Chapter 149

Exorcising the Demons

As soon as the new loop started, well within the first hour of the tragedy, Sylas left the castle with hurried steps, deciding to train on the Way along the journey. Though he cleansed a good chunk of his anger, the side-effect of it was that the lid he'd put on it was lifted, and it all came pouring out. There was a frothing lake of rage raving within his soul, and there was no preventing its explosion any longer.

Though he was blind to it, it became visible to the rest of the world--after all, the snow melted within dozens of yards around him wherever he walk, the sheer seepage of energy incalculable. He barely rested, fueled by the very thing he wished to bury, cutting days from the travel, eventually landing himself back on those mountains and those islands.

This time around, he didn’t bother waiting for the night, nor did he bother sneaking around. He screamed from the bottom of his lungs, as though to draw the eyes of the world to what he was about to do, before ramming forward and commencing the massacre. He’d lost control of the monster he’d buried, and those bellows and echoes that whispered demonically from the depths of his soul from that day.

He'd rattled the cage, and the beast had scraped the locks and freed itself--it was evident everywhere but by far the most in his eyes. They'd physically changed their hue to scarlet red, only a glimpse of a human he used to be hidden within their deeps. He poured out all of the anger with each swing as though it was the energy itself, and bodies fell like slacks of wood.

The massive mountains echoed and bellowed in screams of agony and pain, and their picturesque vistas were corrupted by the violence that knew no bounds, the rolling, jagged rocks and many breathtaking islands all decorated in desecrated corpses. Once again, he was dyed bloody red from head to toe, his breathing quickened and uneven. Some escaped still, but he didn’t care, heading toward the summit immediately after, not even bothering to bathe this time around. He wanted to see the woman’s face--she hid who she was from him for a reason, he knew.

Reaching the top, he saw her still there still, masked and quaint, as though entirely ignorant of what had just transpired down the mountain. But she knew. She knew.

“Thirty-four escaped,” she said, recounting the survivors like the last time. But, before she had a chance to say anything else, Sylas cut in.

“You know who I am,” he said. “And I know whoever is beneath that mask. Undo it.”

“... you do not know who I am,” the woman said calmly, reaching over to her face and slowly taking off her mask. She was... fairly ordinary looking, Sylas noted, save for one thing that changed abruptly--her hair. Its hue shifted as though colored by a brush, turning into a peculiar shade of silver-blue, somewhat similar to Ryne’s.

“... I know you,” Sylas frowned, his brain abuzz. There was a memory buried deep in his brain, and that face had triggered it. Somewhere in the many loops of his life, he'd met the woman and interacted with her. "I'm certain of it."

“And I am certain we have never met,” the woman said. “Until today.”

“No, I do know you,” Sylas recalled the snowy day in the courtyard and the woman who claimed she wished to become a Knight. An ordinary peasant, she said, with big dreams and aspirations. “We sparred once, in a castle’s courtyard. Not in this lifetime, but another. You told me your name was Annya.”

“...” the woman’s eyes widened in horror, her expression changing for the first time. Lips trembling, her whole body shaking, she seemed to turn mute for a moment.

“I always thought Tebek was our only traitor,” Sylas said. “I suppose... there was another. Is Tebek part of your order?”

“... w-w-w-who... who are you?” the woman mumbled. “You... you can’t know. You shouldn’t know. Who... who are you?!”

“Answer for an answer,” Sylas said. “Tell me if Tebek’s part of your order, and I’ll tell you who I am.”

“T-Tebek? Aah... n-no. He’s a... he’s a leader of a brother group.”

“There’s two of you fucks?” Sylas sighed.

“W-who... who are you?” the woman inquired again, fearful.

“The undying, I suppose,” he replied. “I carry on between infinite lifetimes, trying to undo the horrors cunts like you have imposed upon this world. And creating some myself along the way, I suppose. Next question: where can I find Tebek’s original body or whatever?”

“I... what do you mean undying? That’s... that’s impossible! Even Gods are not immortal! You are playing tricks! There must have been a traitor among our ranks who told you--”

“--look at me,” he said calmly. “Does this image strike you as someone patient enough to worm his way into this shit-infested cult? I don’t care whether you believe me or not, though. Your mind probably can’t even properly conceptualize what I mean. In fairness, I think few can. So, Tebek’s original body and this brother group of yours--where can I find them? Wait... if... if he has a clone or whatever... right. That’s what it was,” Sylas smiled bitterly. “You’re a fucking clone too, aren’t you? Jesus Christ, you fucks and your fear of death.”

“What... what is your goal?” the woman quizzed. “Is... is not to crown Valen a righteous King?”

“It is,” Sylas replied.

“So is ours,” the woman added. “So, why are you standing in our way?!”

“Your goal is to crown Valen... by repeatedly putting his life in danger?”

"The only reason his life was ever in danger was you!" the woman exploded. "You destroyed all of our plans! The castle was supposed to fall! And Valen was supposed to believe it was done by his stepmother, joining us in the pursuit of justice! You--you destroyed it all!”

“You don’t want to crown Valen,” Sylas said. “You want to crown yourself, but lack the blood to do so.”

“Blood?! WE lack the blood?!! We are the Blood!! The righteous Blood of these lands! They are the liars, the thieves, the usurpers!” the woman exploded in righteous anger, even standing up, her dress fluttering in the wind that began to wild out around her, as though magical.

“You’re also the dregs of the Empire?” Sylas chuckled lightly. “You lot do hide everywhere, it seems. Even your founder curses you and wishes he never let you live. Even he had realized that the Empire’s dawn had long since passed and that there is no future there. Yet, some morons still cling to the words of the old and the dead ways of the past.”

“... you don’t know anything,” the woman said, calming down. “Anything. How do you think filthy barbarians managed to topple over an Empire full of glory?”

“They used the dead against you?”

“Used the dead against us? Ha ha ha,” the woman burst out into laughter. “What dead? They’re barbarians. Fancy fighters, but dull in the head. Even today, old records rest in their vast vaults, but they’re still incapable of brokering the deal with the dead, let alone controlling them. You’re a fool, just like them. They were Gods’ corrupt champions, enjoying the fruits of our sacrifice. While we fought for the freedom, while we fought to repel the chains of heaven, and while we died in millions to undo tens of thousands of years of suffering... they sold their souls alight and marched. They burned our lands, killed our people, destroyed every last bit of the world we built, by Gods’ writ.”

“...” Sylas fell silent, in part due to the influx of new information, but in part to the raw anger and pain that stemmed from the woman’s tone.

“You know nothing,” she added, sitting down. “And yet you judge and write stories fitting your own judgment.”

“You’re right--I know very little,” Sylas said. “And each day, it feels, tells me just how little I know in various ways. But... it’s irrelevant. I only need to know one thing--who stands in the way of me putting Valen on the throne. I don’t care for their reasons, for their hollowed backstories full of angst and pain, or even justified reasons. I am not a judge of good and just--I’m just a simple lad with a big dream and a tiny brain. I want to see Valen crowned and Valen alone. When I’m done and unfit to breathe this air any longer, I’ll have you all dead and buried, so his reign may be peaceful and void of the greed that will inevitably destroy this Kingdom, as it has all Kingdoms before it, and will all Kingdoms that come after it. Greed, similarly, destroyed your Empire. Justified greed though it may have been, greed still it was.”

“We won,” the woman said. “Do you not see? During the reign of the Empire, Cairns were everywhere, as were the temples for worship. Prophets, Ministers, Godmen... they were an army unto themselves.”

“There’s still men of Gods--”

"--what? That tiny Prophet hiding in the woods? Or Exorcists? Do you think them godly people, fool? If so, then you truly know not what godly men could do. Prophets didn't dream of the future in my Empire--their words were the future. After all, when they spoke of the future, it wasn't them--but gods above telling us what to do. Exorcists of the Empire weren't children weaving piffle and talismans together in a bid for the pathetic exercise of power. They were an army capable of toppling a city overnight with magic. We won. While the barbarians were decimating ordinary farms and setting our cities ablaze and killing our children and raping our women... we were destroying Cairns, we were undoing the chains, freeing this world from the reign from above. Enough, now," she said, scoffing, short of breath. "Do what you came to do and end me. The only thing you lot know how to do is wield blades at the weak and unsuspecting."

“At least I wield the blade with my own hands,” Sylas said, walking over. “Instead of asking the dead to do it for me.”

"Go on, write yourself a hero," she shot him a grin. "Rewrite histories and weave a tale so unjustly unreal it is as though bards rather than historians wrote it. Be the champion of your own world, false prophet. Just remember... in your wake you leave ashes, and from those ashes, monsters will rise. You will create an army of monsters that will be the end of you."

“... you’re wrong,” Sylas smiled faintly, pressing the blade against the woman’s throat. “I’ll be the end of me.”

“Praying I see the day,” she uttered as he slashed and as the blood... did not spray. Instead, the body turned into dust and ash and collapsed into a pile down below, with the dress unraveling around, soon after carried away by the wind alongside the pile of dust. Sylas looked on and exhaled deeply; he’d learned yet another major part of the world’s story, and things, once again, made more sense than yesterday. Bit by bit, he realized, there were fewer and fewer mysteries left. Soon enough, he wagered, there would be none.