This Time, I Kill You

Kazuki screamed into the mat.

It wasn't loud. Not the kind that echoed. It wasn't rage, or grief, or madness.

It was exhaustion.

The kind that starts in the bones and works upward—hollowing things out as it rises. The kind that sounds like someone trying to stop being alive, but not through death. Just through sheer will.

He didn't get up right away.

He just stayed there. Forehead pressed to the cold rice mat. Hands limp. Breathing like he'd run a mountain.

The reset had dropped him into Loop Seven like a stone into still water—no ripple, no splash. Just a thud. Just a reminder that he was still owned by something he couldn't fight.

He didn't remember blinking. Didn't remember the shift. Just... one room becoming another.

He hadn't died.

Not really.

Not like before.

And that was worse.

It meant the loop was choosing. Playing with him. Tightening the leash.

He sat up. Looked at the candle.

It was full again. Untouched.

The room was the same. His body unbroken. His memories intact—mostly. The blood on his shoulder from the warlock was gone, but he could still feel where it had burned through the cloth.

He stood slowly. Tired.

No fear. No questions. No plans.

Just one sentence circling in his head like a mantra.

This time, I kill him.

He dressed without thought. The armor slid on like ritual. His fingers buckled the same strap three times before realizing it didn't matter. He wasn't doing this to lead. Not today.

He wasn't doing it to survive either.

He was going to hunt.

The eastern ridge. That's where the fog always came in first.

That's where the warlock waited. Watched. Slipped between trees like it owned the woods.

Kazuki stepped outside into the compound. No sunrise yet. Just gray light, enough to move through shadows.

He didn't speak to anyone.

Didn't leave a message.

Didn't check if the wall guard had changed.

He just left.

The ridge trail was narrow, a winding path between gnarled pines and black moss. The dirt was still soft from the last rain. His boots made no sound.

By the time the first hint of fog started to curl around the roots, he was already halfway up.

He found a small bend in the slope—sheltered by stone on one side, thick brush on the other.

Here.

This was where he would wait.

Kazuki dropped to a crouch and started clearing space with his gauntlets. Dug quickly. Built the pit shallow. Enough to trip. Enough to maim.

He lined the edge with split twigs from a burned tree—old sap still clinging like oil.

Then he strung a tripline from root to root. A flare vial tied at the center, taken from Mayu's emergency cache.

It wouldn't kill anything.

But it would light it up.

And that was enough.

By the time the fog had fully settled, Kazuki had vanished into the stones.

He crouched low. Blade drawn. No breathing. No blinking.

The trees fell still.

The world leaned inward.

This Time, I Kill Him

The fog bent.

Not rolled. Not swirled. Bent—like a body twisting against bone.

Kazuki tensed. Eyes locked on the slope just past the trap line.

The shape stepped through the mist with no sound.

Tall. Cloaked. Mask cracked across the right cheek from their last encounter.

It didn't scan the trees. Didn't hesitate. It walked with the confidence of something that couldn't die. Something that remembered him.

Kazuki waited until it passed the first root marker.

Three more steps.

Two.

One.

The tripline snapped.

The flare vial burst—light exploded outward in a sudden, searing wash of silver-blue.

The warlock didn't flinch.

It just turned.

Kazuki was already moving.

He shot out of the rocks like a blade freed from its sheath, sword sweeping low. The warlock stepped back just in time—but the edge clipped the side of its robe.

Kazuki followed through. Another strike—then a third. He pressed the assault, footwork tight, drawing the fight away from the trap.

The warlock moved like fog with weight. Every dodge felt accidental, fluid. Its jagged dagger slipped from its sleeve with a familiar click.

Steel clashed.

Kazuki twisted inside its guard and landed a shallow cut across the mask.

A flash of pale skin underneath—wrong, flickering, half-formed.

The warlock hissed. Or maybe the fog did. He couldn't tell anymore.

From the tree line above—crackling branches. Boots on gravel.

Rikuya.

He stood at the edge of the slope with four soldiers behind him—blades drawn, faces stunned.

"What the hell is that?" one whispered.

Kazuki didn't answer. He didn't have time.

"Form up!" Rikuya barked, voice sharp. "Now!"

They charged.

The warlock vanished into mist again.

Reappeared behind one of the soldiers, dagger already drawn. Before Kazuki could warn him, the blade drove into the man's spine. He collapsed with a strangled gasp.

Rikuya was already there—swinging hard. His blade forced the warlock back a step. Then another.

Kazuki moved to flank, driving forward with a roar that startled even himself.

This wasn't a duel now.

It was a hunt.

The fog thickened unnaturally.

Shapes flickered—too fast, too tall, silhouettes in places they shouldn't be.

One of the soldiers screamed. He was yanked into the trees by a shadow and didn't come back.

Another caught a glancing blow from the warlock's dagger. Blood spilled across his chest. He dropped to his knees.

Kazuki struck again—this time catching the warlock in the ribs. The blade sank halfway.

It stuck.

He wrenched it free—and saw the warlock's blood hit the ground in long, slow motion.

Thick. Dark. Like ink in water.

The warlock reeled. Mask split. Its face half-gone, half-his.

Kazuki froze.

He saw his own eye staring back at him.

Just for a second.

Then it shifted again. Something ancient. Something other.

The warlock whispered:

"You think this is about you?"

Kazuki charged again. The warlock blocked, barely.

"They're watching, little pawn. The gods with no faces. The ones who feed on time."

Steel scraped bone.

"You dance for them."

Rikuya roared and lunged—blade raised, teeth bared.

The warlock caught him mid-stride.

There was a sound like bones breaking inward.

Rikuya hit the ground.

Kazuki screamed.

He fought like something dying. No form. No grace.

Just pain.

And he landed a final blow—a deep slash across the warlock's chest that tore through cloth and something harder beneath.

The warlock staggered.

But didn't fall.

It raised its hand—and sigils carved themselves into the air. Symbols that bled as they formed.

The spell cracked into Kazuki's side like lightning.

He flew. Hit a tree. Didn't get up.

His vision blurred.

Blood in his mouth. Ears ringing.

He rolled onto his side, tried to stand—but his leg buckled.

The warlock stumbled too. Limping. Breathing ragged. Its blade dragging.

They were both broken.

Kazuki reached for his sword again—fingers numb.

But the warlock spoke first.

"Next time, maybe you'll remember the right name."

Then it stepped back into the fog.

And was gone.

Kazuki crawled to Rikuya's body.

He was still warm.

Still bleeding.

Eyes open.

Kazuki reached out. Closed them.

"You followed me."

A pause. His voice cracked.

"I didn't want you to."

He rolled onto his back, staring at the treetops, lungs heaving.

The mist didn't lift.

Nothing reset.

Not yet.