Jun opened his eyes to find that he was no longer in his own body, but he somehow instinctively knew it was him. His limbs felt lighter, his skin unscarred. He touched his face, running his fingers over features he hadn't seen in decades. The air around him was cold, carrying a faint metallic tang that made him shudder. Toxic fumes clung to the breeze, biting at his lungs and pulling him into familiarity: Sector 13.
He stood in the alley, with walls stained with grime and neglect. The sharp scent of burning refuse filled his nostrils, and the faint hum of machinery hummed in the distance. This is where he grew up, surviving on scraps and wit.
Jun cautiously emerged from the shadows of the alley into the harsh artificial lighting that streamed from the streetlights. The world had gone silent; as he glanced up, those on the street turned to regard him all as one. It was as though the way they had moved was rough and jerky, their gazes empty and yet fixed onto him. It made his blood run cold.
They started forward before he even thought.
"Hey! Back off!" Jun yelled, panic rising in his voice.
But the bodies didn't stop. They twisted at odd angles, their joints writhing as if their bones were water. He staggered backward, his breath growing quick, and wheeled to run. His feet pounded on the pavement as he dived back into the alley. The footsteps, dozens of them, chased him, louder with every step.
He ran faster, dodging crates and barrels. A crate caught his arm as he dodged by, splintering the skin. The pain was sharp and immediate.
"This can't be a dream," he muttered, clutching the wound as he ran.
The pursuers closed in. Hands, cold and powerful, grasped his legs and dragged him to the ground. Jun kicked wildly, screaming and writhing. It did no good. More hands held onto his arms and head, keeping him pinned. He thought that he was as good as dead.
As if in answer, the figures began pulling. His limbs stretched beyond their limits, his body tearing apart in agonizing bursts of pain. The moment was fleeting—death came swiftly.
Jun woke again, gasping for air. This time, he was in a bed. The sheets were familiar, the faint scent of lavender bringing a rush of memories. His old room. He was a child again, just shy of being a teenager.
He could hear his parents talking in the next room, their voices soft and soothing. For a moment, Jun allowed himself to sink into the warmth of nostalgia.
But then the nightmare returned.
His parents' voices stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of heels clicking against the floor. His bedroom door creaked open. When his parents entered, their faces were wrong. Their eyes were hollow, their smiles unnaturally wide.
"Jun," his mother said, her voice layered with something alien.
He scrambled backward, his body small and weak. "Stay away!
They didn't listen. Moving as one, they lunged at him, their hands cold and unyielding. He screamed, but it was no use. His parents snatched him up, tearing him apart just as the people in the alley had done.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
---
The loops started, going round and round.
Jun relived the streets of Sector 13 and the warmth of his childhood home only to have each twist into a grotesque nightmare. He tried everything he could think of to break the cycle and tried doing things differently every time, but the results kept getting stranger and more horrific.
Sometimes, he'd skulk out of the street, hiding in an alley. The sky would break open when he did that and a monstrous featureless hand fall down and stomp him like an insect.
The other times he tried to push his luck: he stood face to face, demanding explanations of the people who walked along that street. The people laughed- their voices bounced off his chest in strange laughter-and swarmed him like some horde of ants consuming food.
The childhood loop was no kinder. Jun tried to run away from his parents, but the door of his room was locked, closing him in. His mother once started humming a lullaby as she slowly slid a knife across her throat, blood spilling into the impossible quantities on the floor. His father, unmoved, bashed his head against the stone table until his skull and the table broke.
---
Now, mania intensified. This time, Jun was able to find his way out of the alley into a square. Here, he met a monstrous version of himself, gargantuan in its size and shape, its face split into a grin that never seemed to end. The doppelganger chased him down, its laughter echoing in his mind, then devoured him with one bite.
One day, in his loop of childhood, he lay in bed quietly enough to be hoped over by his parents. When they entered, their shapes collapsed into a mess of squirming tendrils that pulled him into the floor.
New terrors came with each loop. In the streets, people's limbs stretched, their hands into sharp claws that pierced him like needles. At home, walls bled and his toys became alive, eyes glowing as they tore at his flesh.
Jun lost count of how many times he died.
---
By the 50th loop, desperation had begun to creep in.
"Why is this happening?" he shouted into the void as he lay in the alley, waiting for the inevitable.
No answer came. The figures arrived, their eyes blank, their hands outstretched.
By the 70th loop, he stopped trying to flee.
He positioned himself in the middle of the street, arms outstretched wide, and let the crowd overtake him. He looked at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, not blinking as his parents closed in. The pain was excruciating, but at least it was over quickly.
---
It was during the 89th loop that something changed.
He did not wince in the child loop. Jun closed his eyes and heaved hard breaths. The mana was churning around him. The cadence flowed into the air.
"Yogundr," he spoke softly, hearing no response.
The familiar voice of his shadow snake echoed faintly in his mind. "You are not truly here, Jun. This is the trial of the Stigmata Tree. It shows you your past, your fears, and your weaknesses. You must overcome them."
"Find the truth within the chaos," Yogundr replied. "You have already begun to see it. Focus on the mana, on the rhythm of this world. Let it guide you."
---
In the loops that followed, Jun tried to heed Yogundr's advice. He stopped running and began observing.
He saw the people in the streets of Sector 13 were like the flow of mana; their grotesque forms rippling like echoes of a greater force. He felt that the voices of his parents had an unnatural resonance as if they belonged to the pulsating energy of the tree at his childhood home.
By the 100th loop, Jun was standing in the alley, calm and centered. As the crowd turned toward him, he didn't run. He focused on the mana instead. He followed its rhythm, his breath following in sync with it. The figures stopped. The world around him shimmered, like mist that disappears.
Jun opened his eyes to see himself standing in front of the Stigmata Tree again, hand still on its tendrils. The air was full of mana, but it was warm and inviting now.
"You have faced the truth," the tree's voice resonated in his mind. "Your past will no longer bind you. Step forward, Juniper Green."
Jun took a breath, steady and determined. He survived.