(Dylan)

> Death 4 - Time’s Tether

>

> Dylan’s soul returned to voidspace, floating among countless others, all moving inexorably toward What Comes Next. Unlike the others, Dylan’s soul bore a tether—a lifeline that kept him from drifting too far, anchored by his Time orb, a fragment of Celestial magic embedded deep within his essence. These orbs wove themselves into the very fabric of the soul, building their framework within. As the eleventh second arrived, the tether tightened, yanking him from Void’s grasp once more—resetting him back into the world of the living.

[Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.

Night had settled in, and Dylan sat on a short stool, his bare feet drying beside a small campfire. The rashes on his legs oscillated between 'I'm literally on fire' and 'oh my god, it itches.' At the moment, he was dealing with the former.

“Why did she kill you?” Charles paused briefly. “What did you do to her?”

[Time orb]: Thirty-one Resets remain.

Before Charles could grab him again, Dylan threw down the mug and shot to his feet. He aimed to sprint, but it turned into more of a fast jog down the road. To his credit, sharp rocks and sticks littered the ground, and he was still barefoot.

Charles stood up quickly, brushing his hands on his trousers as he dropped the boots. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Not falling for it again, Charles!” Dylan yelled over his shoulder. Charles raised a finger, unsure which question to ask, then started walking after him.

“This is how it starts,” Dylan panted between breaths. “You seduce me with form-fitting pants and a nice nap in your treehouse-Tardis thing.” He gasped for air. “Then you drug me with spoiled food and poisoned tea, force me to spill everything about the stupid Time orb I found, and then…” His pace had slowed to a slow jog. “And then you kill me!”

“What’s this about a Time orb?” Charles asked.

Hearing Charles’ voice rise an octave was the last thing Dylan wanted. The rugged elf continued stalking down the road after him. It felt like a horror movie—no matter how fast he tried to get away, the killer always caught up just by walking.

‘I really need to get back to the gym,’ he thought.

“No means no!” Dylan shouted. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

He grimaced as pain flared up again; his recent sprint had incited ‘I’m literally on fire’ and ‘oh my god it itches’ to join forces. Now, even the friction of his pants offered no relief. It just hurt like hell.

“Where’s the orb, Dylan?” Charles asked.

“I don’t have it anymore,” Dylan wheezed. He had to stop; he was completely out of breath. Turning to face Charles, he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for air.

“Did you use the orb, Dylan?” Charles asked.

Dylan heard Charles use his serious, ‘I might have to kill you’ voice. Nothing good ever followed that tone. Lifting his head, Dylan risked a glance at the advancing tailor and saw the look on his face. ‘Fuck.’

He turned and jogged off again, chanting under his breath, “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.”

Seconds ticked by as he huffed and puffed, but nothing happened. Uncertainty gnawed at him. His mind spiraled with absurd images: Charles pulling a giant golden gauntlet from his treehouse of holding, snapping his fingers, and erasing half the universe, including Dylan. Magic was powerful and terrifying, and the silence made it worse.

Unable to bring himself to look back, he thought, ‘Maybe he’s letting me go?’

Then he heard Charles say in a heavy voice, “I’m really sorry about this, Dylan.”

The suspense was too much for him. Dylan couldn’t help but turn and peek over his shoulder.

Charles held out his arm, and a small flaming figure the size of a crow materialized. It perched on his outstretched arm, the flames licking at his tunic’s sleeve without burning it.

Unfazed by the heat, Charles leaned in close to the phoenix, whispering something too soft for Dylan to hear. With an explosive burst of flames and feathers, the phoenix launched itself off his arm and soared into the air. The mythical bird started low, beating its wings hard to climb high into the sky.

‘Magic is so freaking cool,’ Dylan thought. Then reality hit—he remembered what magic could do. His brain floundered between dread and astonishment before settling on something in between: ‘dread-ment.’ Kind of like a fear boner, but for magic.

“Oh shit,” Dylan cursed. “Oh fuck.”

Redoubling his efforts, Dylan pumped his inflamed, itchy, chubby legs as fast as they would go. A screech pierced the air from high above. His mind drifted—just how high could a miniature flying sun climb? He could hear it was far up there, and it was coming for him. He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.

Dylan thought, ‘Last time wasn’t so bad.’

The juvenile phoenix finished its climb, cresting at the top of its arc before angling into a dive-bomb. The wind fed the flames, making them burn hotter as the bird gathered speed.

The last thing Dylan remembered was a sharp whistling sound before everything went dark. The phoenix leveled out at terminal velocity just before striking him in the back. His chest exploded in a shower of gore as the miniature nuke detonated on impact.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

> Death 5 – A Pact with Time

>

> Time patiently counted to ten as Dylan’s soul drifted through voidspace, waiting to see if any other force would claim him. But when the eleventh second came, Time—bound by the pact forged through Dylan’s ability—tugged on the tether. It wrenched Dylan’s soul back, marking him with yet another trauma. Time reset his timeline, forcing him to relive life once more, and in doing so, knocked another tally off the debt it owed him.

[Time orb]: [Dejavu] triggered. Wait.

Night had settled in, and Dylan sat on a short stool, his bare feet drying beside a small campfire. The rashes on his legs oscillated between 'I'm literally on fire' and 'oh my god, it itches.' A new sharp pain joined the rotation, ‘it stabs when I touch it’.

“Why did she kill you?” Charles paused briefly. “What did you do to her?”

[Time orb]: Thirty Resets remain.

Dylan held his breath, frozen in place. Sharp pinpricks ran from his thighs to his calves and back again. The pain was bad, but the terror of making another wrong move kept him paralyzed. That’s when he realized just how closely Charles had been watching him all along.

“You’ve stopped breathing. What’s wrong?” Charles asked, glancing up from his stitching. “Are you alright?”

‘Oh shit. Don’t mention the Time orb.’

“Uh…” Dylan stalled.

‘Say something, anything. Anything but the Time orb.’

“I’m fine,” Dylan lied.

“The ivy,” Charles said with a nod, “it’s very unpleasant.”

Dylan was relieved to see Charles go back to resizing the boot.

“Very unpleasant,” he agreed.

Like a mouse caught out in the open, Dylan had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. Trying not to draw the cat’s attention, he glanced down at the mug in his hand. Ripples danced across the surface of his golden-brown tea—a side effect of his trembling fingers. He casually poured the tea out on the ground and gently placed the mug on the table. His mouth was dry with anxiety, but he dared not ask for another drink.

‘Don’t mention the Time orb,’ he thought. Dylan scanned for any other lethal objects within reach and said, “I’ve, uh…

‘Don’t mention the Time orb.’ He worried his awkwardness would give him away again. “I’ve got to, uh…”

The urge to run was strong, threatening to overtake him again, but the fear of triggering Charles’ predator instincts kept him in check. He still didn’t know where the tailor kept his dagger.

‘Is it in his boot, like Bronze? Maybe it’s in his pocket? That would explain the large bulge in his pants. Why does everyone have so many belts?’ Then it occurred to him, ‘Jesus, Dylan, he’s a magician. He’s probably got pockets in his sleeves.’

A loud pop escaped from the campfire, startling him as he studied Charles. Dylan quickly scanned the flames for any creatures crawling out. Magic introduced a whole new level of what the fuck. Anything was possible with magic, and he imagined threats everywhere around him.

His gaze landed on the teapot—the most innocuous of kitchenware. Charles had used it to kill him just moments ago. A plethora of horrifying ways the rugged elf might wield cookware and kitchen utensils haunted him.

‘What if he’s got a spoon?!’ Dylan really didn’t want to die by spoon. ‘Because it’s dull and it’ll hurt more.’

He stared, unfocused, into the fire, imagining the horrors of a mug-wielding tailor. His gaze drifted toward the empty mug, sparking an idea.

‘Don’t mention the Time orb,’ he kept telling himself.

“Too much tea,” Dylan said. ‘Don’t think about the pain,’ he thought, wincing as he stood up too quickly. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Dylan cringed at his own regrettable rhyme. Charles pointed toward the bushes without looking up. “Mind the ivy.”

He nodded appreciatively to Charles for his consideration—it reassured him that Charles hadn’t switched into kill-mode. Dylan walked stiffly toward the bushes, doing his best to avoid unnecessary chafing.

‘Don’t think about the pain,’ he thought. Even the simple act of walking took most of his concentration as he fought not to cry from the brutal sting—thousands of pins pricking him constantly. Putting it out of his mind wasn’t likely, but that didn’t stop him from trying. ‘Don’t think about the pain.’

He found a secluded spot just out of Charles’ line of sight. Pain did funny things to people, like short-circuiting their thoughts.

‘Don’t mention the pain.’ Dylan unzipped his pants and prepared to relieve himself, but couldn’t. He needed a distraction from death, pain, and the fact he wasn’t alone while trying to pee. Auto-manners, being the bro he was, took over and decided small talk might ease the tension. “So, what would you do if you found someone in the possession of a Time orb?”

‘Fuck!’

“Hypothetically, what would you do if you found someone in possession of a Time orb?” Dylan asked, trying to clarify and praying he hadn’t just triggered murder-me-harder-mode.

‘Goddamnit Dylan,’ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Nope, it’s over. He knows. At least “it stabs when I touch it” will go away after the reset, hopefully.’

Dylan stood there with his fly down, in the most vulnerable position known to man. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for it all to end. ‘Is there still time to drink the tea?’ he wondered. ‘That wasn’t the worst way to go.’

Charles let out a contemplative grunt and paused, still holding a boot in his hand. “They’d either be rich, well connected, or an adventurer. Most likely, all three.” He gripped the toe in one hand and the boot shaft in his other, giving them a tiny tug. “Getting involved in any scenario would be exceptionally dangerous, and I’d advise against it.”

Dylan opened his eyes. Charles hadn’t killed him. He still had a firm grip on life—and himself.

“Noted.” His rash transitioned into a much more tolerable, ‘oh god it itches’. With both his imminent demise and unbearable pain gone, he realized he really needed to pee.

As Charles gave him a couple of minutes to finish his business, curiosity and an idle mind teamed up on him as he relieved himself. He knew what was getting him killed—his time magic—but he needed to know why.

“Hypothetically,” Dylan said, taking another gamble, “what if that person used the Time orb?”

“That would be,” Charles said, “unfortunate.”

Dylan wondered, ‘Who refers to murder as unfortunate?’

“While I enjoy hypothetical discussions, I find it hard to imagine anyone willingly using restricted magic.” Charles switched to the other boot.

Dylan took offense. ‘How was I supposed to know it was illegal?’ He knew voicing those exact words would earn him another death, so he’d have to try different ones. Walking toward his seat, he reasoned that dying next to a warm fire was better than dying out in the cold again—hopefully less explosive, too. “What if it was an accident?”

“That’s absurd…” Charles looked up from his work again, staring at him with a skeptical expression. Dylan froze mid-squat, like a deer caught in headlights, while his thighs burned. That stare was a reminder—the cat-and-mouse game hadn’t stopped.

“It’s nearly impossible to use an orb by mistake,” Charles said, resuming his work on the boot. “But since we’re talking about a Time orb, and not an Undeath orb, the fact still stands that using it would require mental consent; only an idiot would do so knowingly.”

Dylan sighed, remembering how the orb had asked him for permission, but the rugged elf’s words still stung. Ignorance didn’t make him an idiot. He hadn’t knowingly done anything, and that was the problem—his lack of knowledge of how the system worked.

“So, no one has illegal magic?” Dylan cautiously finished sitting down.

Charles let out a sigh. “It’s restricted, not illegal, and there is a way to end up with it unintentionally.”

“What’s the difference?”

Charles put down the boot and asked, “Do you want to talk about League politics and jurisdiction? Or restricted magic?”

Dylan’s pulse quickened when he saw the rugged elf empty-handed.