In a word, they had been...
"Butchered... They have all been butchered." Pencil vomited whatever was left of the chocolate cake he had tasted before sending the rest to Soren's room earlier in the day.
The stench in the air was suffocating and nauseating.
With this much mess, it should be.
Pencil coughed some more, wondering how Soren could stand the sight of this mess.
Soren's frown had only lasted to the point of entry. It was already gone.
His mind had become used to seeing the innards of people.
Instead, Soren was making observations. He had to find clues. It was the only way to solve this mystery and stop the loops.
Limbs scattered about the place, looking like they'd been ripped off, like unwanted pieces of clothing.
Torsos, carved out in the centre like wooden bowls, and severed heads carrying the lasting expressions of dread and horror.
It was as if their deaths—horrific as they were—would hunt them even in the afterlife.
Not even a slaughterhouse was this unforgiving.
And then, at a corner, a familiar face.
This puzzled Soren.
It was not that the other faces were unfamiliar, but rather that this face was the reason for it all.
"Is that Instructor Marcus's head?" Pencil also sighted it.
How was the instructor's head here if he was the one doing the killing?
A feeling of dread and a faint realisation suddenly washed over Soren.
He turned about quickly.
It was too late
~Stab
Bloodshine had STABBED Pencil from behind with her blade.
Her eyes were hazy and green, just like the way Marcus' eyes had been.
And then she opened her mouth. From within crawled a green centipede.
It was the size of a child's forearm, having three heads and hundreds of legs like human hands.
An Eldritch soul.
It crawled out of Bloodshine's mouth and into Pencil's.
Immediately, Pencil's eyes changed colour—they became green.
He pulled the dagger from Bloodshine's hands, slicing her neck in a swift swing, "D–rank trash. What a useless noble."
~Splash
Blood-stained Pencil's face. But he did not care. Instead, his hazy eyes settled on Soren.
"F—rank trash, did I not kill you already?" The voice echoed from Pencil's chest without his mouth moving in line with the words.
Then his neck crooked to the side, as if the question was more to itself than it was to Soren.
Meanwhile, Soren had already begun to back off, one retreating step at a time.
"No matter," Pencil added sweetly, "the mission is already complete. I'll do it now—"
He launched for Soren.
"Shit!" Soren cursed, backing away even faster; he barely dodged the first swing.
"Pencil! Come on, dude. Wake up. Fight this thing. Wake up, man!" He called out, but Pencil's hazy eyes looked at him mockingly as he approached, dagger raised.
Soren did not stop retreating. All the while, his eyes were surveying the place, looking for a possible escape route.
The cafeteria had two entrances. But the one behind was practically blocked by the bodies.
Soren slipped a bit, his hands grabbing a severed head on a table.
It was Goldsworth's. He threw it at Pencil, hitting a leg and knocking off the footing.
Just as Pencil slipped, Soren took the opportunity to climb the tables and rush past him.
"This stupid fat body. If it were not A-rank, I would have never taken it." Pencil cursed loudly.
~bang.
Soren kicked the cafeteria doors open—his acquired strength from the bond with his Shade played a huge role in his escape.
"Damn it!" He stumbled out of the messy cafeteria, blood staining his body here and there.
He cursed in his heart. He really had to find an escape. No, he needed to find help.
Unfortunately, when he reached for the doors of the train, they were locked. He kicked against them, but these ones were not as weak as the cafeteria doors.
They were initially built to ensure the safety of those within—now, a death trap.
He looked behind; Pencil staggered out of the cafeteria.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
He turned and bolted.
"Don't worry, F—rank trash, there is nowhere to run. No one to help. Your fate is sealed." Pencil's unnatural voice came from behind him.
However, amidst all this, Soren's mind had come up with an idea.
Was there no one to help?
Who decided that?
Soren ran to the garden. Pencil came behind him.
He ran with a strange mixture of clumsiness and off-balance, but was still fast—like he didn't fully understand his own body but was still propelled by some invisible force.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Soren cursed, stumbling into the garden. He fell, eyes searching for his target through the huge canopy trees.
He missed a step, kicking against a stone slab, and fell.
His hands dug into the soil, searching for a pebble.
Soren turned to his pursuer.
"Wait! Wait! Wait! Pencil, or whatever is in there—can't we talk about this? I... I swear, I won't tell anyone. In fact, I'll quit the academy. Yes, I'll do that." Soren nodded like a pecking chicken, using his hands to drag himself away from Pencil.
"Well, I would really love that. But unfortunately, you are the one who actually stood out, ruining the master's plan."
"Master's plan?" Soren whispered.
"Don't worry, just like last year, the academy won't be getting any fresh cadets." Pencil licked the blade in his hand like an affectionate lover.
Soren was struck again by those words.
No fresh cadets this year? Are the year one cadets the target?
Pencil raised the blade at him.
But Soren moved fast, throwing the pebble at a tree behind—only, this was not a tree.
Polystar's fingers moved on instinct, blades shooting out in a swift motion.
~Slush.
Pencil's head was cut into diagonal segments.
Dud dud dud. They fell one at a time. And then the body also fell.
Soren sighed, a wave of relief washing through his body.
However, Polystar opened his eyes, shocked by the sight before him.
"What is going on?" He looked at Soren and then at the corpse of Pencil.
"Did... Did I do that?"
Soren, on the other hand, gave a sigh of relief, sitting upright. "Trust me, you did well."
"But I just killed a person." Polystar panicked, running over to Pencil's corpse.
Soren suddenly remembered, "Wait, don't go there."
Whoosh. The centipede flew into Polystar's mouth.
He gagged and struggled, but it was of no use.
His glasses fell to the ground.
Polystar, eyes hazy and green, sharply turned to Soren. "Oh... how pitiful."
Soren facepalmed, "Oh fu..."
[You died.]
...
~Tummy grumbled.
Soren sat upright. The day had begun again.
Before him was the chocolate cake, but he was no longer interested.
He reached for the dagger plastered on his face.
His fingers massaged its edges.
To think that he had to do this again. He had to face an eldritch horror.
However, unlike the previous time, his enemy was not many meters tall and wide.
He would not be needing a Soul Mecha for the enemy. That was both a relief and a problem.
How was he supposed to kill something like that?
Soren sighed at his fate. Things were not fair to him.
When he had the dream to become a Soul Mecha pilot, it involved cool poses and fierce-looking giant robots. Definitely not this nightmare.
He massaged his temple. Soren was starting to doubt if the life of a Soulbound warrior was what he always wanted.
Dying again and again was not only devastating to his mental health but also to his perception of what life was.
Should I give up?
He chuckled to himself. What a useless thought. Even if he gave up, the loop would not end.
He would repeat the day again and again, trapped in this train, until he solved the problem.
Right now, Soren hated this life. He was not even given the pleasure of enjoying depression in peace.
He wanted to cry, but from experience, he understood that crying would help no one.
At such a time, his eyes fell on a book. He had nearly forgotten about it.
It was the Discipline of Sorrow (First Volume).
The journal of the first Soul Mecha pilot during the first generational war.
Soren reached for it, opening its pages...
(Author's note: Come on, guys. A few power stones are appreciated. Show the book some love, yeah.)