The feeling woke me before sound ever could.
It wasn't pain. Not fear either.
It was the same wrongness I had learned to respect. A pressure at the edge of my awareness, faint but insistent, like a bruise being pressed from the inside. Failure Converter did not flare nor warn.
It noticed.
That was worse.
I sat up slowly in the narrow bed of the inn, heart already beating faster than it should have. The room was dark, the window cracked open just enough to let in the distant noise of the capital at night. Somewhere below, laughter carried through stone corridors. Life, unaware.
I pulled on my boots quietly, movements careful, controlled. My body felt heavier than it should have. Stats didn't lie. Strength was still low. Agility barely passable. I was better than when I first arrived in Aetherfall, but I was still fragile.
I stepped into the hallway and closed the door without a sound.
The capital at night was quieter, but not empty. Lanterns burned low along the main roads, their light caught between tall buildings and hanging bridges. Shadows pooled everywhere else, deep and layered, like the city had learned how to hide things over centuries.
I did not feel fear at first.
I felt pressure.
A familiar tightening behind my eyes. Not panic or instinct. Something colder.
Failure Converter stirred in recognition.
Something had already gone wrong.
I slowed, fingers brushing the edge of my coat, eyes scanning reflections in windows and puddles. I told myself it was nothing. That I was tired. That after two days of laying low, my nerves were inventing danger.
Then I died. No warning or dramatic moment.
A blade slid between my ribs from behind, clean and precise. I felt the cold before the pain, then my legs gave out and the street rushed up.
Darkness.
—
I came back gasping, body slamming into itself a heartbeat earlier.
Death count: 201
I staggered forward, barely keeping my feet.
Again.
The blade took my throat this time. Hot blood, choking, the sound of my own breath cutting off mid-gasp.
—
202
Again.
This time I managed to turn, just enough to see him.
Black clothes that swallowed light. Mask smooth and blank. Movements economical, practiced, cruelly calm. His Standing pressed down on me like weight, heavier than anything I had felt from normal Wayfarers.
A Standing a couple tier or more higher than me.
He did not rush. He knew he had time.
The dagger punched into my liver.
—
203
Again.
I tried to run. It's a mistake.
He was faster, stronger, better in every way that mattered physically. He caught me before I reached the corner, slammed me into a wall hard enough to crack stone, then crushed my throat with one hand.
—
204
Again.
Panic started to creep in now.
Not fear of death. I had passed that long ago.
Fear of being stuck.
Fear that this was it. That I would loop here forever, bleeding out in an alley while the capital slept.
Failure Converter burned hotter.
Patterns snapped into focus.
He was not sloppy. Not emotional. This was a job. Clean and efficient.
I did not know who sent him.
I did not even know why it was me.
—
205
Again.
I forced myself to stop reacting.
No running. No flailing. No wasted movement.
He struck low. I let him.
Pain tore through my abdomen, but I stayed upright long enough to see how he shifted his weight after each attack. How his left shoulder dipped just slightly before he committed.
A habit.
—
206
Again.
I tested it.
I moved half a second earlier than instinct demanded. He adjusted instantly and broke my arm for the effort, then finished me without hesitation.
—
207
Again.
My thoughts were fragmenting now. Deaths stacking too fast, memories blurring together. Blood. Stone. Shadows. That blank mask.
I clenched my teeth.
Focus.
Failure Converter surged.
Not power.
Understanding.
This was not a fight I could win normally.
There was no path where I outmatched him.
No angle where my stats carried me.
Which meant only one option remained.
—
208
Again.
I let him kill me without resistance.
I watched.
Every movement. Every breath. Every micro-decision.
I learned.
—
209
Again.
The pattern locked in.
—
210
Again.
My mind screamed for release. My body barely kept up with the constant reset. Pain blurred into static, then into something distant and unreal.
I was running out of room.
Running out of sanity.
If this failed, I would break.
I triggered it.
Death-Linked Burst.
The world snapped into impossible clarity.
Time stretched thin, each moment layered with everything I had learned across every death. His reach. His speed. The exact angle his blade took when he aimed for my heart.
Perfect prediction.
Perfect timing.
Perfect execution.
He struck.
I stepped inside the arc of his blade, not away from it. My hand moved where his wrist would be, not where it was. My other hand drove the broken edge of stone I had palmed earlier straight up beneath his ribs.
His eyes widened.
Not in fear.
In surprise.
I twisted.
Something ruptured.
He staggered back, blood pouring through his fingers. He tried to recover. Tried to raise his blade.
Too slow.
I shoved him into the wall and drove the stone into his throat.
Hard. As hard as I could.
Again.
And again…. Rage took upon me. Rage I don't know existed within me.
Until he stopped moving.
Silence crashed down around us.
I stood there shaking, breath coming in sharp, broken pulls. I could feel my vision swimming and my limbs went numb.
I looked at what I had done. I killed somebody, not a monster or an animal. But a human, an intelligent being with family. I took someone's life for the first time and I don't know what to feel.
I heaved hard. I feel as though my stomach itself is coming out.
I barely made it three steps before my legs gave out.
The backlash hit all at once. Muscles tearing. Nerves screaming. My heart stuttered, then stopped.
—
Death Counts: 215
I came back on my knees a few minutes after I killed the assailant, retching, the alley empty except for blood and a cooling corpse.
My body would not stop shaking, my mind swim with morality of what I just did.
I felt empty and sad and extremely afraid at the same time. Tears feel from my eyes but I don't feel like I'm crying.
Because maybe, I had survived. Because if it's not him, then it's me. He already killed me many times anyway, why should I feel guilt?
But something in me had crossed a line it could not uncross.
And as I try to dragged myself away from the body, one thought echoed louder than the rest.
Someone wanted me dead and I don't know why.
I didn't make it more than a few steps.
My legs gave out halfway down the alley, knees buckling like they belonged to someone else. I caught myself on the wall, fingers scraping stone, breath coming too fast, too loud. My body was fine. I could feel that clearly. The last rebirth had reset everything the way it always did. No injuries. No internal damage. No lingering pain beyond phantom echoes.
That wasn't the problem.
My hands still had blood, there are stains on my clothes, and probably on my hair.
I could still feel it on my skin, warm and slick. My heart wouldn't slow down. It slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape, each beat sending a sharp spike of panic through my chest. Images kept replaying, not the deaths this time, but the moment it ended. The look in his eyes when he realized I had outplayed him. The sound he made when the stone went in.
I'd died hundreds of times.
But this was the first time I had killed someone with my own hand, my own bare hand.
The world tilted.
I swayed, vision narrowing, the alley stretching and warping like it was pulling away from me. I thought dimly that if I blacked out here, someone would find the body. Then they would find me. Then questions would start.
I never hit the ground.
A hand caught my shoulder, steady and solid, pulling me back upright before I could collapse completely.
"Easy," a familiar voice said. "I've got you."
I blinked, trying to focus.
"Mister Owen?" The name felt strange in my mouth, like it belonged to another life.
He looked different.
Bigger, for one. Not taller, but broader, his frame filled out with muscle that hadn't been there when we crossed the Expanse together. His clothes weren't travel-worn or patched anymore. Clean lines. Reinforced leather layered with metal thread that caught the light just enough to hint at enchantment. Practical, but expensive. Purposeful.
He looked like someone who had found his footing.
"Damn young'n. Stop calling me mister, I'm only thirty." He said in a kind of jesting tone, " And you're not doing great as I see," he said mildly, shifting so he was between me and the mouth of the alley. "But that's normal I guess."
I laughed weakly, the sound cracking halfway out. "Normal is doing a lot of work right now... Owen."
He tightened his grip slightly, grounding. "First kill?"
I didn't answer.
He nodded anyway. "Yeah. Thought so."
We stood there for a few seconds, my breathing slowly evening out as he waited without rushing me. No judgment. No lectures. Just presence.
"In Aetherfall," Owen said after a while, "killing isn't taboo. But it's not encouraged either. Especially in cities. Towns. Places where different beings coexist under shared rules."
I swallowed. "Then I'm in trouble."
He shook his head. "No. That was an assassination attempt. Different category. You defended yourself."
I glanced back down the alley despite myself. "It didn't feel like defense."
"It rarely does the first time," he said. "But if you can't accept it, if you let it eat you alive, then Aetherfall isn't going to be kind to you."
He met my eyes, expression serious now. "This world isn't soft, Theo. The rules are different. Everything is an open game once you step outside the protections. If you can't adapt, you'll break. Or you'll run back home."
I didn't argue.
Part of me wanted to. Another part knew he wasn't wrong.
"Come on," Owen said, adjusting his hold when he felt me steady enough to walk. "Let's get you somewhere quiet before someone notices you standing around looking like a ghost."
He guided me away from the alley, taking side streets and back paths with the ease of someone who knew the city well. The capital at night felt different when you weren't bleeding out in it. Still busy. Still alive. Merchants called out from brightly lit shops that never seemed to close. People moved in clusters, laughing, arguing, negotiating.
Life went on.
Eventually, we stopped in front of a building that did not fit its surroundings.
It looked like a manor.
Not sprawling, but refined. Stone polished smooth, windows tall and wide, light spilling out in warm, steady pools. The structure sat beside a bustling commercial building filled with noise and movement, as if it had no issue sharing space with chaos.
Owen led me inside.
The interior was quiet, dimly lit with soft lamps and low-burning enchantments that hummed just beneath hearing. Plush seating. Clean floors. The faint scent of tea and ink.
He settled me onto a sofa, the cushions sinking under my weight. For the first time since the fight, I let myself lean back.
"Where are we?" I asked, voice hoarse.
"Our base," Owen replied.
I frowned. "Base?"
He glanced at me, then smiled faintly. "Private residence works better. Headquarters sounds dramatic."
My mind snagged on the word. "Your group?"
He nodded. "Yeah. We're with Madison."
That made me pause.
"Madison… Ultima?" I asked slowly, sounding dumb. Why I even asked if it's the Madison we both know.
"The one and only," he said in a matter of factly.
I stared at the ceiling, trying to process that.
She had been in Aetherfall for how long? Weeks or a couple of months at most? And already she had a private residence in the capital, a merchant operation next door, and a network solid enough that people like Owen looked this comfortable under her banner.
I didn't ask how.
I'd stopped trying to understand how Madison did things since we get aquainted.
"How did you find me by the way?" I asked instead.
Owen shrugged. "I didn't. I just feel something was off when I pass by, and there you are…"
I winced. "Great."
He leaned back against a chair opposite me. "For what it's worth, you did well. Surviving someone that far above your Standing isn't luck."
I thought of the deaths. The learning. The moment everything aligned.
"Feels like luck," I muttered bitterly. And I wanted to laugh, luck huh.
Owen studied me for a moment, then spoke more quietly. "You don't have to decide anything tonight. Rest. Let it settle. The first kill messes with everyone."
I nodded, exhaustion finally sinking its claws in.
As my eyes drifted shut, one thought lingered, heavy and unavoidable.
If this was what the capital did to people in just two days, then whatever Madison was building here… it was already far deeper than I'd imagined.