Ch-3 ****

“SIMP?”

Chris called wondering if she had caused the holograms, but there was no response from her. Then what happened? The whole deal scared him senseless. He was sure he had died, but there he sat on his ass in the smoke with the fire burning right of him. The bandit’s laughter echoed in his ears. The woman’s screams shook his world. He had lost it. There was no other explanation.

The holograms —or whatever they were— slowly faded into oblivion, leaving two numerals hovering near the left corner of his peripheral vision. One read ‘46/48’ and the other was a red clock that was winding down by the seconds, displaying he had twenty-nine minutes and some seconds left in the loop. Both of them were grim reminders of things he didn’t want to assume.

“This is not happening...” He told the void and received silence in return.

His heart raced as the putrid scent of blood and excrement wafted to him. Again, his stomach churned, but he managed to hold on this time.

This is not happening! He thought again, but couldn’t convince himself.

Whatever had put him in the forlorn place in the first place —because he was now sure he hadn’t traveled there by himself— had also brought him back from the dead. And if he was to believe that —he didn’t want to, but the truth was out there in front of him— then he also had to believe that this thing, this scenario would possibly loop for another forty-six times if he didn’t save the child in the woman’s arms. That was what the holograms had told him.

He had died and looped back to the start of where he had woken up. He was somewhere he had no recollection of, where nothing made sense, haunted by a hologram that wanted him to save the little girl in the woman’s arm, who would otherwise suffer through a lifetime of pain and then end the world after getting freed by something inhuman.

He didn’t doubt the possibility of it. He knew many lighters who could end the world. Most of them were either in a jail serving a lifetime of imprisonment, protecting and advancing humanity, or keeping to themselves and living like kings in different parts of the world. Even the most deranged of men knew better than to think about destroying the world because there was no place to go from there. You end the world and there is nothing else to do.

However, what worried Chris most was his place in the grand plan. He believed himself to be an ordinary cog in the machine. There were hundreds of millions of others like him. He was not extraordinary. He was someone who took twenty-nine years to ignite his flame.

Why choose him? What made him special?

Was it his age, or was it the fact that he was the oldest human to ignite a flame? Everyone believed that the strength of one’s flame was directly proportional to the time of their ignition.

Chris looked at himself. He knew he had ignited. It was still possible for him to put the blame of it all on his old ass fart that had caught fire. There was only one problem. He felt no different from before.

Wait--

Perhaps he had misdiagnosed heart attack as ignition, which would correlate with the burning sensation he remembered feeling in his chest, especially in and around his heart.

Well, dead or alive, the horse was walking away from him again, and the man riding it was still in the same silly clothes. Now that Chris could actually pay attention, thanks to the lack of tears in his eyes and being able to breathe properly, he noticed the large ax that the man carried in his right hand. Blood dripped from its edge with every stride of the horse. The burning fire reflected in its blood-covered face like souls caught in a dusty mirror.

Chris was sure this man killed the guards.

The guards—

Chris looked past the burning car and saw the one who lay on his stomach; the fire added a hint of life to the dark pool of blood underneath him. They were there and they were dead, all three of them.

He couldn’t hold his stomach this time around. He rolled to his side and vomited out the uneasiness and fear. His head grew light-headed and tears welled in his eyes.

This was not what he had expected to wake up to after falling unconscious on the floor of his house. Yet there he was, forced to save someone else when he couldn’t even save himself from death.

Death hits harder in real life. Chris might not know the guards, but they had died trying to defend the woman and her child. There was nothing more commendable than that. Yes, they couldn’t protect her. Did they regret it? Chris was sure they did. They wouldn’t have died the way they did, otherwise. Their deaths wouldn’t have been so gruesome, so intense. One of them wouldn’t have tried to put his intestines back into his body. The other one wouldn’t have fallen with his eyes open and glaring in the direction of the bandits.

They regretted their deaths and so did he. But he had a choice. Chris could do what they couldn’t, finish what they started. Protect the woman and her child.

He had died once; so what? Big deal! He had time… and lives. He looked at the corner of his visions. He hadn’t imagined everything. The two numerical indicators of his sanity were still there, hovering inconspicuously, a reminder of his task.

Only two minutes had elapsed since he woke up. The clock was still red and ticking away. He couldn’t care less about it. He had time. He could repeat this thing another forty-six times, which all added up to 24 hours in total.

Wouldn’t he be able to figure out everything about the bandits? Wouldn’t he be able to know their ticks, their names, their weaknesses, and make a perfect plan against them? He already knew talking was not going to cut it.

I still need to be vigilant. He told himself.

Whether he could revive or not, it was still life and death. He would be foolish to throw away his chances and lives for nothing in return. He could see things rolling out of proportion if he took the situation lightly. It wouldn’t be so easy. It couldn’t be. The power behind the scenes wouldn’t have brought him out to the boonies to do its bidding if it was all so simple. It needed someone with a brain, who knew adversity and how to conquer it.

Yeah. I got into the agency without a flame, and I had only one chance at that.

Chris hyped himself up as much as possible. It had worked before. And seemed to be working again for him. His pain dulled by just enough that he could breathe again. His mind relaxed. The fog lifted. He had a purpose, now he needed a plan.

There was no way he would survive after walking straight to the bandits. That would be akin to committing suicide.

Meanwhile, the horse pulled up to its friend and the ax bearer jumped down. The car exploded next and threw burning debris all over the place. Some fell on the road and others flew all the way into the forest and lit a small fire. Everything repeated as it had the first time around. The bandits passed a cursory glance in his direction and then ignored him.

Chris could still feel the phantom pain from the arrows that had pierced his chest. It wasn’t prominent but the closer he got to the time of his death the more apparent it appeared, like a predator waiting in the shrubs to pounce at passing prey.

What else could he do? He thought, but couldn’t decide.

He would have had more than a fighting chance if he had a gun. Bullets travel faster than arrows after all. He couldn’t even go out and get help since the loop only played for thirty minutes at best. He had a feeling the loop would simply reset once the time elapsed.

The fire singed the right side of his face, making him hiss in pain. He hadn’t noticed it the last time because of numbness, but the fire was unbearably hot. Even his clothes had warmed up like he had sat right next to a fire pit for too long. Clothes, that didn’t belong to him, covering hands that were too slender, too fair and old to be his. They were old and wrinkled and covered in liver spots.

He had practiced hands covered in calluses from training every day. These were not his hands, and he was stunned by the realization that he might as well have possessed someone else’s body. Someone the woman might know. Because why else would she have called him honey and told him to save himself?

He was glad there wasn’t a mirror around to show his face. He didn’t want to see what he looked like, know if his thoughts were true or a figment of his active imagination.

Shaking his head, he looked around. A plan, he needed a plan.

He remembered through hazy memories that the dead men had weapons lying around them. His head whipped in their direction and he saw a sword beside the corpse. That was what he needed. A weapon.

***

He kept low, hid in the smoke, and crawled to the burning vehicle. The fire hampered him in his attempt; he had to cover his hands with his cuffs and hide his face behind his arms to get closer. The fire burned hotter at the source. He was taking a big risk. The fire illuminated him on his way behind the fire. He was lucky that the bandits paid no attention to his side. Eventually, he made it to the car. He stopped far behind the fire so it wouldn’t straight up cook him alive, and close enough to get the weapon before the bandits could realize that he was alive -- a zombie, but alive.

Hiding behind the fire also made him invisible to anyone looking in his direction.

The weapon was in his reach. What was next?

Chris peered at the men with the idea of taking notes when he saw them tossing the women around between them, toying with her, tearing her robe one strip at a time.

Fuck! A bomb went off in Chris’s mind. The veins of his forehead popped up and became visible. He knew he should calm himself down, but control had never been his strong suit. He was impulsive; it was his biggest weakness, but also the reason behind his biggest successes. He needed to protect the woman and to do that he needed to get the bandits away from her. A simple plan formed in his mind. The forest was at his toes. Would they follow him if he rushed inside? He decided to find out.

“HEY!” He yelled. A deep vibrating voice roared out of his throat.

“ANIMALS!” He called again.

His voice thundered down the road, befitting his anger. If the first shout only got the bandit's attention, then this second one made them vigilant. The bandits grew silent, despondent.

“Who in the fuck is it?” A sharp voice came from the other side.

“Your death,” Chris replied solemnly.

He stood up and stepped away from the fire so they could see him, know who he was, and fear what he was capable of doing.

“Oh, it’s you.” The ax bearer raised his ax and scratched his chin with the tip. “I thought it was someone else.” He said nonchalantly, not worried one bit about Chris’s insinuation. “You aren’t dead yet?”

Well, this wasn’t the reaction Chris was hoping for. He did have their attention though. He looked at the sword and then toward the forest. He was dramatic about it, staring at both for long enough so they would know his thoughts. Would they follow him? The question was as loud as the fire crying in his ears.

If they followed him then he could plan how to kill them through the loops. If they didn’t then… he’ll find another way. There was bound to be a way or he wouldn’t be there. It was also possible that there was no way to save the girl, and that was why he was there, but he couldn’t let negativity ruin his momentum now, could he? The academy had taught him better than that.

The first rule of combat: know your enemy. Dying would be painful, but he was ready to die a hundred times if he could save the child from the life that followed if the bandits took her.

It was still a far better plan than running straight at the men. He would be nothing but a moving target for the archer at that point.

Chris glanced at the clock winding down on the left corner of his sight and noticed that it had turned green for some reason. There had to be a reason, he just didn’t know what it meant for now. Better find out, huh.

00hr: 22min: 34sec

“How about you let them go and we can do this the easy way!”

“Nah,” Came the same sarcastic voice back. “We like to do it hard.”

The men laughed.

Chris breathed deep breaths to ignite his core. He needed his body to listen. There was a pain in his stomach. He remembered it was bleeding in the last loop. Guess, he should have done something about it before jumping the gun. No remorse.

Chris approached the corpse and picked up the sword. It was heavy, heavier than he anticipated. He would have fared better if he were in his body. Not a day had passed which he hadn’t spent training for promotion… all to become an agent. Where did that get him? Nowhere. He lost everything: His love, his marriage, and his mind. He was still stuck in the same place, in the same cabin, with the same view. At least here, he could be different. Here he could do what he couldn’t do in his last life. He hoped that life hadn’t ended, but--

He grabbed the sword with both hands. “I’m going to run into the forest. You can follow me or not. But I’ll do everything in my hands to make sure none of you enjoy the rest of your life if I survive, and it will be a long one.” Chris said in a single breath, then turned around and ran for the trees.

“What the hell!” The ax bearers' shout was particularly motivating for Chris; it made him run faster.

“Get him!” The ax bearer, who should be the leader of the bandits, told his men.

Three people jealously chased after Chris who barely made it into the woods o the forest before his heart gave out and the pain returned in multifold.

Chris kept going using the trees for support, leaving bloody prints behind him. Nothing he could do about them; he was injured. At least the bandits wouldn’t suddenly lose interest in him and return. He gave a demeaning smile, carried the sword, and hid behind a wide tree. He didn’t know how far he had rushed into the forest, but this was the best he could do. If his shaking legs and trembling vision were any indications, he might have overdone it, actually. It was night. He only needed to stay still until one of the men got too close to him. He was determined to kill. He only wished he had found a knife instead of the sword, or a gun. He was quite good at handling knives and guns.

He closed his eyes and drove away from the thoughts, let the tree carry his weight, and listened carefully. The forest was alive with life, but the sound of feet walking over foliage was easily distinguishable, especially when he put his mind to listening. He heard two sets of feet. One was close to him and the other a bit further back. The closer footsteps were lighter; while the further ones were heavier, deeper, and spoke of strength. There was ample distance between them for him to act and disappear in the shadows before the other one could find him.

Finally, he opened his eyes. Couldn’t have fought the men blindly now, could he? They had too many advantages over him already. The night was thick and so was the forest cover. He could barely see between the trees. Everything had a shadow and every shadow appeared moving to his eyes. It was his mind playing tricks on him. He had lost too much blood. He held his stomach and sensed the warmth leaving him to drop by drop. The hole was a leaking faucet and he was running out of blood. No wonder the loop had a time limit.

A thousand thoughts and a thousand questions, but the one that poked him most was the desire he had buried somewhere after his wife divorced him. The desire to be a field agent. Now he was on the field, and things smelled very sweet indeed.

A twig broke. Someone was there. Chris held his breath. The leaves cracked behind him. Something large passed through a group of ferns. Chris clenched the handle of his sword. He didn’t think he would be able to raise it. His best option was to hold it at an angle with the tip pointing up and stab anyone that came at him from behind.

A drop of sweat slid down his forehead and came to hang above his eyebrow. An owl hooted in the distance, followed by a jackal’s laughter.

Was he breathing loudly? The men couldn’t see him, could they? He hoped they wouldn’t do anything to the woman or her child.

Someone had found him. The feet came to stop suddenly -- On his left! The man took another step and Chris stabbed with the sword, pushed his elbow up as if he was drawing a bow.

He didn’t hit anything. The blow was too shallow. The man was too far!

There was a grunt. A cacophony of leaves rang as the man came into action. The shadow moved. A knife cut through the air and screamed a whistling warning to Chris, to defend, to move, to dodge.

Do something!

Chris peeked left over his shoulder just in time to see death in the form of a sharp glistening sword edge coming vertically for his head his neck.

Chris couldn’t do squat to save his neck. The instincts he had honed over a lifetime of boxing saved him. He hadn’t been in the ring for years, but his mind remembered hook and his body reacted by ducking. His tired legs could take the weight of his injured body and he fell all the way to the ground without any resistance whatsoever. He survived by a hair’s breadth as the sword passed above his head, grinding against his bald head before it clanged against the tree bark, cutting into it and getting lodged there.

It was impossible to get up again. He fought the urge to stay down like a defeated dog, grabbed the man’s feet, and pulled him down. The man punched and hit him square in the jaw. It didn’t hurt. Chris was too numb, his hands and feet too cold. Chris punched back and connected with the man’s nose. He broke it and got on top of him as the man screamed, face bloody.

“Help!” The man cried.

Chris laboriously picked his sword and brought it upon the man’s chest. He had a good look at him.

“No!” The man cried when their eyes met. Only then did Chris notice his opponent’s appearance. What man? The one he called a man was a young boy who barely had stubble on his face. He had rosy cheeks and clear eyes, but they held deep vehemence inside.

Chris couldn’t finish him. He hesitated and the boy saw it.

The boy pulled a dagger from his waist and stabbed it into Chris’s ribs, shallowly missing his heart. The boy showed no hesitation or empathy; he was cold, guttural. The whole thing was surreal. He pulled the dagger out to stab again.

Chris grabbed his wrist with one hand and punched his neck with the other. The sharp pain pulled his face into a frown. He inhaled cool air onto his burning wound; it worked as well as he imagined it would. Stabbed a little higher and Chris would have been done for another loop.

The boy coughed; his eyes watered. Chris didn’t hesitate this time. The boy extended a hand to stop him, but Chris was on top, heavier, in control. The boy went for the dagger sticking out of Chris’s chest while he grabbed the sword with both hands and raised it above his head. The boy grabbed the dagger and shoved it deeper. Chris gritted his teeth and stabbed; the tip pointed downward, right through the boy’s heart, and nailed him to the ground. Then followed the scream, guttural and vicious, blaming Chris for killing him.

Chris pulled the sword out and stabbed it into the boy’s throat as he inhaled a deep breath. He had heard enough screams for one day. Warmblood sprayed onto his face; a river of it bubbled out of the boy’s throat. He couldn’t distinguish if the boy died from blood loss or by drowning in his blood, but Chris knew he suffered.

The boy glared at Chris with red eyes that had swollen like two quail eggs and breathed his final breath. He kept staring at Chris until the end and truth be told, Chris felt not an ounce of sympathy for him. Not anymore.

A chime pulled Chris away from the boy and his deathly stare. He looked up just as a familiar hologram appeared floating in front of his eyes, scaring him to death.

[You have leveled up. Elemental system unlocked.]

[Magic has leveled up]

[You have digested previously absorbed water essence.]

*****

[You have unlocked Water element skills.]

[Say ‘status’ to open your status page to view your current attributes, skills, and to spend your skill points.]

His heart thrummed like crazy. His legs gave out. He wanted to run away. This was insanity! Chris wanted to escape when a noose tightened around his neck. He had no time to consider a counter when the rope tightened a giant of a man dragged him out of the forest.

Chris saw the moon hanging in the sky as the man brought him back to the road. His panicked eyes searched for the woman and saw her being held on the road and a man on top of her. He extended a hand to grab her, but she was too far away, out of his reach. He couldn’t hear her screams, but he saw a small hand stretch out of the blanket that lay a distance from the woman.

A name came to Chris’s lips. “Elissa,” he murmured unknowingly, his stretched hand clawing into the dirt road to get closer to them, to help them.

The ax bearer, who was also the bandit leader, asked the tall man something and didn’t like the answer. Seething, he ordered the tall man something and the man tied the rope to a horse's saddle and kicked its behind.

Scared by the noise and the pain, the horse started running, dragging Chris behind it through the car-burning wreckage and the road studded with rocks.

Chris screamed in pain, but no one heard him. If only he had his sword or the dagger. He could have escaped the misery, but he had no choice other than to let the horse drag him.

Chris saw the archer trying to stop the madness, but it was too late by then. It wasn’t the small and large injuries he gained being dragged that killed him, but the rope around his neck suffocated him and he died for the second time after suffering through hell.

He wondered if he would get another chance to save them as he was pulled back into the darkness, or wake up in his house and learn that it was all just a very vivid dream.