Legends
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Within the harness of his own mind, Xander marveled at how effortlessly Merlin could wield magic. The world-renowned magician was capable of controlling the elements, shape-shifting, altering one’s perception of reality, and reading people’s hearts and minds. He could control the climate, summon darkness, mists, storms, fire, smoke, and put people to sleep. But one of Xander’s favorite spells of his was that of invisibility with ease. Merlin could see everyone around him, but no one could see him. All of these abilities were in Merlin’s vast memories, and now, in Xander’s.
But what the teenager wanted to sift through was his knowledge of spells, runes, curses, summoning, and alchemy. From all the tidbits of magic Xander had come across researching alongside Giles, Willow, and Amy, he picked up enough to know there were at least nine disciplines of magic: abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, psionic, and transmutation. They covered nearly everything typical witches and wizards could tap into. Xander wanted a solution to his physical limitations, since every time he looped back, he lost any muscle or endurance his body might’ve gained.
As he searched in enchantment and transmutation, Xander was eager to see Merlin save the lives of many terrified innocents first. Ethan’s spell had already started, and the chaos was rising by the second. Slowly walking around the neighborhood in a long, yet fake, white beard, wearing a blue cone-hat and matching wizard robes, Xander was eager to see how impressive the great and powerful Merlin was. After all, knowing something on paper, and seeing it in reality, are completely different.
As ever, youths transformed into monsters and were everywhere, chasing men, women, and children to feed. Xander was expecting impressive fireballs, elemental attacks, laser energy beams, levitating houses, or some other tsunami of magic display that would subdue all the monsters without killing them. Sadly, Merlin did very little. When the clock struck 6:00 PM and the curse began, Merlin analyzed the scene, his environment, and himself before putting monsters to sleep.
With a gentle wave of his hand, any monster within a fifty-foot radius simply dropped to the floor, deep in slumber. The elderly man simply walked around the neighborhood and made every monster or villain he saw fall fast asleep where they stood. It was so efficient, it was boring. Looking through the warlock’s encyclopedia of spells, Xander was sure a sleep spell was one of the easiest to cast, and yet, that’s all the old man was using. The teenager was mildly disappointed. He expected Merlin to have more flare than that.
When Merlin inspected Xander’s hands again, rubbing his fingertips together, the harnessed Xander within heard the elder mentally voice with slow skepticism, ‘This body…’
Xander instantly became curious and called out, ‘What? What about this body? Is it awesome? What?’
Merlin turned around as if he heard someone call him, and yet, he saw no one but a red-haired girl dressed in an alluringly revealing outfit; a black leather skirt, knee-high boots, and a tight, long-sleeved pale-red top. When the Xander within saw it was Willow, he knew it wouldn’t be long before she solved the Janus curse. Though he wondered if the elder magician heard him, he ignored it and returned to looking through the legend’s memories.
As a gleeful Willow explained who he actually was, Merlin accepted it rather easily. And with his magic sight, he could see the picturesque flow of magic in the air. Merlin knew it was a curse and the general direction of the source. Instead of getting Giles to stop Ethan, Lady Buffy, Angel, ghost Willow, and Cordelia followed Xander-Merlin toward the costume shop, putting anyone causing chaos and destruction to sleep along the way.
While they walked through Sunnydale dropping monsters left and right, Xander was looking through incantations to enhance his overall physical ability; a subsection of physical manipulation. He saw several spells that were exactly what he needed; enhancements to achieve feats typically requiring an absurd amount of physical strength effortlessly and reaching an overall level of physical power that is far beyond natural limits. If Xander had the same strength as Achilles, he’d finally be able to mimic his style to the same effect.
Sadly, all the modifications seem to have mild or serious limitations. The mild problems were regarding duration; they weren’t permanent. Some spells or potions simply fade over time; minutes, hours, or a few days. And the amplified speed, strength, or durability could potentially harm him as well. The serious problems can cause serious injuries. Xander could break his bones easily, shred his muscles, or lose all sense of touch. He could lose an arm to frostbite and not even feel it. It made Xander want to look up Merlin’s invisibility spell first.
‘They can’t hit what they can’t see,’ he mildly mumbled to himself.
‘Invisibility may not be the solution you are hoping for,’ Merlin voiced, also from within his mind.
Xander would’ve jumped out of his seat at attention if he were in control of his body. Looking left and right, he saw no one and nothing but tall walls of the spells he was looking for. Peering out of his body, Xander noted they were still walking toward Ethan’s while dropping monsters and conversing with a giddy Willow about magic.
Xander was stunned when an elderly voice continued to say, ‘To solve your peculiar conundrum, rectifying your soul’s alignment with your body would be my advice.’
Looking around again, and finding no one, a stunned Xander cautiously called, ‘Uh… M-Merlin? C-Can you see me?’
‘Not by conventional methods,’ the elder answered casually. ‘I can and I cannot,’ he double-answered.
‘…Okay,’ Xander slowly accepted. The teen had to wonder if Merlin knew something. He was the most famous wizard of all time; a legend. Xander had to believe he might help in some manner if he’s amazing enough to even notice him when no one else had. Curious to know more, Xander asked with a high-pitched curiosity, ‘HHHHHHow are you talking to me? None of the others could.’
‘Others, you say,’ Merlin voiced. ‘So, there were more. Might I inquire for more details before I answer your query?’
Xander did not hesitate to tell Merlin everything that’s happened to him. From the time loop to the Janus curse; to the costumes, including Casanova and those mature adventures; to escaping the day loop and Sherlock’s calculations about a week loop and possible month loop; to his slow descent into despair, despite appreciating the knowledge the time loop and costumes have given him.
‘I mean, I appreciate everything I know now, but what’s it all for if I never get out of here? …If nobody—if my friends—never remember? I’d be talking to myself at that point? Just… alone.’
Xander was hoping for an answer from the wise elder, but Merlin, Ghost-Willow, Lady Buffy, Angel, and Cordelia made it to Ethan’s costume shop. Willow rushed into the store through the walls and, less than twenty seconds later, came out to inform them that Ethan was in the back storage room with a bust as the center of a magical arrangement.
“Destroying the bust should negate the effects,” Merlin told Angel as the vampire rushed into the Halloween store. In their shared mental space, Merlin answered Xander. ‘I’m afraid we’ve run out of time, my dear boy. However, if what you say is true, and we can meet again, please do so. I believe I may be able to assist you.’
Xander did just that. As soon as Angel resolved everything and Xander looped back, he repeated everything as he had. Once the curse began, Xander quickly got Merlin’s attention and helped him get to Buffy’s house as he quickly went over everything that had happened. It gave them significantly more time to talk.
‘I’d first like to begin with your desire to learn magic,’ Merlin said with his sagely old voice. Again, Merlin’s mechanical control rubbed Xander’s fingers together and flexed his hand. Xander was buzzing with eagerness as the sage continued, ‘While I understand your predicament, I am, however, able to sense how improbably harnessing magic is for a vessel of this constitution.’ With squinted eyes, Xander barely understood what that meant, but felt the impending problem. ‘Even now, the most this body seems capable of casting without adverse side effects is the sleep spell.’
Easily recalling how Merlin was simply putting everyone to sleep, a flummoxed Xander gasped, ‘Wait, what? Really?’
‘I see far more than meets the physical senses, young man,’ Merlin said. ‘My soul listens fiercely to every kind of ethereal energy on this plane of existence. It is how I’m capable of hearing you now, despite not being able to see you.’
Taken aback, Xander repeated, ‘Your soul can hear my soul?’
Merlin replied, ‘Naturally. All souls are connected, if you didn’t know. We all come from one and the same place. It is as simple as listening to the sight of you.’
Shrugging, Xander pushed on. ‘Can’t exactly picture that, but whatever. You’re sure I can’t use magic?’
‘You most certainly can,’ he assured the teen. ‘Anyone is capable.’
‘I feel a but coming.’
‘Sound instincts,’ the wizard jested. ‘As I reside in your body—your vessel, if you will—I can see magic would be most difficult for one such as yourself. Should you attempt demanding spells or incantations, it would not surprise me in the slightest if the outcome of your casting was a disastrous one. A spell to warm your food would burn it instead, for example. Some, I’m saddened to say, are simply born with such shortcomings.’
‘Oh, yeah, no, great,’ Xander sarcastically called out. ‘Of course, that would be my luck. I can use magic, but it’ll always blow up in my face. Really nails down the story of my life.’
‘If I may, young Mr. Harris,’ Merlin interjected. ‘Whatever one lacks in magical ability is generally compensated for in other attributes. The soul that inherits this form, for example, must also be exceptional, for I have seen many extraneous vessels inhabited by souls and this one does not appear to carry the same markers.’
There was no one to look at in the dark mental space, so Xander couldn’t turn to anyone to ask what that meant. He simply shrugged as he shook his head, then asked, ‘Uh, can you elaborate?’
‘Certainly,’ Merlin agreed before thinking of diagrams of the human body and soul. Thinking about it allowed Xander to see the images as well. The three forms in front of him were six feet tall and looked like sketchy drawings on brownish parchment paper. The soul for the three forms were different sizes—one small, one medium, and one large—and looked like flames. One aura was sketched larger than the body, the second was similar in size to the body, and the third had a smaller soul compared to the body. The body with the largest soul had significant cross patterns over every part of the sketched anatomy. The medium soul had mild markings on most of the body, like gentle, wavy lines. The third body was nearly devoid of any patterned marking.
Looking at the third one with depressed expectation, Xander flatly asked, ‘I have the small one, don’t I?’
‘The size of the soul has little to do with the character of the individual,’ Merlin diplomatically answered. ‘You are just as capable of being an extraordinary individual with a modest anima as you can be with a larger one.’
The dejected teen asked, ‘So, then, why is one bigger than the other? That’s a total confidence killer!’
‘Your decisions affect your soul, young one,’ Merlin slowly answered. ‘A murderer may accomplish great and terrible feats, however, the consequences of those decisions are felt within. And unbeknownst to all, the soul dwindles.’
Looking at the three bodies with a different perspective, Xander asked, ‘So, which am I?’
‘I cannot say for certain,’ the elder answered. ‘While we share one body, I am unable to see your soul, however, I am able to see the pattern on your body and I can say you are somewhere between the moderate and large example.’
Looking at the markings patterned on the sketch-like bodies, Xander asked, ‘What do the markings mean? And why are they different?’
‘Sadly, we do not have much time,’ Merlin replied and when Xander paid attention to their real-world surroundings, they were indeed a hundred yards from Ethan’s costume shop. Still, there was enough time for Merlin to explain, ‘Suffice it to say that at the point of contact between body and soul, patterns can form based on the activity of that vessel’s soul. For example, with every frequency of sound touching water, a new pattern is created. The three sketches you see before you are among many types of patterns. The strong-willed always have distinct patterns while the weak or underdeveloped tend to be smoother.’
‘And mine?’
‘Mnnnn, based on the patterns of your physical form,’ he began. ‘I’d say something more… mysterious is occurring as we speak. These abrasions are… fluid, somehow—ever-changing—which, in all honesty, is quite baffling. I’ve never encountered anything like this.’
Bursting with a need to know more, Xander tried to jump out of his harness as he asked, ‘Never? Not even once? Like, why? Is that good or bad?’
‘I cannot say for certain what is transpiring,’ Merlin slowly admitted. ‘Many know the soul to be an ethereal entity, but most do not know that it’s not made of any material within the known universe. That is because the soul is celestial. Within every man, woman, and child is a shard of the divine. But to live on this plane of existence, you must inhabit a vessel, and whatever form that may take is subject to the laws of magic and the universe. Thus, there will always be strife between order—the soul—and chaos; the body. By observing the point between soul and vessel, you become aware of the caliber of spirit housed within, as well as the direction that life may take.’
‘Ooookaaay,’ Xander slowly affirmed, trying to absorb the information. Why did the old man have to speak so long-winded when all he had to say was, ‘your soul and body are out of whack.’ Eventually, the elder gets to the good part.
‘Your vessel is quite difficult to read, however, I suspect the shifting of your pattern has to do with a misalignment between the vessel and soul,’ he began. They were closing in on the shop as he explained, ‘I’ve witnessed unique vessels with dominant spirits; those worthy of altering the course of history. I’ve also seen unreasonably more vessels with negligible spirits. They are less inclined to change the world; the workers, if you will. In you, I see neither. You could be of this earth or you could very well be a chimera.’
The old man jested before wheezing in slow laughter. If that was supposed to be a joke, Xander didn’t get it. ‘You are more than welcome to continue studying magic,’ he continued. ‘However, I can see the potential behind your pattern is not facing the magical. I’m sorry, I couldn’t be of more help.’
Once again, Merlin told Angel what to do, and they resolved the situation with Ethan’s Janus curse. Xander repeated the day and costume, as he would not leave Merlin alone until all of his questions were thoroughly answered. To extend his time with Merlin, Xander locked him in his usual room at the Motor Inn and set up Giles, Willow, and Angel to maximize the time he could spend with the legendary wizard.
Merlin, on the other hand, felt compelled to help. He couldn’t sit on a bed while lives were in danger outside. The elder wizard magically escaped the room and walked through the town toward the source of the magical chaos, setting all those wreaking havoc to sleep. In Xander’s head, the teen explained everything they’ve discussed as efficiently as possible. Merlin only corrected him when he was confused by what the previous Merlin had explained.
Since he didn’t want to annoy the person helping him, Xander wavered as he explained, ‘Well… I mean, it’s not like we’re both speaking English here. I feel like I need a master’s in literature to understand what you’re saying sometimes.’
The teen trapped in time understood Merlin when he simply said, ‘Unless you discover how to properly realign your soul to your body, you will not escape this time prison with your sanity intact.’
Xander understood something about himself was cracked or broken, but to be stuck in a time loop forever made him nauseated as he audibly gulped.
Merlin continued, ‘I suggest you put your all into solving this conundrum, for there is no such thing as eternity, only very near to it. And should these cycles continue, I’m sad to say, the person who comes out the other end will differ vastly from the sane one that first entered it.’
Recalling his panic attack with Pamela Anderson, it wasn’t hard for Xander to imagine his mind slowly losing morality, virtue, decency, humor, and even love; to the point the only source of entertainment he might feel one day would be murdering everyone and burning society to the ground. Worse yet, he could imagine that kind of evil would slowly creep on him over the billions of loops he’d be forced to live. Those dark and evil acts don’t happen overnight. They happen one evil thought at a time, until enough time has passed, and he’s full of them. Xander wanted to throw up.
Desperately, Xander nearly begged to know, ‘Is there anything else you can tell me that could help?’
He hummed a moment before answering, ‘I can only offer you my most professional counsel based entirely on my close connection to the ethereal.’
‘Yeah, sure, anything’s fine,’ Xander quickly told him.
‘I’m reasonably certain a way to find conclusive answers does not exist,’ he woefully expressed, hitting Xander like a punch to the gut. ‘Should you be able to speak with another more in tune with powers beyond mortal man, they may shed more light on this time braid problem of yours.’
The only thing Xander could think of was the Powers That Be, but he was fairly certain they didn’t have a phone number he could call to answer his questions. Xander wondered if Ethan, Giles, or Angel could help him get in contact with Gods when Merlin finished, ‘I’ve also come to notice this vessel is most suitable for craftwork and carpentry.’
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
‘Yeah, I actually become a carpenter at some sad point in my future,’ Xander unenthusiastically explained. ‘If you got a window or house in serious need of repair, I’m your guy.’
‘The expertise of constructing a home is no small feat to look down upon. After all, many of us are happiest in our home; a port of refuge in the storm. All those who build the world up must take pride in their work, for society can’t function without them,’ the wise man said, making Xander have a better outlook about Old-Man Xander’s carpentry. With an introspective voice, Merlin assured Xander, ‘Though underdeveloped, I’d certainly present you to the Avalonian elves for apprenticeship. They produced Excalibur, if you were unaware.’
Xander raised his dark eyebrows at the mention of himself having anything to do with making something as incredible as a sword like Excalibur. The disoriented teen needed to ask for clarity, ‘Uh, are you saying I can make Excalibur?’
‘Recreate it? No, I should think not,’ the elder quickly assessed with some hubbub, disappointing Xander once again. Until Merlin slowly voiced, ‘Mmmnn, reproduce a facsimile, on the other hand, could be possible. However, this vessel of yours would need substantial training in smithing and runic alchemy to produce such an exemplary construct.’
Wanting to be extra clear, an impatient Xander stumbled to ask, ‘Yeah, yeah, but, but you’re saying I can? Isn’t that sword, like, magical?’
Merlin nodded proudly, stroking his long white beard as he affirmed, ‘That it is, my dear boy; Nigh indestructible, capable of cutting through anything with ease, always retains its razor-sharp edge, and even protects its master from serious injury.’
‘Sweeeeeet,’ Xander sang at the thought of wielding a sword like Excalibur. Quickly recalling his faults, Xander had to ask, ‘But, I mean, can I actually make something like that? Me? With my monkey-paw magic?’
‘One does not need magic to create magical weapons,’ Merlin slowly asserted. ‘One must only learn to create a vessel which can then harness the ethereal. These powerful forces that live everywhere among us are quite fickle where their living conditions are concerned, you see. Only when you have forged a vessel worthy of their power, will the ethereal take shelter in your constructs and become fiercely loyal to it and its wielder.’
At the blessed fantasy of holding Lion-O’s mighty Sword of Omens or He-Man’s cosmic Sword of Power in his hand, the geek’s body broke out in goosebumps so strong, it sent shivers from head to toe despite Xander not having physical control of his body. The wide-eyed teen couldn’t help a hum of pleasure escape his lips before voicing, ‘Mmmmnnnn, yeeeees. Daddy like.’
Merlin chuckled good-naturedly before suggesting that Xander loop again and have the next Merlin create a training manual to guide him through forging a sword like Excalibur. The teen geek was happy to. He was so eager, he couldn’t wait to loop back, and every second Ethan hadn’t activated the curse felt like torture. Upon meeting the next loop’s Merlin, he couldn’t create a book with all the instructions using the magic that flowed through Xander’s body, as it would likely backfire somehow. Xander needed a notebook, and Merlin charmed the ink from the pen to write everything Xander needed to know.
After Merlin finished, he still had enough time to stop Ethan and the Janus curse, and Xander ran home afterward. Closing his bedroom door behind him, Xander eyed his He-Man action figure, and felt it in his bones; that would be him. The thought of creating something that could kill demons and vampires with a swipe of his powerful sword thrilled him with impatience… until he saw the dozens of pages of instruction.
Flipping through the pages of the long and complicated tutorial, Xander couldn’t help but complain, “Really? …Really? Even this couldn’t be easy?”
If the information in his hands was accurate, it appeared as if it would take him ten agonizing years to become a master weaponsmith; let alone the twenty to thirty years it could take to become a grandmaster. In the first few pages, Merlin noted only a veteran grandmaster would be capable of forging a weapon similar to Excalibur, and the one Xander forged may not even be as powerful. As the depression set in, Xander lifelessly fell back onto his smelly bed with a plop. Underneath his explanation of the skill level required, Merlin wrote a note that made Xander sit right back up and read with interest:
“Though any muscle gained in the typically linear progression of time will be lost when you, unfortunately, reset to the beginning of the cycle, the soul carries its own memories. As you already know, you are able to recollect the knowledge and experiences of other personas. This very recollection includes the retention of movement within manual skills. It would be advantageous for you to practice manual repetition, for the technique of your hammer strike will continue to improve even if the muscles in your arm repeatedly falter. In essence, this time braid may not enhance your body’s muscular strength, however, it most certainly will enhance its physical technique.”
“Huh,” Xander hummed.
Now that Merlin mentioned it, Xander did feel like his motor skills moved much more smoothly than before the time loop. Even if the strength didn’t feel stronger, it was as if he had access to more muscle control. The teenager always assumed it was because he knew what anyone, at a given time, was going to do because of the constant looping. Only now, he couldn’t deny it might be more than that.
Now that Xander had some direction, he felt great again. He wasn’t sure where smithing would lead him, but it was better than wandering around like he’d been doing for so long. More than anything, he simply wanted to stay away from the pitfalls of the depression the time braid made him feel. Trying to escape the week-loop, Xander came across many dead ends, and in doing so, felt closer and closer to larger psychological sinkholes.
In the following loop, Xander tried to get Ethan to make him a God costume in hopes of learning more about the time braid he was stuck in. The Englishman promptly labeled Xander an idiot and kicked him out of his store. Rather than waste a loop, he searched around town for smithing shops to forge in, and of the two shops in town, Blacky’s didn’t allow minors to smith, and Wild Dinks would only let experienced minors smith with supervision.
As of yet, Xander had no experience. He’d also need decades of experience if he ever wanted to make a magical weapon. Knowing the body would carry the muscle memory of repeated motion, he knew exactly how to get that. Rather than trying for a different God in the following loop, Xander didn’t need Sherlock to tell him what costume he should try next.
Walking into Ethan’s, the teenager gave the attentive shopkeeper a sob story about his friends bullying him because he wanted to be a blacksmith. The duplicitous teen challenged the Englishman to think of the best blacksmith he could dress as for Halloween. After Xander assured him money was no object, Ethan first suggested the Roman God Vulcan, but Xander had long learned that his first suggestion was always wrong and asked for a second.
After a moment of thought, Ethan pondered a moment before slyly asking, “Have you ever heard of the weapon called Mjölnir?”
Eyes widened, Xander’s jaw nearly dropped.
The gawking geek didn’t want to bring up Thor or Marvel comics, as he was terrified Ethan would take it back. Xander simply shook his head with his fish-eyes and said nothing. The mythology expert then explained how the dwarfs of Norse mythology—Eitri in particular—crafted the legendary hammer of Mjölnir for Odin’s son, Thor. Xander didn’t even know there was a mythology behind Marvel’s Thor and his hammer. He still recalled when he was a child trying to read the difficult word in the comic book. After his parents told him to go away, Xander had to ask Willow how to pronounce the word.
Xander happily accepted the dwarf costume; a fake white beard, a brown apron, and a plastic hammer with a short handle. Ethan reminded the teen, “Remember, young man, the dwarfs didn’t wear shirts, but I leave that choice up to you.”
Rather than break into Wild Dinks’ smithing shop, Xander waited for the curse to begin in his room. When the clock struck six, Eitri’s immense knowledge did not disappoint. Though Xander didn’t like the massive, unkempt beard, he let the dwarf run around his house and neighborhood while he picked at his knowledge like a hungry vulture on a carcass.
Like Sherlock, Eitri’s memory banks held tons of knowledge to sift through; metallurgy, alchemy, runes, temperature variation, and hammering technique, to name a few. What truly made this costume worthwhile, was the fact that Eitri and his brother Brokkr were not magic users, and yet, they could make famous magical artifacts like Thor’s Mjölnir, Odin’s Ring of Power & spear, and the golden ring of Draupnir. The brothers were also responsible for many other lesser-known magical weapons and accessories used by many lesser Norse Gods.
‘It really is like Merlin said,’ Xander thought from within his harnessed mind. ‘You don’t have to be magical to make magical weapons! Hell, even to make weapons for Gods!’
In Eitri’s mind, Xander saw the method of creating these godly constructs. He witnessed Eitri hard at the anvil, hammering runes into the white-hot metal. Though he could recall long days at the forge, hammering away, Xander knew from Merlin that even if his technique improved, his muscles would not. It meant he’ll need to practice hard to overcome his unconditioned arms.
Scouring the sea of knowledge, Xander also observed that different runes reacted with or called upon different magical forces. And partnering different rune characters in the same vessel created a new magical ecosphere for different forms of ethereal energies to reside in; hopefully, harmoniously. The pairs or series of runes could compound and form a unique and more powerful magical force.
There were twenty-seven runes Eitri used, and the runic symbol ᚾ, pronounced thorfua, meant need. The runic symbol ᚨ, pronounced megin, stood for power. If Xander combined both runes, ᚾᚨ, in a weapon, the wielder could gain enhanced strength, and so long as the magical forces treasured their vessel, they could call the weapon to them.
‘That’s two of the five runes forged into Mjölnir,’ the giddy geek gasped. Sourcing the characters ᚱ, ᛉ, and ᛟ, Xander knew they stood for Godly, protection, and heritage or clan. ‘…M-Meaning,’ he excitedly thought. ‘Whomsoever be worthy, shall possess the POWER OF THOR! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’
Xander was over the moon over the prospect of holding a real-life Mjölnir, but the amount of time it would take to forge the weapon was staggering. And worse yet, Xander wouldn’t know if all his labor was successful until after he finished and tested its capabilities. If he added a different rune to enhance the weapon’s power, it could upset the delicate magical ecosystem and ruin the entire build. If he forged the runes incorrectly into the metal, it wouldn’t work—if he was lucky—or it could blow up in his hand.
Each stroke of the rune had to be on its own layer. It meant Xander had to hammer a single dash into the white-hot metal, fold the billet, hammer the next dash of the same rune, fold the metal again, then continue this process until the first rune was completed and symmetrical. In Xander’s mind, it was like writing a single stroke of each letter of his entire name on individual, transparent plastic squares, then piling all the clear squares on top of each other so that his name would be perfectly readable. It was incredibly difficult to do successfully. Only legends could do it, and Xander had yet to pick up a hammer.
Fortunately, Eitri was a master among masters.
Xander became Eitri for Halloween for as many day-loops as it took to retain as much of the talented dwarf’s knowledge on forging as possible. Xander gave himself time to rummage through his mind by tipping Angel, Giles, and Ethan so no one could end the curse quickly. He then committed a series of day loops for the express purpose of being able to compile the bulk of Eitri’s forging knowledge in a notebook after the curse lifted without error. The teen wasn’t sure if the ninety pages he’d written out would be enough, but the only way he’ll know for sure was to practice.
When he was ready, Xander thoroughly enjoyed using the Jenny route to get past the day-loop. As she held him tightly in her sleep, Xander casually wondered if his technique increased from all the sex he’s had with so many women. Because even if the beautiful teacher always orgasmed, either the strength or number of climaxes has steadily increased. Sherlock’s definition of muscle memory was a form of procedural memory that involved consolidating a specific motor task into memory through repetition. It seemed that type of memory tied into technique, though Xander had assumed his agile movements with Jenny were because he knew what she wanted and how she would react to everything he did. Xander’s technique likely increased every time he did the deed, which had to be in the high hundreds by that point.
Despite his carnal talents, Jenny backed away from her student for the week, allowing Xander to work on his weapon-smithing. He didn’t go to Review Day to see Buffy, Willow, and Giles. Instead, he was on a bus reviewing the tutorial he wrote as he made his way to the smithing shop. Along with Merlin’s tutorial on Excalibur, Xander had plenty to keep him busy.
Fortunately, the owner of Wild Dinks, Pete—a short, but muscular man with long, shaggy black hair tied in a ponytail, and a deep voice—was a laid-back blacksmith who accepted a bribe from a high schooler to work there, provided he was skilled enough. After a demonstration of his knowledge base, Peter grunted his approval and accepted the thousand-dollar lotto scratcher Xander gave him in payment.
While a week wasn’t nearly enough time to forge a weapon of Eitri’s caliber, Xander could still practice the basics until his hammer strikes, temperature recognition, and timing matched the legendary dwarf’s; similar to when he tried to out-sex Casanova. Xander lied to his friends, claiming his family was taking him out of state for a week, and took a sleeping bag to the forge to focus every waking minute on mastering the craft. With that level of dedication, a week was just enough time to practice forging each weapon on his list.
Powered by Eitri’s knowledge and the goal of Mjölnir, Xander repeated week-loops like a madman. After sex with Jenny and bribing Peter, he’d forge from sun up to sun up. With the first couple of loops, he stopped injuring himself with his carelessness or faulty equipment. In the following week-loop, the young novice stopped being clumsy and awkward with the hammer, and eventually, Xander could readily identify the right sound his hammering should make against the hot metal, the right color of the orange-white glow of the heat, and the proper technique to shape the weapon’s anatomy. By the fourth week-loop, Xander could forge a halfway decent knife.
With more and more seven-day loops, Eitri’s knowledge in his head, and nothing to distract him, Xander made progress by leaps and bounds, becoming more confident and efficient at making daggers, swords, axes, and hammers. The teen smith even practiced forging bangles and rings. It was delicate and precise work, but if he could ever replicate Excalibur or Mjölnir, Xander had to make himself Odin’s Ring of Power.
“That’s a loooong way away,” the exhausted and sweaty teen mumbled to himself. He was lying on the wooden bench catching his breath as he fantasized about getting out and impressing his friends with this awesome skill. If Sherlock was right and the way out of each barrier of the time loop was internal, then—other than sex—his smithing could be the next step in getting out. At that thought, he got up and got back to work.
Xander couldn’t be sure how long he’d been practicing for. His sole driving force was learning to craft a weapon that magic of any kind would rush to live in. It meant practicing until he couldn’t remember certain things, such as the monotony of sitting in a boring class; the smell of beer in his house; annoying Giles with his bad puns; the sweet sound of Buffy & Willow’s laughter; or any of the million things he’d normally experience any given day.
After a while, he couldn’t keep track of the loops and his twenty-point progress plan became his measurement of time. Every ten or eleven week-loops raised his skill level to the next point, and by the time he reached twenty, it felt as if he’d been smithing four times longer than when he discovered Casanova and sex. Though it gave him terrible anxiety to think about how much of himself he was forgetting, the tradeoff was worth it. Merlin and Eitri’s knowledge told him all he needed to do, and he did so thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of times.
Inevitably, Xander was really good.
His hammer strikes and positioning were masterful. Recognizing temperature variation, sanding angles, polishing, and assembly all reached the highest level of skill any modern-day blacksmith could achieve. He wasn’t quite a grandmaster yet, but Xander still felt a great sense of accomplishment. He truly did possess a skill; a skill that could be helpful to Buffy and the Scoobies. The young teen was so confident and efficient, he didn’t need more than a day or two to make a high-quality sword. It wasn’t Excalibur, nor did he forge the runes in the steel, as that would take at least a month to accomplish, but he was hopeful.
Aching to get back to his friends and escape the week-loop, Xander went to school on Halloween day. It must’ve been years since he walked the decorated halls of Sunnydale high school. Walking the crowded halls felt eerie and unnerving as well. The swarm of bustling teens was so much louder than he remembered, and responding to people he couldn’t easily recall was jarring. It was as if Xander forgot his own life. He couldn’t take it and left.
Rather than wait a whole day, blowing up Spike with a box of grenades sent the neurotic teen back to the start of Halloween. Using the day loops, he simply tried to slip back into his life. He talked to Buffy, Willow, Giles, Cordelia, and even Harmony. It took him several loops, but soon, being around others wasn’t gnawing exhaustion anymore and he was remembering everything again. When Xander fell back into the rhythm of his social life, the teen took the Jenny route out.
Without explaining to his friends why he speculated Ford was bad, he did his best to prove it to them without being accused of jealousy or insecurity. Casanova would council to lie when the truth failed, but Xander hated lying to his friends. Lying to strangers who’d forget by the next loop was tolerable, but he didn’t want to get used to lying to Buffy, Willow, and Giles.
Xander needed his friends to see the truth about Ford, and Casanova, Sherlock, and Achilles have all shown him one common trait in their specialties; conviction. The raven-haired teen couldn’t falter in his position just because Buffy disagreed, so Xander met with the one person he didn’t mind telling off.
Angel was visibly taken aback to see Xander at his apartment, but the teenager flat out admitted, “I don’t like you. Never have, probably never will. I don’t think you’re right for Buffy, and I’m not going to let you hurt her.”
Angel’s eyes seemed humored by Xander’s proclamation, and he squeezed his lips together as if holding back a smile. It made Xander feel inferior, as if nothing he said or did would ever be enough to change the vampire’s love for Buffy or hers for him. Xander hated that he was probably right.
Xander took a deep breath and shoved that belittling feeling to the side to state, “I may not like you, but I like Ford a hell of a lot less. And he’s human! So, I’m here because I need you to help me convince Buffy that he’s off.” In the silence that followed, Angel remained stoic and deep in thought, forcing an impatient Xander to add, “Just give me one night. I’ll stop calling you Dead Boy.”
“You call me Dead Boy?” Angel asked curiously, making Xander recall this loop’s Angel hadn’t heard that yet.
The teen shrugged, citing, “Yeah, but only in the privacy of my own thoughts. And friends. And anyone who’ll listen, really.”
After shaking his head, Angel reluctantly nodded. The pair tailed Ford and eventually witnessed him meeting Spike. With Angel backing his word, Buffy now believed Xander, which hurt the teenage boy; to know that she couldn’t trust him until Angel corroborated. The Scoobies confronted Ford right away, but the handsome teen effortlessly spun a tale about being blackmailed by Spike to lure her to a bunker to kill her. Buffy gave her childhood crush the benefit of the doubt, and Angel couldn’t be sure that wasn’t the case, since Spike was very capable of that. Xander was the only one maintaining that Ford was lying.
“Even if he is,” Buffy eventually maintained. “We still have to be sure.” Buffy and Angel left to learn that it was indeed a trap, and the slayer learned exactly why Ford made a deal with Spike. Since Buffy was so distraught about being betrayed by a friend like that, Xander said nothing.
Come Thursday night, Xander was sure this had to be the moment of truth. No other event that day stood out more than the death of Giles’ old friend. Just as before, Xander rushed outside just as the female corpse snapped the man’s neck, then turned into a puddle of blue goo. He rushed to get Buffy & Giles, and just as before, Giles ordered them to leave the scene of the paranormal homicide.
Xander stood his ground, as Achilles would, and retorted, “She turned into a puddle of blue Hawaiian Punch, Giles!”
Looking down at the corpse of his old friend, Giles insisted, “You’re very much mistaken.”
“I saw it-”
“Xander!” Giles yelled before taking a calming breath. “...Leave. Now.”
Buffy gripped his arm and effortlessly dragged the heated teen away. Watching Giles disappear from his view, Xander really did not know what to do to get past this. When they were back inside, walking the hallway toward the library, Buffy demanded to know, “What is going on with you? Giles said he’s got it. So let’s just trust him.”
Xander stopped walking at that. Buffy stopped several steps ahead, and when she turned to him, her concerned expression made him ask, “Is it trust, though? Or is he just freezing us out?”
Slouching her shoulders, as if worried over nothing, Buffy returned, “Oh, come on, Xander.” She walked up to him and gripped his shoulders—maintaining eye contact—before sweetly begging, “Don’t be like that. Be Mr. Funny with the funnies.” Xander’s blunt stone-face made Buffy quickly accept he wasn’t on board. She took a step back before kindly continuing, “Look, I’m sure if there’s anything we need to know, he’ll tell us. That’s how we do things; as a team.”
Short of screaming at her about his future knowledge, Xander didn’t see any way of convincing her. Instead, the annoyed boy told her with a touch of sadness, “You know, I’m not sure how true that is anymore. I told you Ford was off and you didn’t want to believe me. I had to go to Angel—me, of all people—going to Angel for his help, and it wasn’t until he agreed with me that you thought so, too. I’m telling you this feels off too, and yet again, you don’t want to believe me. I know I bring the best funnies in the group, and I don’t hate that, but never once did I think I was a joke to you.”
Taken aback by his sharp words, Buffy tried to placate him by reaching out and calling, “Xander-”
The slayer couldn’t finish her sentence as an irate Xander walked around her and left. Entering his smelly house, he was glad to have told Buffy how he truly felt. Not only was it from the heart, but he was tired of being so overlooked. It wouldn’t even matter if he looped back, because that moment was well worth it. After entering his clean room and laying on his fresh-smelling bed, Xander stared at the clock with unblinking eyes for the rest of the night. The blood-red numbers burned his retinas, but he didn’t look away. Eventually, the clock read 2:59 AM, and his stomach was in giant knots, wondering what tomorrow would bring; the tortuous past or a hopeful future?
Xander hated not knowing.