Ghostly things, dressed in all black, standing on top of the tree branches around him.

Martin froze. 

He did not move as the ghost thing in the front made a hand gesture to those behind.

He did not move as the ghost things around him silently leaped from their tree branches to the ones in front of them, ninja-style.

Martin was an expert at not moving and completely hiding his presence. If he didn’t have that skill, he would have never been able to doodle in elementary school. Or make paper airplanes in middle school. In fact, he was fairly sure he had set the record in that the teacher had somehow continuously forgotten Martin was in his class for six months. An extremely difficult task, considering that, in this town, everyone knew each other, whether they be teacher or student.

So, using that skill he had refined for years, he sat perfectly still, not moving, barely even breathing.

Just watching.

He was lucky he did. If his attention had wavered for even a split second, he would not have caught the lead ghoster’s movement.

Or, precisely, teleportation.

Or perhaps some other, more logical, more rational action. All Martin saw was the ghoster standing there one second, and gone the next. While he kept up his perfect façade, he was near petrified with shock internally.

There were more people like him?!

All the other ghosters looked at each other. Then, they followed after him.

Martin sat still for a couple more moments, after which he quietly got up and attempted to turn around so that he could move towards the entrance to the forest.

Then he saw steel, flashing in the moonlight, heading straight for his windpipe.

The knife entered his throat.

The knife exited his throat.

Blood came out of his throat; at first a trickle, then a mild stream, as he gargled and drowned in a desperate attempt to speak, to talk, to live.

He felt a warm hand supporting his neck. He opened his red- tinted eyes to see what was happening.

He saw the same knife flashing towards his brain.

Time seemed to slow down, as he stared at that knife, knowing he was powerless to resist. His first real clue into his ‘time-loop’, gone. While he had died before-

Wait.

He had died before.

But he heard something before he died.

What was it?

Lentes Mortannius?

That knife is getting awfully close.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Vendre-

No.

Shoot.

What was that last one?

Ah.

His eyes refocused on the grey dagger, about 2 milliseconds away from entering his brain, severing vital parts of it, and ending his life. He remembered.

Right before he died, a strange voice had shouted – no, chanted a word.

Internally, he screamed, ‘Astrogarth!’

He felt that same odd burning-from-the-inside feeling he’d had before, as white half-shackles erupted from his body, slamming into the ghoster’s neck and hands, effectively chaining him to the tree right behind him. Dimly, he heard the ghoster swearing as it ineffectively attempted to get out of the shackles that chained him. The wooziness from loss of blood was getting worse and worse.

Not surprising, considering he had a fucking hole in his throat.

And all went black, as the world stopped.

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“BEEP! BEEP!”

Martin’s hand instinctively shot out of his covers, slamming down on the snooze button as he rolled over. He really didn’t want to get out of bed today, especially since he just died-

Wait.

What?!

He had died?!

Martin sat up in his bed, mentally reeling from the sensation of death. It had felt … peaceful. It was almost like a dream in that regard.

Of course, it would be a dream he would never wake up from.

But he had done … something. He remembered the chains crashing into the ghost thing’s neck and wrists. Shrugging his shoulders, he resolved himself to try it again. ‘Astrogarth!’, he screamed internally.

Nothing happened.

What?

He clearly remembered glowing white half-shackles attached to long chains flying out of his body and locking the ghost thing into the tree. Maybe he needed to visualize it better? Securing the image in his mind, he chanted it again.

Nothing happened.

Martin was understandably confused. After all, he had done it before. Perhaps it was something that could only be used under duress? That seemed logical enough. Or, maybe this … spell (for it really could be nothing else) activated because of the feelings he experienced. What had he felt? A strong desire to live. A realization of powerlessness. And an strong desire to do something, anything, to the ghoster-

Oh.

Ohh.

It was really that simple, wasn’t it?

Of course the spell wouldn’t do anything. It had no target to chain. What was he expecting it to do, shoot it every general direction? Focusing on the alarm clock to his side, and remembering the glowing half-shackles, he chanted once more.

‘Astrogarth.’

And the glowing chains crashed into the alarm clock, shoving it back a foot and very audibly pinning it to the wall on the other side.

Martin smiled, and then froze. Acting quickly, he put his hands over his ears, as he prepared for the roar that was to come.

“MARTIN!”

He heard angry stomping coming up the stairs. His mother had an uncanny ability to hear everything. Of course, it wasn’t like she needed it to hear the sound of something going thunk into the wall. He then realized he had no idea how to dematerialize the shackles.

‘Smart, Martin. Real smart,’ he thought to himself. Perhaps he just had to will them away? He was relieved to see it work.

He was less relieved to see his alarm clock smash upon the floor.

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Martin sulked on the bus, really unbothered by the angry glances some of the kids were shooting him. He had discovered an amazing power, the likes of which had never been seen before. And what had happened? He had been grounded for breaking his alarm clock. His mother had immediately assumed he had been screwing around with it. Unfair.

Oh well, there’s only so much one can do against the parental units.

But the most important part of this entire ordeal was the fact that he got to use magic.

Magic!

Inside his brain, Ration had shut down from attempting to process real-world magic (it’s one thing to theorize something exists, and quite another to see it in action) and Magic was exuberantly happy. After all those years of being stifled, of focusing on the real world, he was right. Right!

So, he was going to sneak back into the woods and see what else he could learn-

A knife, stabbing through his throat. Blood rushing through his windpipe, clogging up his lungs. The feeling of drowning, as he desperately tried to breathe. Staring his attacker dead in the eye, as the knife fell toward his face-

Martin choked on the air he was breathing, sputtering and coughing as he attempted to right himself again.

What the hell was that?!