Master of the Loop
Chapter 161: May the Winds of Winter Compel

Chapter 161

May the Winds of Winter Compel

“Why did you stop?” it was the question that both the Shadow and Sylas posed, though one did so out loud while the other kept it bottled. It had been a while since he’d last seen the Doe and the Crow, though it was never quite so intense.

In that final moment, before the time became unfrozen, he could feel a bond of sorts between him and the Doe--those beady eyes that bored into his soul momentarily transferred a want. It was a want so deep and burning that Sylas nearly went insane immediately after experiencing it. The only reason why he didn't succumb is that he'd also had a similar want, though perhaps not on the same level of intensity before. It was a want of death.

He lowered his blade and his head, thoughts racing; they wanted to die, he realized. That feeling... it was unmistakable. After all, if anyone in the world understood it--it was him. The want of death was a powerful thing; no, not simply powerful. It was a bedeviled whisper that, once it finds its roots in the soul, is beyond difficult to exorcise. It is like a plague, like a virus that latches and leeches on anything and everything it can touch. What startled Sylas, even more, was the sheer intensity.

Though the voice spoke calm, beneath it was a storm beyond storms, a raging inferno that made his seem almost childish in comparison. It was humbling, in more ways than one, even. He grasped toward his chest where his heart was being stifled by the memory.

“If you will not respond,” the Shadow said. “I shall eliminate you, then.”

“...” Sylas remained silent still, though rising his sword and focusing. It was difficult, for the array of death was billowing at him. And beyond them, there was the certainty he was awarded--the creatures, the things, the powers behind his summoning as well as his immortality... were the so-called Immortals. The things and beings beyond all else. The unfathomable, the incomprehensible, esoteric in ways that a human mind couldn’t grasp.

Even the Shadow before him, the closest a human can get to becoming a God, was frozen in time without even knowing. And there the question began--what can kill that which cannot die?

The Shadow burst forth in the blur of darkness, swarming toward Sylas from all directions, like an omnipresent blade of death. Sylas took a deep breath and drove energy into his senses, detecting the feints and ignoring them, slashing away with his sword at the true strikes, deflecting them. Spinning from the numerous collisions, he clad the wind and flew backward, somersaulting in the air before landing precisely, kicking off from his right foot and blasting forth.

The sword came slashing, leaving behind its afterimage, and then came another; the two quickly wove themselves into a fight of no energy--but one of pure display of skills. Without surprise, Sylas was put on the back foot within a few dozen moves, forced to deflect and deny.

Sliding sideways, he avoided the vertical slash, but before he could even take a breath, a horizontal follow-up came toward his waist. He curved his sword downward and blocked the strike, kicking toward the Shadow with his right leg. The latter parried easily with an elbow strike, destabilizing Sylas’ footing and forcing him to break the stalemate, forcing energy into his feet to not tumble. Prepping up, he realized that there was no follow-up. Looking forward, he saw the Shadow standing still in place.

“You lost,” the Shadow said calmly.

“Of course I did,” Sylas chuckled slightly. “I may be an old fuck, but man, you’re fuckin’ ancient.”

“Why did you stop channeling the energy?” the Shadow asked.

“’cause we had a visitor,” Sylas replied. “Or, well, visitors, I guess.”

“Hm?”

“The Doe and the Crow came.”

“!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the man’s expression suddenly widened as his eyes began to look about frantically.

“They’re gone,” Sylas said. “Now, let’s end our little scuffle. There’s much to learn still.”

“You are lying,” the Shadow said hurriedly. “Lying to distract me so you can land a lethal blow!”

“Yeah, no. If I wanted to lie, I’d say your dick’s hangin’ out or something stupid,” Sylas shrugged. “Why are you so frenzied about it, anyway? They’re nice folk. A bit creepy, sure, but nice.”

“... nice?” the Shadow mumbled. “They are omens of death!”

“Really?” Sylas mused. “I’ve never thought so. Even Asha mentioned they were seen as somewhat akin to death. But... I dunno. My intuition is telling me... they’re not all that.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ɴøvᴇl_Firᴇ.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“All Immortals are omens of death and carnage!” the Shadow exclaimed. “They only ever appear when they are bored! If you truly have seen them and are not lying... then these lands are bound to be burned into ashes.”

“They did mention flames,” Sylas said.

“... they spoke?” the Shadow suddenly calmed, chuckling. “Ah, and for a moment to think I even believed you.”

“Well, they certainly aren’t mute.”

“Perhaps,” the Shadow said, its energy rising. “But it seems you are still soundly childish. The only people who ever survive the meeting with the Immortals are those who are never spoken to. An ordinary human’s mind cannot withstand the primal power of the Words of Origin. That is enough. I have no use for you anymore. Disappear.”

Sylas remained silent, a fanciful expression on his face. He didn’t doubt the man’s words. If anything, he was probably completely correct. The difference was likely in Sylas’ identity. After all, he was brought here through whatever magic the Immortals employ. This likely meant that his save-and-load system was built from the same kind of magic, effectively making him quasi-Immortal.

A few moments later, due to the fact that he got lost in his thoughts, he was lying in the pool of his own blood, slowly dying. By now, however, he'd died so many times that he barely even noticed the difference. The pain... didn't even register. At least, he mused inwardly, he'd die with the grand look at the stars.

You have died.

Save point ‘Death’ has been initialized.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” it was a stately scene, one he’d seen countless times before. The death and despair reigned like a tyrannical King, laughing mockingly at his ineptitude.

If there was one thing that still hurt in life... it was this. This sight--one he was welcomed with each time he died. All over again, he was back to being who he was when it first happened. All over again, the lingering calm he’d rebirth in life was gone, replaced entirely by the storming anger. By hate. By baneful self-loathing that would not go away.

At least, now, he knew--there was a path forward. If the Immortals could grant him an endless life, and summon him into this world, they could restore what was broken. They could give the young girl her sight back, give the young boy his ability to walk, and give the young man the ability to wield his blade back.

He wasn’t hopeful, however. He had no reason to be. The Immortals were not kind to him--they were not benevolent, they were not helpful. They tossed him into the inferno without a single bite of knowledge, and let him learn the world through countless deaths.

Over many decades, his humanity was slowly stripped from him--until he became what he is today, a visceral tool, hibernating, waiting to wake in an outburst of anger. It was noxious, the mind of it all, but it was his all the same. His life was a crimson river stacked with corpses, flooded by fulsome apathy.

“You look absolutely awful,” a fancied voice woke him from the slumbering dreams. Asha sat down by his side, looking up at the clouded sky. “Been a while.”

“Hm,” he mumbled. “How would you know?”

“I feel it,” she said.

“Well, if you feel it.”

“Oh, shut up,” she elbowed him gently, rolling her eyes. “I know... by the look in your eyes.”

“Look in my eyes?” he quizzed.

"Every time you are left on your own for a while," she said. "You get it. That demented, soulless, morbidly inert look. Like you are staring at the hollow walls of life, waiting to draw the last breath. What happened this time around?"

“Oh, not much,” Sylas stretched lightly. “Just got brutally murdered a few times, is all.”

“Have you ever been murdered... softly?”

“Here and there,” he said. “There was this one time that you were killing me softly.”

“... what?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “That phrase just popped into my head. Don’t even know where it’s from, to be honest.”

“... will you leave again?” she asked after a brief few moments of silence.

“Have to,” he said.

“Can I come?”

“I saw the Doe and the Crow again. They spoke.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Just like him, you don’t sound convinced,” Sylas chuckled.

“Like who?”

“I have almost all the answers, Asha,” he said, glancing to his side and looking into her eyes. “But one. When I get it... I don’t know what will happen.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“I might die,” he replied. “Permanently. I might disappear, be summoned back where I came from. Or something else entirely.”

“... is this your way of telling me... this is it?”

“No,” he said. “This is my way of asking how far are you willing to follow me.”

“I’ve stopped following you years ago,” she said. “And started walking by your side. I’m hurt that you haven’t realized!”

“Pfft, ha ha, alright, my bad, my bad. It’s good to have you by my side. Eye candy goes a long way into making people talk.”

“That’s right. I’m the candiest of eyes.”

“... well, you’ve got the right spirit, at least,” he said, ruffling her hair gently.

“And it’s gone,” she said suddenly, smiling.

“What’s gone?”

“That look in your eyes. Well, not gone, I suppose,” she added. “Just... pushed back, temporarily.”

“I can bring it back if you’d like.”

"No, you're much more handsome without it."

“I dunno,” Sylas said. “I’ve been told girls like guys who brood in solemn silence.”

“Yes, but you’re not handsome enough to pull it off.”

“...”

“Ah, it’s back! The look’s back! Ha ha ha~~” Sylas grinned lightly as she jumped off, running away for a bit before turning around and beckoning him. One more answer, he mused. It’s time to march south, I suppose...

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