When kidnapped by a large apex predator, one’s natural reaction would be to struggle as hard as possible to escape, and despite Alicia panicking at first, she still knew better than to act rashly.

Instead, the elf held her legs closer so they wouldn’t get caught on any of the scenery that whipped past her. It was an unpleasant ride, one that was full of shaking and bumping and bouncing, each leap and gallop jolting her roughly. Worse yet was as the minutes went by, a cold numb wetness bloomed from her back. Injury was a given due to how impromptu it all was, and the sluggishness that seemed to pain the basilisk didn’t help either.

Alicia barely managed to hold it off until they reached the cave up north. The creature, as gingerly as something of its stature could, set her down and took a step back, scrutinizing the elf who was too frazzled to stand. A basilisk couldn’t make the same facial expressions as a person could, but it was obvious enough what was being asked: “Why?”

It was difficult for her to properly answer—how could she offer any decent explanation? “Sorry Bassy. I wouldn’t if I could...” Alicia attempted, wondering if there was any meaning to the gesture at all. If it all truly reset, then this would be nothing but self-gratification, and if it didn’t, then the resulting state of all the previous failed timelines would be unforgivable. Either way this week was ultimately doomed, so what could she possibly do to rectify it? Alicia offered the only thing she could, revealing her innermost dreams and wishes in a blur of thoughts—to be anywhere but here. The basilisk, finding it a little too dizzying to understand, nuzzled against Alicia’s chest as the venom took hold.

Cyg felt a strange sensation sweep past him. Acting on an errant thought, he rolled up his sleeve to see the sigil on his shoulder half-lit. “Alicia?” he muttered to himself as he pulled his sleeve back down. Up until now, he was searching around the house for the buried charges. The sack he was carrying earlier and its two remaining bombs were flattened by Bassy’s little surprise reappearance, meaning all that was left those hidden in the dirt and, Gods forbid, a knife from the kitchen. The former, he’d have to somehow find and dig up, and the latter, well... it only made him wish they came up with some kind of kill trigger to reset loops at will.

Another tidal wave from the Sea struck him, and instinctively he threw himself to the side. A second later, something heavy struck the ground with mind-boggling ferocity, carving deep down and spraying earth everywhere. When the scene settled enough, he saw a chunk of rock embedded into the backyard, as if flung from a catapult, aimed right where his legs used to be.

“What... what the fuck...?” he said as he stumbled back.

The witch’s descent was accompanied by the clacking of marbles strung from her wide-brimmed hat, stirred by the steady blast of wind that softened her landing. It was much like a veil, as sparsely as they were hung, but it did nothing to hide the sheer displeasure radiating from her eyes.

Cyg asked, “You’re mad about the house?” He certainly didn’t remember her ever being this smouldering before.

“To have destroyed my home, tainted my apprentice, and attacked my familiar,” she asked, “I wasn’t aware I welcomed into my abode such a cataclysmic pest.”

“I messed with Alicia? Hey, I didn’t do a thing,” he replied, taking a step back, “That was her idea too.”

“She was well-behaved before you showed up, but she changed at the drop of a hat,” Merry said as she closed back the gap with a step forward. “Lie all you want. I’ll find out one way or another.”

The thief understood two things. Firstly, his theory was wrong; she couldn’t tell lie from truth. Secondly, he was in more danger than ever; what was awaiting him was a fate worse than death. He dodged, feeling before seeing—Merry’s hand shot out, arm stretched with magic, grabbing onto nothing but air as Cyg tried to circle around her. Gravity dragged down the limb, but she severed and reformed a normal one as she tried again on her other, closer side. The waves in the Sea preceded her actions for a fraction of a second, her future movements splayed across the other dimension to be read like a book.

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He didn’t know what she was doing exactly, ducking under and dodging another blur by sheer instinct as it soared over his head. Cyg then felt something branch and jumped over a half-formed hand that shot out of the forearm he just slipped past. With nerves fraying and blood pumping, he somehow wove out of the way from the tree of flesh that bloomed outward, sidestepping twisted appendages feverishly. His mana was running out steadily as he timed small boosts to get himself inside the house.

After each attack, Merry seemed to understand his movements better, each close shave growing even closer. It took six whole seconds for him to make it to the hole and turn for the counter in the kitchen—if the desperate dash had taken a second longer, he wouldn’t have made it. Up ahead, a knife was in its wooden stand two steps away.

He only managed a single stride before something crashed down. Cyg was surrounded, as if waves in the Outer Sea arrived in all directions—past the veil, through Merry’s domain, folding in the muddied shape of two hands clasping together. It hammered down and crushed his existence, and the sudden surge of mana activated all the circles on his breastplate simultaneously.

The armor imploded, fracturing inward deep enough to cut in and snap bones, stopping only because the runes were destroyed in the process. Like a stone, he dropped onto the ground. He tried to ease his fall with his arms, but the attack on his soul hardly allowed him to move, and his only accomplishment was rolling onto his back.

Merry entered the house with her arms back to normal and she crouched down to his side. Placing a hand on his chest, she snapped everything back into place and pulled him back far away from death.

“In *my* children’s stories, spies used to hide poison in false teeth,” she began with a small smile as she took off her hat. “Actually, I think they still do, but you seem to be ill-prepared,” the witch said, almost with disappointment. “Well, out with it. Who sent you? Don’t let us get to the unseemly part; I’m sure you can imagine what someone can do with a healing Aspect.”

Cyg barely registered her words—his mind was overwhelmed with bizarre perceptiveness, as if he gained awareness over his innards to a remarkable degree. No, not his internal organs, though that would be an apt metaphor for non-mages, but rather his soul. Just as how one would feel every agonizing second of someone’s hand holding their lungs, Cyg was made acutely known of every last inch of something beyond description.

When Merry finished her question, she relented just a little, only to allow him to speak. More stimulus, more knowledge, and more understanding. The soul had nothing so concrete as a limb, but yet it can fight. Somehow, some way, in the same manner in which he was attacked, Cyg lashed out. He felt something tear in the wild, mindless act, trying to buy himself some more room to breathe by taking her by surprise.

But surprise was all it had. She resumed her grip on his soul, coiling around him like a snake crushing its prey with measured strength. And like a rodent would, he writhed and kicked, only managing to stay conscious from her lack of willing.

“Untrained soul magic?” she said, “Curious. You wouldn’t have come here unprepared if you knew beforehand. Or, did I just help you awaken it?” Pursing her lips, Merry added, “What a shame you’re never going to have a chance to use it.” She raised a hand toward him.

Now, Cyg thought.

He had to die now.

There were a thousand ways to incapacitate him, and falling unconscious here could doom everything. It would be as simple as Merry keeping Cyg out cold for a month to figure out how to handle him. Someone as wise as her would never him slip away without learning what had happened.

Time passed in slow motion as she drew closer.

How? How can he do it? The knife was still on the counter, safely stored while he was lying on the floor. Moving was impossible. All he had left was his Aspect. A stream of nonsensical ideas washed over him, all having to do with his newfound ability—but it was worthless. If he was correct in his theory of how the time loop worked, and he was almost certain of it, then destroying his soul would result in annihilation.

The only thing left was his swapping magic. There were no bombs nearby. Even if he swapped a knife into reach, he couldn’t move faster than the witch who was mere moments away from knocking him out. Using it on something outside was too slow... but what if he were to use it inside? He was living material, a solid, but it was his material, already filled with his mana.

He didn’t need a knife to do the job.

Screaming was the primal instinct to stay alive, and it was stomped out in an instant. Just as Merry touched his neck, he carved out a perfect sphere inside his chest, and he felt the disgusting, profane rearrangement of his insides for a second—and only a second.

— ! —

Faster than she was able to notice, he was taken far, far away.