
He only knew it was the prince because of the other warriors addressing the voice.
“This world never changes,” Phainon muttered, laying in bed on his thirty-secondth loop. He had never made it past 29. He sat up, “But I’ll work harder! I was very close to the middle of the story.”
“The Flame Reaver should have appeared by now.” He pondered, what did he change that the Reaver was no more? At least his action does have some power over the story.
That gave him hope.
It was on his 40th loop he realized. He couldn’t have a happy ending.
He could barely remember the novel, and he wants out.
He must have an ending. He has too.
But, not at the cost of Catorice’s. He sighed. He’ll achieve both happy endings.
Phainon panted as the sun went down, and the entire training ground was mowed. His hands battered and bruised. The grass and weeds piled high. Along with plucked up buttercups. The yellow flowers yanked out with the weeds.
He sighed out to the world, looking up at the rosy evening. “Death is the only end for villains."
“So why can’t I have my ending?”