In all my years, I've been asked many questions. Far too many to remember all but the biggest. 

The one that has stayed with me for the longest time, and kept me up the most nights, is one I was asked by my fourteenth or fifteenth husband on... well, I can't exactly remember when. I just remember his remorseful expression as he asked.

"Dearest, when your life flashes before your eyes, which life do you see?"

At the time, I had laughed off the question and given him a simple answer that would ease his mind. He was one of the few that I had told my secret to. And for good reason. I lived that particular life for twenty years. It was one of the longest still to date. And I loved him. We were happy together. Yet I told him the answer I tell others when they ask.

"I see the life that has meant the most to me. And it's always the one I had been living up until then."

In all honesty, that wasn't entirely true. Sure, some lives have meant so much to me that I reminisce about the highs and lows even centuries later. Maybe I met someone. Maybe I made something of myself before I was discovered and killed.

But every time I die, by bullet or blade, water or fire, and even the rope a few times, I always spend my last breath lost in the memories of my body. And then my mind is whisked away and I wake up somewhere new. Same time, same mind, different place, different body.

I don't remember when I was born, or what I was exactly until the cycle began. After almost two millennia, the early stuff kind of merges into a dark blur. 

Even as I sit here, letting alcohol poison me to death, it's hard to remember a life worse lived than my most recent. Perhaps the times of the witch hunters. I may be able to laugh grimly at what went down, but I was tortured to death eight times in the space of two years. Some cosmic fuck-up led to me living eight female lives in a row in the same muddy country. And every time, by coincidence or curse, I was accused and captured. 

It was only when I died, then woke as a man that I could breathe easy, and I distanced myself from England for a long while after. That was one of the best lives. Compared to life now, it sorely lacked, but it wasn't bad for the time. 

I married while in what would now be called Russia, and sired two sons. I lived with my wife for almost fifteen years before people noticed I still appeared in my early twenties. I might have convinced Katya to stay with me, and I would have raised my family in another place. Perhaps I would have even told her my truth. 

But fate didn't deem that possible, and the locals burned the three of them as they slept while I was collecting wood for the morning. They were simple people, and I knew the distrust I would bring I didn't blame them too much. I just wished they hadn't forced me to watch my house burn and hear my family die before they let me run inside in a futile attempt to save them.

Despite the agony I died in, I was satisfied. It is something I can't say for many of my lives, but when I deem my life a good one, I hold it dearer to me. These are the lives that I see the most when I die.

Countless lives, countless places, too many lovers to count, and more memories than I can handle. 

Shouting pulls me from the well of memories. There's a countdown starting in the street outside. In my drunk state, I struggle to remember why. The street will tell me. 

I finish my drink, completely unaware of what I'm even drinking. I ease myself off the broken sofa I've been sleeping and stumble close to the balcony of my crappy apartment. 

The street lies far below me. Lights reach me along with the chanting count and I have to shove open the sliding door to get through. 

"Mmmnnnyeah. New year. Heh."

New years was a favourite holiday of mine once upon a time. I think it used to remind me of my progress and achieving a milestone. I didn't celebrate a birthday, so I often considered new years eve to be a birthday party for me. For a few lives, I even advertised it as such. 

But the life I was living now, not this time.

I looked down, not at the street, but at myself. 

A dirty and torn party dress I had bought from a charity shop for Christmas. Almost a week later, and it, along with a bottle of whiskey, was all I had.

My money had run out, my apartment was to be claimed on new years day, and I kicked out with it.

"Ah well. Good run."

The cold winter air begins to sober me up. 

I don't like it.

One deep breath and a curse aimed at the douche who sued me later, and I'm flying. In a distinctly downwards direction. 

The wind is nothing to me now. Death has lost all of its fearful holds over me, and in my darkest times, I think of it as more of a warm embrace.

Time extends as I fall. My eyes close and above the cheering at the new millennium, someone screams, seeing me. But I don't notice. My life begins to flash. It, not my current life, thank goodness. It isn't the one before that, nor before that. Just like my last two deaths, I remember the eighties I spent in America.

Music festivals flash before me, one after another. Every popular artist I still listened to was truly born on one of those stages. Bright colours, loud music, handfuls of drugs and tents naked people. It wasn't my most glamorous life, but it was one of the most fun. My final memory of that time and the last thing I see is the bag of pills that would cause me to overdose and die. 

Heh. Those were the times.

There's no impact, at least by then, my mind is long departed. 

Darkness surrounds my consciousness just like usual, and a red counter phases into existence above me. Dramatically slowly, the last digit rolls over, displaying the new total.

Death Count: 1000

I can never remember the time I spend between lives unless I'm currently between them. Hence why I didn't do anything big for my thousandth life. I just didn't remember. 

Surprisingly enough, instead of the numbers retreating like normal and then me waking up in a new body, they began to swirl and smear. The material that made them up was shuffling itself around and forming new words.

Title Earnt The Cause

Would you like to set this as your active title?

I have no way of talking to the words, I have tried in the past, but the ability to speak always eluded me. Whatever kept my mind in this cycle had never told me anything. So I think, instead.

Sure.

A title sounds cool. I had been knighted once, but being called "Sir" got old very quick. "The Cause" on the other hand sounds incredibly cool. Regardless of whatever I was now causing.

The words begin to fade, and after a few seconds, they're gone.

What now?

Expecting a change in routine, I'm sorely mistaken as I suddenly, and very painfully thud onto concrete. Nothing hurts too badly, but one look upwards causes me pain. My eyes are scrunched up tightly as the sun is rising and it stings. 

I'm used to various parts of me hurting vaguely when I respawn, but the eyes are always the worst at adjusting.

I smile to the ground while shading my face, finding my use of the word respawn hilarious. It was something I had only picked up in one of my recent lives. It was funny that after almost a thousand deaths, only then would someone invent a publicised word that completely captures it.

I'm kicked lightly in the side. It still hurts and I let out a low but very female groan.

Three women in a row. Hope it's a guy next time. The body is easier.

"C'mon. Get up. You have a hard night last night?"

The voice is gruff. English language. American accent. Probably an old guy. Most likely homeless.

It's a habit I've picked up to analyse my first sensations of each life like this. My body comes naturally equipped to be fluent in the natural tongue, so it's not like I've ever had to adjust. 

But I can carry over language and most other skills over each life. I can't tell you how fun it is watching someone painstakingly decrypt ancient symbols on a tablet when you know it's just a poorly phrased dick joke... because you were the one who carved it centuries ago.

The kick comes a little harder again this time, and I reluctantly start to get up from hugging the sidewalk.

"Ugh. I'm up."

Once steady on my new feet, I look over at the kicker and happily realise I was right. The homeless guy looks me over, laughs, winks, then walks away with a trolley. 

I smile after him. Too many times I was homeless and in a similar situation. I guess I have a soft spot for them and why they keep trying to better their lives. I had done r once or twice when optimistic but usually ended up killing myself. It wasn't an end-all solution for me, just a convenient reset.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I look down at myself, noting I'm dressed similarly to my previous body in Germany. A warm but loose fitting red party dress and a thick denim jacket. I'm wearing heels that are a good mix of comfortable and height.

Looking around at my surroundings, I find I'm in some town square. I don't recognise it, but by my best guess, it's been almost fifty years since I was in America. I can't be expected to navigate the world by memory. It's a big place that's constantly changing.

The decorations do intrigue me though. Posters and boards advertising the year 2000 are everywhere. 

So that's what the Germans were celebrating. 

But I'm off by a few hours. I'm not great at time zones, but I'm sure that if I just died in Germany at midnight, then there should still be several hours until midnight in America. I'm too far ahead. Far too far.

This is different. Why has this happened?

"Because I died a thousand times... I'm... The Cause?"

I whisper to myself what has been nagging at the back of my mind. Every single time I've died, and every single time I've seen that counter, I remember.

"I remember!"

I clamp my hands over my mouth, my embarrassment brief but enough to make me react. Luckily, the area around me is more or less abandoned, and aside from a stray dog snuffling through the trash, I'm alone.

But I remember. The darkness. The counter. The title. 

What am I the cause of?

The only abnormal occurrence I could find was my being several hours further forwards than I should have been.

A cry from behind me causes me to spin quickly. The old homeless guy who woke me up is crying for help. I've never been much of a humanitarian, but when someone is screaming in pain, I can't resist. 

I kick off the heels to run to the old man. He has his back to me and is standing rigid, trembling as he turns to me. A sword is sticking out of his chest. I've seen so many people die that I'm sure he will join them soon. He's trying to pull the sword out, gripping the blade with his hands. It's only cutting him more. I look past him regretfully and gasp. In front of him is an animated human skeleton wielding a bow, with a quiver of arrows over its shoulder.

I hesitate, completely shocked by the sight, which is long enough for the undead nightmare to target me instead of the old guy. It fires an arrow at me before I can move. Its aim is poor, but I still catch a sharp metal head in my left forearm.

"AUGHHH!"

I've been hurt before, but any tolerance I think I've built up is blown away by the pain. I back away from the skeleton as it notches another arrow, and hide around the corner. 

"Ah. Shit. Oh shiiiiitttt."

The arrow had pierced deep within my arm, likely stopping only when it hit the bone. 

My training I received as a wartime nurse, then surgeon kicks in and my uninjured arm moves quickly. I tear off the bottom few inches of my dress in a long strip. It was fashionably short before but is now just straight up immoral.

I rapidly tie the strip around my arm above the entry wound and tie it tightly with my teeth. The previously seeping blood slows to a drip and I take a few deep breaths to try and control my hand. 

I have only a few minutes before I lose mobility, and not a whole lot longer before it causes permanent damage. But I don't have enough clean material free to make a bandage and a far more pressing issue.

I can hear the skeleton walking down the street towards me. The scraping rasping of its feet echoing along the empty streets. I look around for something, anything to use as a weapon to defend myself. 

There's no one around to help, I haven't got a phone to call for something. This is my only chance of survival. And after the time disparity of my last death, I'm not keen on finding out what happens this time.

I've had to improvise a weapon before, but usually to kill an animal or even a person. I don't really know how to kill a skeleton. However it's currently animated, I'm lost on how to stop it.

"Fuck it."

I take off running across the square, in the opposite direction of the incoming skeleton. It's a risky plan that puts me right in its effective range, but if I can't fight it, I have to run. 

I run as fast as I can, stooping mid-sprint to pick up one of my discarded heels. It might not be sharp, but it's a potential weapon if I'm pursued.

I cross the square without being hit again. The skeletons aim is bad enough that any shots go wide. I duck away into a narrow gap between two buildings, aiming for the light of a larger street on the other side. 

Sidestepping through the small alley, I cry out as I step on some broken glass, vomit rising in my throat at the feeling of flesh separating. I stumble, but limp forwards, determined to reach the street. 

The sound of scraping bones far behind me causes me to gasp in fear, my heart thudding ever louder. The entire situation is too surreal for me and tears form in my eyes. Desperation and panic rise and my breathing grows ragged. 

The twang of string echoes down the alley, and I dive to the ground in reflex. The arrow aimed at my back skates off the brick wall at chest height, causing dust to fall on my head. 

In an instant, I'm up again, limping more as glass has embedded itself in my knees. 

Pain. Fear. Everything seems too much, but for the first time since I can remember, I don't want to just roll over and die. It doesn't feel right.

An arrow lands deep in my right shoulder, effectively disabling my last fully functional limb. The force pushes the arrow clean through my shoulder, lodging halfway up the shaft. 

I fall again, landing on the bloodied head, twisting and grinding the surely shattered bones in my shoulder.

"AAAAAAAAAUGHHH!"

my mind flashes red, and the worst pain I've ever felt burns me.

But I'm so close to the light. 

No one comes to my aid. 

No one is around to save me. 

My body grows weaker as more and more of my blood leaves through my assorted injuries. 

But I'm not dead yet.

My right arm is useless, and any sort of movement brings fresh rounds of tears to my mind. 

But my left arm is still good up the elbow. 

I manage to push myself up to my knees and half-crawl, half-drag myself further forwards. 

Any pain in my legs is gone, and my body slowly goes numb. I've been in the situation enough to realise I'm in shock but fighting the instinct to lie down or tend to myself. Even if I die here, people have to know about the monster following me. 

A meter. Less. I'm seconds away from reaching the open street, and a passing hat ignites the hope in me. I smile briefly but double my efforts to expose the damage I've sustained. 

Moments before my hand escapes the shadows, the ground beneath me begins to soften and pale. 

"No. Ah! NO!"

The concrete and bricks all around me take on the texture of quicksand and I slowly sink into the ground. 

In seconds, the area around me is bone white, and I'm submerged up to my neck. I take one final breath and hold it as the cold liquid concrete covers my head.

----------------------------------------

Death count: 100...1.0..1...01..0.1.....0...1.0

The counter seems unable to agree with itself. 

But it finally sets on 0. I assume it doesn't count as a real death because of the supernatural magic bullshit that caused it. It's curious though. I didn't feel the same sensations of drowning that I had become familiar with during my Salem years.

The darkness waits around me. My death counter remains at 1000 and fades away. 

Feat Unlocked Earthen Immortal

Earthen Immortal You have pulled yourself into another world through insurmountable sacrifice. You have lived through more years than you can count. Your achievements in life have earnt you a change in routine. Live a new series of lives in a new world.  Effect: Infinite respawns in Leden

The oddly blue messages in the boxes fade before I can read them entirely, but I get the gist of it. 

I wait in the darkness for something to change, my mind stunned by the apparent achievement I have gained. 

I am the Earthen Immortal.