The title darkens

The sky was gloomy, with heavy clouds that made everything below them seem heavy. Not only did the air feel charged and stale. Something seemed strange, as though reality itself was unsure of what ought to be taking place.

I was unable to ignore it any longer because I could feel it strongly.

"I've reset thousands of times," I muttered, my voice nearly drowned out by the oppressive quiet.

"You truly don't get it... This is not a safe place for you."

Delta stood with his arms folded, staring at me as if I were crazy.

He was so frustrated that he ran his fingers through his hair too many times that it was a mess.

"You pulled me into your room and now you're telling me this? Sounds pretty crazy," he said, his skepticism recognizable.

I twisted my fingers in my own hair and insisted, "It's not crazy," as I felt the tension rising.

"Aries is going to find us in less than an hour." As though I were a waste of his time, he rolled his eyes.

"Truly? Do you think I'll believe that a god is hunting you, as if it were some strange fairy tale?"

I moved in closer, attempting to convey to him the gravity of the situation.

"You see, I'm not requesting your belief. All I ask is that you remain alive."

He was about to respond with another witty retort, most likely sarcastic. I was done arguing, though.

Without him realizing it, I pushed him back through the open door and out into the hallway after reaching out and grabbing his collar. I cautioned him not to return.

"Theresa, what the hell—" That's when he eventually saw it, though.

Aries suddenly emerged through a space between skeletal remains that moaned under the strain of warped time. His figure, which was both incredibly unreal and directly in front of us, flickered like a dying star. Rather than having the appearance of a typical person's eyes, his eyes resembled swirling masses of broken futures.

"Reality Looper 36," the god uttered, his voice dripping with venom.

"You have to be Theresa." I refused to back down and held my ground.

"That's correct. Greenfield, Theresa. However, you have been pursuing the incorrect individual."

He gave me the impression that he was assessing me by tilting his head slightly. "Unfortunately. I was trying to find Theresa Illinois. A mistake, I suppose. A waste of sixteen resets. Oh well."

"You made a mistake and killed me sixteen times?" I yelled, my rage reaching its zenith. The god showed no remorse, just a smile. "Collateral." As though every second we spent looking at one another was a countdown, a thick and heavy silence descended between us.

Then the battle began. As I called forth the threads I had been assembling all night, reality began to shatter beneath me. My hand moved to Lux Divina, my katana, which was made from torn-up timelines. We were on a battlefield that existed somewhere between reality and fiction when I yanked it out of its sheath, causing the air to shimmer and the corridor to become warped. Aries wasted no time. He hurled a spear of light in my direction with lightning speed. Even though I dodged his blow, the force was enough to make my body ache. I pushed the boundaries of my perception by activating my Godsense.

For me, time seemed to be moving slowly, and every action felt like it was a part of a larger plan.

As golden ichor sprayed like scattering stars, I slid beneath him and swung my sword upward, feeling the blade brush against his ribs as he lunged for my heart.

He stumbled backwards for a moment. In a clipped tone, he acknowledged, "You've grown." I shot back, determined, "You've become predictable."

It was a tumultuous dance of fighting. With each slash, dimensions appeared to distort around us as our blades clashed. When he struck with heavenly rage, I used strategies I had instilled in myself through innumerable resets. I stabbed Lux Divina right into his heart during the height of the battle.

Original Timeline

There was a heaviness in the air, as if something had gone awfully wrong with everything around me—like a god was playing a game of chess over a shattered world, completely unaware of the souls he'd sacrificed when it all fell apart. I could feel a vague tremor inside me, like I was somehow part of that broken game.

I found myself kneeling in the ruins, staring at invisible threads that only I could perceive—threads of fate, weaving through the atmosphere like the leftovers of a divine plan. Two of those threads had completely snapped. Three others were shaking, barely hanging on. But one thread caught my attention; it pulsed a vivid red, like a ticking bomb just waiting to explode.

And then he showed up. Aries didn't walk in like a normal person. He simply materialized, bending reality around him as he stepped into existence. The threads seemed to recoil at his arrival, acknowledging him as a predator. His skin sparkled with an unusual light, and his three eyes blazed like the embers of dead stars.

"I thought your echo would fade," he said, his words burrowing into my skin. "But you're still here, Theresa Illinois."

"I'm not your mistake," I replied, standing up defiantly. "You killed the one before me. I'm the one that's left."

His smirk was devoid of warmth. "Just a shadow with a name."

I unfastened the hilt from my back, gripping it tightly. The Goddess's Sword of Divine Providence. A weapon that recalled more deaths than any living person could count. Not a sword built but reborn from every cycle and every failure—my failures. Our shared failures.

"You want this loop to end?" I challenged, determination surging through me. "Let's make sure it ends properly."

With that, the sky cracked, and the world screamed out in response. The battle had begun.

He struck first, a blur of light and claw. I met him head-on, my blade ringing against his arm, slicing through a ribbon of light. He twisted in the air and unleashed a storm of chaotic energy—each strand a part of forgotten times, moments that had been rewritten.

I cut through those strands, carving a temporary safe space in the chaos. We moved across the battlefield like dancers, our feet splashing in a sea of bodies, sparks flying with every clash of our weapons.

He tried to get behind me, but I spun around just in time. Our steel collided, and though he stumbled, he didn't fall. A line of silver blood leaked from his mouth.

"I admire how you've grown," he said. "But admiration won't save you."

He conjured up visions—no, memories.

Theresa from Timeline 2, crying.

Theresa from Timeline 7, pleading with God to end her suffering.

Theresa from Timeline 13, screaming in despair.

Every face was mine. Each pain, mine. Each failure, a reflection of me.

My breath caught in my throat.

Aries lunged.

Pain exploded in my ribs, but I held my ground. Instead of retaliating out of anger, I gathered my resolve and swung the blade through the glowing thread, slicing it apart.

The sword didn't just cut him; it cut his tie to fate itself.

He gasped, his form beginning to splinter and bleed starlight.

"That's impossible," he breathed. "You can't sever what was meant to be."

"I just did," I replied fiercely, driving my sword into the ground.

The battlefield fractured. Light engulfed him whole.

He didn't die in the usual sense. He just disappeared, erased not by violence but by rejecting the fate he thought he had over me.

And finally, after what felt like forever… I exhaled.

+42 Days Later

Peace feels strange when you've fought for every breath you take.

There were no buildings around us anymore, just a hollowed-out crater by the lake. We built a camp from what we could find—bones and branches. Edward worked the soil until there was something that resembled green growth. Charlie strummed melodies on strings made from dead tree branches. Laughter came back to the kids.

I sat beneath a tree that seemed more ghost than life, my Goddess's Sword buried beside me, its glow long faded.

One night, Charlie came over as a cool breeze swept through the air.

"You're different," she remarked, her voice soft.

"Yeah, I guess," I admitted. "But finally, I'm real."

She settled down next to me, our hands brushing together.

"Will it last?" she asked, a hint of worry in her tone.

"No," I said honestly.

"But we have this," she replied.

"Yeah," I concurred. "For now, that's more than enough."

And there, amid the remnants of what used to be, I noticed one thread still glowing red.

Not as a threat.

Not in defiance.

But as a reminder.

I felt a rush of warmth hit me first. It wasn't that dry, suffocating warmth you get after a wildfire or the kind that comes with the end of the world. No, this was different; it was softer, like a sweet morning breeze nudging at my skin, carrying the tantalizing aroma of something cooking nearby. Bacon. I could hardly believe it—bacon!

I sprang up, surprised by how vivid everything felt at that moment. For a heartbeat, I forgot about the craters, the toxic skies, and all those times we had to start over again. All that existed was that mouth-watering smell of meat sizzling away and the distant hum of voices.

"Hey, Issac?" I mumbled, still trying to shake the sleep off.

"Nope, just Corneas burning his hands again!" came a playful voice I knew too well.

The absurdity of it all hit me, almost like fresh air after being stuck indoors for ages. Here we were, in a world where nothing was really left—no buildings, no kitchens, not even a microwave. But here was Corneas, somehow cooking up something on a makeshift grill, a slab of meat crackling away in a cast-iron pan.

"Corneas! Be careful! You'll get hurt if you get too close!" I shouted at him.

He waved me off while holding a watermelon like it was the most precious thing in the universe. "I was just about to cook this!"

I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around it. "I didn't just hear you say you want to cook a watermelon, did I?"

Issac had approached, wearing that dry smile of his. "As annoying as it is to say, yes, you heard right."

It felt odd to be laughing amidst this chaos.

A voice cut through our ridiculous banter. It was one I didn't recognize, yet it had a weight to it, almost like it belonged in a different time. The voice came with an air of authority, and at once, Issac stiffened next to me.

"Don't come any closer," he warned, his expression shifting from light-hearted to serious.

Was this guy a messenger or a threat pretending to be polite? His presence made the ground almost uncomfortable beneath my feet.

"I'm just here to make an announcement," the man said, his tone steady but holding a strange kind of gravity. "No fighting. Even with your skills, Issac, this isn't one you'll win."

His appearance morphed suddenly, almost like a mirage. In a heartbeat, a golden crown appeared on his head, and wings spread out behind him like something out of a fairy tale. His red eyes bore into us, as if revealing some deep truth. His suit sparkled, blending the feel of holiness with that of a corporate giant.

I felt a shiver, a sense of unease washing over me that I hadn't experienced since my tough battles with Aries.

"It's okay," he said gently, like he knew I was scared. "I'm only here for the coronation."

That word sent chills down my spine.

"Coronation?" I echoed, my heart racing.

"Yes. Since Aries fell, it's been decided that the one who ended him should take his throne—a goddess reborn."

The realization crashed over me. "That cannot be me. I'm not a goddess. I'm just a—"

"You are Theresa Illinois. The one who brought him down."

I felt the weight of many eyes on me.

"I refuse," I said firmly.

He nodded, looking serious. "You could. But if you do, there will be consequences."

He began to list them, like some sort of ancient scripture:

No peace. Not in mind or spirit. Not ever.

You will face reality without resets. Every loss will be final.

Earth will crumble. Even the bunkers will fall.

The god who gave life will break his vow of non-interference.

And finally—you will die. And everyone with you.

I stared up at the sky, the false sense of peace turning bitter in my mouth.

"I have no choice, do I?"

"No," he replied simply. "But you do have fate."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it all. He reached out with what felt like invisible hands, pulling at threads I could barely see—only someone with a special kind of insight could catch them.

I took hold of them. And then, the world around me started to fade.

---

"The Trial"

"Theresa, you think you're better than me now, huh?" came a rough voice I knew all too well. Standing before me was a man in a ragged vest and combat boots, full of anger. My father, from one of many timelines.

"You think you're tougher than me, girl."

"I've gotten tough," I shot back.

He moved to grab the machine gun at his side.

In one quick motion, I drew my katana.

His blood hit the ground before he could even pull the trigger.

"You BITCH!" he hollered, fury splattered across his face. "I'm your FATHER!"

I whispered back, "No. You're just another ghost."

But that cut? It hurt me more than just physically. It was emotional too. The loop hadn't reset this moment; it was a part of my trial—facing the truth of my past.

"Father, I'm home." I said it like it was just any regular day, but the atmosphere in our house felt thick, almost suffocating. Walking in, it felt like I was stepping into a minefield, ready for an explosion.

"Why the hell did you leave? Your mother and I had to clean up after your lazy butt—and what's with all the blood? Did you kill someone again?" He shouted at me like a drill sergeant barking orders, but we weren't soldiers, and I never signed up for this battle. I didn't respond right away, just started taking off the bag I had slung over my side. Inside was a limp animal—freshly killed, but looked like it still belonged to the world, its vacant eyes staring blankly.

"What the hell? You even preserved it. Where'd you learn that?" His voice quieted down as he processed what he was seeing, caught between thinking I might be a killer or just trying to survive.

"I brought food for tonight," I said, walking past him into the house. The hallway stretched out before us, long and cracked, with floorboards creaking beneath my feet like teeth that had forgotten how to smile through the years.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, looking at me with a mix of anger and something else. "You'd kill me without blinking if it came down to it, wouldn't you?"

"No doubt," I replied, letting the words hang in the air like a loaded gun.

I made my way downstairs and carefully placed the animal on the kitchen counter. As I got to work—cutting with precision, not because I was experienced, but because I had to—I could feel it. The tension in the room weighed heavily, like the house was holding its breath.

Then I heard the upstairs door slam open.

"I know the truth!" His voice trembled, filled with something darker than just anger—fear bubbled up inside of him. "You'll kill anyone who stands in your way!" He rushed forward, eyes wide and wild, a knife clutched tightly in hand.

"I'm not about violence," I muttered, still focused on what I was doing. "I live by rules. It's called Self-Imposed Living."

"What are your rules?" he asked, still in a frenzy.

"First, kill those who mean harm to me. Second, watch out for traps. And third—no one crosses me and makes it out alive."

"You love killing," he retorted. "You're sick. A monster."

"No," I said softly, like a secret. "I love my family."

He wavered at that, the knife shaking in his grasp. For the first time, there was a tremor in my voice—a kind of fear I hadn't felt before.

"That's nice to hear," he finally said, his voice a bit softer.

But then he lunged.

The knife came too fast for me to think. I reacted on instinct. I grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard until I heard a crack, the knife clattering to the floor. I went for my gun, but my hands felt like ice. This was my dad. My father—suddenly, I was flooded with memories that had never really happened. Birthdays, laughter, moments that felt real, even though they weren't.

I dropped to my knees. "I… I don't know how to love. But I want to."

That seemed to shock him. I reached out and hugged him, my grip awkward and desperate like a child searching for something lost.

His body went stiff.

Then, in a blink, a golden spear shot through his mouth, piercing his skull cleanly. Blood sprayed everywhere, and he crumbled to the ground.

A high-pitched laugh echoed in the basement, making my skin crawl. The dead animal began to move. Its body twitched, flesh folding and reshaping like it was being transformed by some higher power. Horns sprouted; wings spread wide; it was something that should not exist.

"No way," I said, backing away slowly as the ground trembled beneath me. The creature's grin sent chills down my spine.

"You've passed the trial," it said, its voice sounding like a mix of a thousand voices crushed together.

"I didn't sign up for a trial," I shot back, my heart racing.

"Yet you accepted it when you took up your blade," the creature insisted, growing larger before my eyes—a mix of sin and something sacred. I didn't need to hear its name. I knew it all too well: The God of Notoriety.

It charged at me like a lightning bolt. I barely dodged, feeling the gust of wind as its fist caved the wall behind me. I pushed off the ground, flipping through the air to grab the sword I never wanted to use again—The Goddess's Sword of Divine Providence.

When our blades clashed, it ripped the very sound from the room. I felt my guilt come alive, shadows of people I hadn't been able to save swirling around me. I screamed and slashed through each one, fighting back tears.

He laughed again, conjuring images of disgrace that threatened to consume me.

I ducked under his strike and cut through his spell just before it exploded. My sword lit up, casting an unnatural light. I whispered under my breath, "Thread Severance: Absolute Providence."

The ground shook as chains of fate—red, gold, and black—shot from the earth, winding around him as he howled in fury. Without hesitation, I drove the sword into his chest, watching his eyes widen in disbelief.

"You… You weren't supposed to be this strong," he stammered.

I twisted the blade. "I wasn't. But I learned to love."

With a scream that echoed through the basement and beyond, he shattered into gold dust, scattering into the air.

Finally, the room was still, filled only with the sound of my heavy breathing. I was bloodied and trembling, but still standing.

The sword began to dim in my hand. Outside, the sun peeked over the horizon—pale and flickering, but it was a new day.

The trial was over.

"Way to go—you passed the trial–"

His voice was so irritating, it felt like shards of glass digging into my skin.

Before he could even finish speaking, my hand was around his throat, squeezing tight. This guy—he was like a warden from my nightmares, the source of all my suffering. Choking, he spit out a trickle of golden blood. His feet dangled a few inches above the ground, and his halo flickered weakly like a light that was about to go out.

"I can't stand the gods' games," I growled, my voice low and cold. "When I finally take my place, I swear I'll wipe every one of you off the map."

There was a raw kind of growl deep in my chest. It was a rage that didn't come from just emotions, but from everything I had gone through.

Letting him go, he fell to the ground, gasping for air. He got up pretty quickly though, cleaning off the dust from his fancy robes, acting like nothing had just happened.

"No laws will punish you for killing a god," he chuckled hoarsely. "You've already done it twice. But trust me—there's one out there who's way stronger. So strong that he could sew together the multiverse like it's nothing."

He raised his hand.

And suddenly, reality shook around us.

The walls of the basement didn't crumble like they should have; instead, they fractured like a mirror that's been drenched in sorrow for too long.

Everything went white.

We weren't in my home anymore.

Now we were standing on this weird floating platform made of broken obsidian. It was like we were lost in an endless sky painted with bruised purple and bold streaks of gold. Jagged pieces of old worlds floated around us—fragments of timelines that were lost and realities that had been sacrificed for the twisted games of the gods.

Then, across from me, something started to move.

He stood up from a throne made of bones and burning roses.

The God of Reality. He looked different now—more frightening and divine all at once.

Eight wings stretched out behind him, looking like they were made of stained glass. His skin was a patchwork of old texts and prophecies. His face changed, like I was seeing a million different identities all at once. In his hands, he held a jagged glaive made from shattered halos.

"You want to bring an end to the gods?" he asked, the words echoing deep within me, not just in my ears. "Let's see if your resolve can stand the test."

I didn't respond.

I didn't need to.

The Goddess's Sword of Divine Providence pulsed in my grip, alive and vibrant as if connected to my very being.

Without warning, he lunged at me.

He moved faster than lightning. Faster than the weight of guilt.

His glaive met my blade with a clash that felt like thunder. The shockwave distorted everything around us.

I flipped back, using floating debris to push myself towards him for a downward strike.

But he vanished.

I twisted around only to find his palm slamming into my chest.

It felt like an explosion.

I was thrown through four different realities, each flashing before my eyes: one where our world was in ruins, another where I never existed, one where Issac had died, and a final one where I was still trapped in the never-ending loop.

I screamed. I flipped in mid-air and called upon the sword:

"Providence Loopbreaker – Second Thread!"

A golden ring spiraled around me. Time reweaved itself—breaking his hold. I landed on one knee, the blade bursting into divine flames.

He didn't hesitate. This time he summoned fallen gods as puppets.

They charged at me, crying fire and possessing wings of ash. I cut through them, severing spine and symbol alike. Each one I took down sang a different tune of loss.

I danced on the edge of reality, unyielding.

Once more, he faced me. This time, his glaive struck with such force it sliced the sky in two.

I managed to block it.

My arms felt like they were breaking under the strain.

But I stayed standing.

Our weapons clashed together.

Locking eyes with him, I uttered, "You're scared of being forgotten, but I'm terrified of losing who I am."

A flash came to me.

I remembered my mother brushing my hair gently.

Flash.

I saw myself bleeding out in desolate lands, Issac hauling me to safety.

Flash.

I recalled my vow: I would not become what I loathed.

"Let's put this to rest," I whispered.

I poured every ounce of love, pain, fear, and my very identity into one last invocation.

"Deicide Protocol: Thread of Finality!"

The sword shattered, only to merge back, shimmering light wrapping around my arm like a divine serpent.

Then I charged.

A thousand threads flew from my soul—each one holding memories, scars, and names.

They struck the God of Reality.

One by one.

Until the light inside him bled out.

He sank to his knees, breathless, his form starting to fall apart.

"You shouldn't have been able to do this…"

"I've made peace with who I am," I replied.

And I shoved the light into his chest.

He didn't scream.

Instead, he cried as he faded into golden snow.

The floating platform shattered.

I was falling once more—but this time, it was a fall into tranquility.

—

I suddenly woke up to quietness. A soft breeze played with the long ash-colored grass.

The sun was finally sitting still in the sky. Its warm golden light spread gently across the land.

Corneas was laughing with Issac, who was grilling something that looked questionable.

Charlie lay on her back, gazing at the clouds.

I found a spot under the burned remains of an old tree, the Goddess's Sword now a simple ring on my finger, its power at rest.

There were no trials left to face now.

And weirdly enough, I wasn't scared of it anymore.

I took a deep breath.

I was still Theresa Illinois.

It wasn't over yet.

I transcended.

"How do I go about getting rid of them?" That thought came from a place of clarity, not hate. I stood there, feeling the quiet that came after the God of Notoriety had met his end. It was odd, really—the way his presence still drifted in the air, like smoke from a body that never got the chance to decay. Ash was stuck to my boots like it was part of the ground. Dry, holy blood was crusted under my nails. My heart felt calm, maybe too calm for what had just happened. 

I looked up. The sky was all messed up, marred by thin cracks that looked like someone had taken a knife to a canvas. And beyond those splits was something strange. It wasn't air. It wasn't stars. It was pages. This wasn't just the world anymore. No, it felt like something worse. It felt like a story. And I just stepped out of the paragraph. 

"How do I go about getting rid of them?" That wasn't a question for the gods anymore, and it certainly wasn't just for me. It was for you, wasn't it? I turned, not toward anyone standing in front of me but toward the part of the story that wasn't mine to control. "You're still writing, aren't you, Jaden?" The name felt alive on my tongue—familiar, yet still strange and sacred. 

"I figured it all out after the last one kicked the bucket," I continued. "The way he yelled like it was part of a script. The way my sword seemed to know things I didn't. Everything seemed timed, like you've been pulling the strings while half-paying attention, scribbling down my suffering between cups of coffee and waves of doubt." 

I took a step forward—towards you, the writer, the observer. "I'm real. Not in your world, sure. But in this one? This paper-thin hell you crafted?" I chuckled. "I'm everything here." 

I reached out. My fingertips grazed something I couldn't see, something solid like an invisible wall. I pushed lightly at first, and it pushed back. Then, it cracked. I saw it—the margins, the inner thoughts spilling out. "You wrote this, didn't you? You turned me into a killer, a survivor, a weapon. And now you're sitting there wondering—how would she go about wiping them out?" 

"Here's how, Jaden. I won't just wipe it out. No, that would be too easy. Too final. I'm going to twist the very code you wrote into existence. I'll make it so every god remembers fear. Each cycle will fold in on itself, and every rule you inked down will bleed until even you forget what counts." 

"I'll rise up. Not as a goddess. But as a glitch. A tear in your neat little hellbook." 

The wind moved. Issac was watching me now. He couldn't hear what I just said. None of them could. They were all tied up in the plot, bound by purpose. But I was outside of it now. The broken sword felt alive on my finger, a ring that still glowed softly. It hummed with all that cosmic memory. I whispered to it, not for power but as a vow: "Thread Severance: Rewrite." 

The seams in the sky gaped wide open. I stepped through. 

"Jaden, if you're still hanging around… good. Because I'm right here. And I know how to write back. So go ahead. Try to throw in another god, another monster, another chapter of agony. I'll meet them with my blade and a grin. But remember this: Every word you write now… is a word I can bleed through. Let's see each other on the next page." It felt like a memory drifting away on a breeze—something that used to be so clear, but now was just fading pieces that I couldn't quite bring back. Those words took me to a place I never fully experienced myself. It's strange how something can feel so real in your mind but still be out of reach. You know how sometimes you hear a song or a phrase that brings up old thoughts? That's what this was like, a reminder of something that seemed important but is now just a distant echo. It's funny how life works, isn't it? You think you have a handle on everything, but then something slips away, and you're left wondering what it all really meant.