Alastor’s mind was a storm of thought, trying to decipher the meaning behind the hieroglyphs. The ankh, a symbol of life and death—its presence was no accident. But even as he contemplated its message, his nerves were on edge. He knew what was coming. The assassin had found him before, and if this was a loop, they would come again.

But he would be ready this time.

Alastor slid the pistol from his desk drawer and checked the safety. The weight of it in his hand was cold, grounding him to the reality of the situation. If he was truly reliving this night, then his assassin—whoever they were—would return soon. This time, he wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

He paced through his penthouse, every sense heightened. He knew they could strike at any moment. The assassin had been impossibly quiet before, appearing like a shadow, blending into the very air around him. He couldn't make the same mistake twice. Not again.

He positioned himself behind the sleek bar in the corner of his penthouse, the marble counter providing a decent line of sight to the entrance and enough cover if things got ugly. The lights of Skylance City blinked outside, casting faint reflections across the glass surfaces, warping the neon glow of the endless advertisements. Everything looked the same—too familiar. The ticking of the clock haunted him like an omen.

Seconds crawled by. 10:56 p.m.

His fingers tensed on the trigger.

A sudden flicker in the light caught his attention. His heart raced, adrenaline spiking. His neural link glowed faintly as the ancient hieroglyphs appeared again in the corner of his vision—ankh, udjat, scarab. Each symbol pulsed, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared.

A warning?

Alastor narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening around the gun. Then, from the shadows of his penthouse, something shifted. Not a figure this time, but a distortion—a subtle ripple in the air, like heatwaves rising from the desert sand. His blood ran cold. The assassin wasn’t just skilled in stealth; they were using advanced cloaking tech or something far more advanced. Something that defied reality.

He stepped back cautiously, his gun trained on the shimmering outline. "Come out," he ordered, his voice steady. "I know you’re there."

The ripple paused, the air around it twisting in an unnatural way, and then, just as before, the assassin materialized. But this time, their form was different. They were cloaked head to toe in shadowy armor that seemed to shift and breathe with them, their movements fluid like liquid darkness. Their face was obscured, save for a pair of glowing blue eyes that pierced through the veil.

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Not the same assassin as before—something more terrifying.

Before he could react, they moved, faster than any human should be able to. A blur of motion as they closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Alastor fired, the shots echoing through the room, but the bullets seemed to pass through the assassin’s form as if striking smoke.

Impossible.

The assassin’s blade flashed, slicing through the air toward him. Alastor barely had time to duck, the edge of the weapon grazing his cheek, leaving a line of burning pain. He dove behind the bar, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. He could feel his pulse thudding in his ears, his body reacting purely on instinct now.

He scrambled to his feet, knowing the assassin would strike again. His mind raced through possibilities. The hieroglyphs. The loop. The cryptic symbols. Was this all part of a larger puzzle? A game he wasn’t yet equipped to understand?

But he had no time to think.

The assassin was relentless. They moved like a shadow, their form darting through the dim light. Alastor fired again, but the shots went wide, the bullets seemingly swallowed by the darkness that surrounded the intruder.

Then, in one final, deadly motion, the assassin lunged. The blade sliced through the air, and this time, there was no escape. Alastor felt the cold steel pierce his chest, just below the ribs, with brutal precision.

His breath hitched. Pain exploded through him, radiating outward from the wound. His vision blurred, and the world began to spin. His body crumpled to the floor, the pistol slipping from his grasp as his hands clutched at the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

The assassin stood over him, silent and unmoving, their blue eyes glowing with an ethereal light. Alastor stared up at them, gasping for breath, his mind reeling as his life slipped away once more.

The symbols appeared again in his neural link—flickering across his vision even as death claimed him. Ankh.

Udjat.

The Udjat Symbol [https://prideontee.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/3-1.jpg]

Scarab.

The Scarab Symbol [https://prideontee.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/1-1.jpg]

The same cryptic symbols, but this time, they seemed to rearrange themselves, forming patterns he couldn’t quite grasp. They were trying to tell him something—some hidden truth just beyond his understanding.

His vision faded, darkness closing in around him as his body grew cold. This was the end. Again.

And yet, as his life ebbed away, a strange sense of clarity washed over him. The symbols... the deaths… each one was revealing a piece of a larger puzzle. Something ancient, something buried deep within the Assassination Pyramid.

Then, just as before, light.

His eyes opened.

He was back. The penthouse, the city, the lights—it was all the same. He sat up abruptly, his heart still pounding, his hands shaking as they moved to his chest, searching for the wound. But there was nothing.

Another loop. Another death.

But now… now he understood more. The symbols, the assassins, the deaths—it was all connected. Each death was unlocking something inside him. A knowledge, a key to the loop. Each death revealed more of the cryptic Egyptian symbols that flickered across his vision, like pieces of a puzzle leading him deeper into the mystery.

His breathing steadied as he rose from his chair, determination setting in. He would figure this out. He had to.

"I died..." he whispered, the realization sinking in. "But I know more now."